Author Notes: Thank you to aigooism for the beta!
Argus Filch doesn't like people. He doesn't like magic either, or leaky mop buckets, but at the end of the day, most of his vitriol is saved for people. It doesn't matter whether they are men or women, wizards or witches, or even Muggles; all of them are worthy of his anger. It doesn't help that most people don't seem to like him either.
Squib.
It's a dirty word. People don't mention it in polite society. ("Defective," people whisper behind his back in hushed tones. "There's something wrong with that boy.") Argus doesn't like the stares and sniggers, but they are better than the looks of sympathy and the words of encouragement. ("You just need to try harder.") Argus tries the best he can, until one morning he realises he is never going to get his Hogwarts letter, because it is already the first of September.
It is then that Argus realises that all he does – all he ever did – is fire blanks. Even when he was five, he couldn't even get his toy wand to work properly. All it did was glitter slightly instead of shooting sparks around the room like it was supposed to. He has enough magic to see Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, but that almost makes it worse. He can see the beauty and wonder of the world he was born into, but he can never be a part of that world. Not properly.
His job at Hogwarts almost seems to rub it in. Even the children, even the youngest and most nervous first year, have more magic than he does. They all run around leaping from staircase to staircase, without even realising that it's the magic bubbling in their veins that stops them from falling. It's after Argus's second accident on the moving staircases that he realises that sometimes, Hogwarts itself can't see that he's there.
Over the years, there are only a few moments of weakness. A few times, Argus tries to develop magic – tries every remedy, every charlatan cure known to man – before he realises that he's fighting a losing battle. It's more than he could handle at times to stay within Hogwarts, to get the castle to accept him as a rightful occupant. He needs all his strength for that. And, of course, to discipline the children.
Argus finds that he could handle most of the brats. They are all the same really. Every year brings him the same class clown, the same arrogant pureblood, the same bookworm and the same snivelling kid in the corner. Sometimes the roles change and the snivelling child in the corner would rise up and defend themselves, but more often than not, Argus can spot the successes as soon as they walk into the castle.
Most of the children ignore him; Argus likes that.
To them, he's nothing but the caretaker of Hogwarts. Not a creature to be pitied, but somebody not even worthy of their attention. Sometimes, a child sees past that and tries to talk to him, but Argus always ignores them. Sooner or later, the child stops trying and Argus is once again left alone to his peace.
After all those years, only one of the children comes back.
Argus only faintly remembers Severus Snape. He remembers a bright-eyed young lad who was too big for his britches. After that, it's almost a shock when he sees Snape as a young man. There is something brittle and broken about him, almost as though somebody or something has chewed him up and spat him out again. "Welcome back," Argus tells him, but Snape just looks blank. It is almost as though Snape doesn't remember him.
"Thanks," Snape says dully, after a few seconds before turning away back to his lunch.
Argus shrugs. He's curious. Who wouldn't be? But it's none of his business. He wouldn't have been around so long if he had made a habit of sticking his nose in the business of adults. Children though? That was a whole different matter. He is still careful, even with children though. Enemies can be made so easily, especially in the current climate.
But that's none of his business. A Squib has no say in the politics of the wizarding world and Argus knows his place.
Argus finds himself watching Snape, much like Snape used to watch him all those years ago. There's something up with Snape, he knows that much. He can see that in the glitter of fear in those dark eyes whenever Snape looks at Dumbledore. He can see it in the slight tremble of Snape's potion-stained fingers whenever he reads the morning newspaper. He can see it in the way Snape carries himself.
Snape's ashamed of something, Argus decides.
Normally, Argus doesn't interfere in the affairs of those who have left Hogwarts. Too many consequences and not enough authority. No self-respecting witch or wizard would listen to a Squib. But there's something about Snape, something that makes Argus think that it'll be pitiably easy to get Snape on his side and even into his bed.
"Coffee?" Argus offers as he slides a cup of it underneath Snape's nose.
The look Snape gives him is one of gratitude mixed with suspicion. Argus can see the why forming in Snape's eyes as he sniffs the cup. "Thank you," Snape says cautiously as he takes a small sip.
Argus simply grunts as he pours himself his own cup. It's almost too easy.
It's as Argus thought.
Seducing Severus Snape is almost too easy.
All it takes is a few kind words, the ghost of a promise of companionship and Snape turns up at his door almost as though he requested it. Snape's eyes are those of a man shattered, but his mouth holds a hint of promise that Snape will be quite the companion in bed.
Argus lifts his hand again and brings it down sharply on Snape's bottom. He admires the handprint he makes and the reddened skin, before bringing his hand down again. It's almost amusing to see Snape sprawled out, bum up on his bed. Argus has lost count of the number of times he's threatened children with this punishment. Of course, Dumbledore would have never allowed it, but the children didn't need to know that. It's always been a good deterrent against misbehaviour.
"Up," Argus murmurs as he pulls Snape up into his arms.
For a tall, strong man, Snape is almost pliable in his arms as Argus reaches down to wrap his fingers around his cock. Snape gasps as Argus bends over – ignoring the creak of his bed – and takes that cock into his mouth.
As Snape's fingers clutch desperately in his hair, Argus knows that he has Snape exactly where he wants him.
Afterwards, Argus can see that Snape wants to say something, wants to blurt his heart out. "I'm not your confessor," he says harshly before Snape can say a word.
Snape's face takes on a shuttered look. "I wasn't about to say anything."
Argus has seen Snape's type before. Prideful, yet too trusting. There's a world out there that would break Severus Snape, if they're given half the chance. He won't give them the chance though. Snape has come crawling to his door and he's going to rebuild the man. "Yes, you were," he says. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that I care."
Snape snorts. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Good," Argus says. "I'm glad we're on the same page."
Slowly, Snape settles back onto his bed, his dark hair flooding across the pillows. "I'll come around again tomorrow." It's phrased like a statement, but Argus knows that it's not. There's too much hesitation in Snape's eyes.
"Aye," Argus agrees. "You will."