1965
He was twenty-one years old, and he had just quit his job.
It had never been a real job, mind you. He had been in a competitive dueling league, which was half competitive dueling and half putzing around Great Britain in a big magic van with the other eleven duelists, drinking heavily and having a grand old time. It barely paid.
He was relatively young to be dropping out of the league- a bunch of his colleagues had been twenty-four or twenty-five. However, the ones who stay past twenty-three were, as a rule of thumb, washed-up losers and he was rather looking forward to the part of his life where he settled down with a respectable career and only discussed his wild youth to his grandkids.
He stood at the side of the road and waved as the Cheshire Dueling League van disappeared down the dusty road, then he picked up his suitcase and Apparated to Hogsmeade.
2009
Filius had only recently started looking forward to staff luncheons. Before 1982, Slughorn had talked through most of them, and between then and 1997, Snape had been generally moody throughout. After 1998, they'd all been so badly shaken by the war that it was uncomfortable sometimes to even talk to each other. But lately, it seemed that their shared horror had knit them closer together, in a sense.
"If we would all settle down," said Minerva over the din, "I have a few things we need to address today, please."
They quieted down and watched her expectantly, as she flipped through her clipboard. "Many thanks to Michael and Neville for coordinating my retirement party," she started. "In addition, I've finally submitted my recommendations for the next Head to the board, and can with good conscience tell all of you who it is."
Filius knew who it was, because there were really only two options, and he was the other.
"Pomona, congratulations," said Minerva, and there was polite applause. Pomona nodded in acknowledgement, beaming, and Filius patted her shoulder.
He was looking forward to the next stretch of staff luncheons, looking forward to 2009 and onward.
1965
"You could always work at Hogwarts," said Pomona, one night when Filius was crashing on the floor of her room. Filius snorted. He was twenty-one and, even though it wasn't like everyone was rushing to hire a long-haired, gawky half-goblin, the suggestion was ridiculous.
"Why would I?" he asked.
"You would be my coworker," said Pomona. She had worked at Hogwarts for a couple of years, by then, had started bothering Dumbledore with her ideas for anti-bullying programmes.
"Tempting as that is," said Filius, "Hogwarts is a trash fire."
"They provide room and board," said Pomona. "You get meals free. There's Hogsmeade."
"Pomona," said Filius. "I'd sooner die than work at Hogwarts."
"Professor Hartloose is looking for an assistant," said Pomona. "Just interview. What harm is there in that?"
1969
He was twenty-four when Professor Hartloose retired and left him as the Charms Master. His first day teaching was a disaster, the students contrary and uncooperative. He complained to Pomona for a full hour and a half until she snapped at him to figure out what he was doing wrong and stop blaming his students.
His second day, he brought in cushions, feathers, cups, mice, and candy. "Forget the syllabus," he said. "We'll start with the spells."
He handed out candy as the students left, and they all seemed to like him much better.
Of course, his height made him a subject of rumour around the castle, but it bothered him less than it had when he was a student. He even kind of liked it. It was good to have a little mystery around you, if you were a teacher.
It did hurt to hear speculation that he was part house-elf, though, so he took steps to counter that rumor.
"I was hexed short in a duel," he told Nora Cooke. "I was a premature child, and kept in a cauldron full of potion for a year after my birth to ensure I was healthy," he told his first years. "I was dropped as a child, and all my bones squished into each other," he told the NEWTs students, to general hilarity.
When a group of second years cornered him outside the Great Hall, he just shook his head. "Stay away from drugs, children."
He told a few seventh years, "My mother was a goblin," and walked away as they broke into an argument over whether it was possible, feeling oddly like he could make a future here.
1956
"If they were going to prank me, I wish they would be more creative about it," said Filius. He and Pomona were sitting on the grass outside Greenhouse 3, and he was complaining. It was a usual Thursday.
"They're Ravenclaws, for Merlin's sake," agreed Pomona.
Filius's bed had been short-sheeted twice that week, and his shoes had all turned up on high shelves. His books had all been Engorgio'ed just enough that they didn't all fit in his bag.
"The books were okay. That was a good one. The shoes were a little dumb. But short-sheeting."
Pomona shrugged. "They're unoriginal."
Filius tilted his head up at the sky and took in the sun. "I can't wait to graduate and get out of this dump. Never look back. Goodbye, Hogwarts."
Pomona nodded, next to him. "Do you want me to shrink their trousers?" she said.
Filius laughed. "It's up to you."
"Whatever you want," said Pomona, which meant she'd do it.
2010
"Did you ever see yourself growing up and staying at Hogwarts?" he said. "I didn't."
Pomona laughed. "I certainly never saw myself here." She picked up a silver phial. "I wonder how many headmasters actually used these things."
"How many headmasters do you think needed to?" said Filius.
She shrugged and put it back. "You can put that down, I'll sort through it."
Filius lowered the trunk carefully and put his wand away. Pomona carefully adjusted the blotter on the desk. They silently unpacked her things, set them up on her desk.
"Will this make it weird?" Filius said, after a while. "You being my boss?"
"Just don't do anything different and there shouldn't be a problem," said Pomona. "You're fine as it is. Try to actually have a talk with your students about bullying and sensitivity for once, without putting it off."
"Sure thing, Headmistress," said Filius, and she scoffed.
They stood at the window overlooking the empty courtyard together, watched a thestral flying over the Forest. "For what it's worth," said Filius, "You will be a fantastic Headmistress, Pomona."
"I'm glad that we're friends," she replied, and put one hand on his shoulder.
Filius thought about all the years they'd somehow lasted, all the uncertainty and insecurity and even 1997 that they'd made it through. "The honour was always mine," he said.
They looked out at the school, and Filius felt, for a moment, content to stand quietly with his best friend, content to admire what he'd never expected to call home.