Title: mess on aisle two
Summary: He fancied himself in love with her, once. Now, he thinks her a fool. FilchOC
Author's Note: I never imagined myself to write a Filch piece, but now that I have, I'm utterly obsessed. Also, for clarification, my thoughts and Filch's thoughts are completely separate - okay? Okay.
Also, if y'all don't know, the Communist Manifesto is by Karl Marx and Appeal is by David Walker (an abolitionist who infamously urged slaves to murder their masters).
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Her name was Amira.
She had a kind face, a hearty laugh that matched her appetite, and could drink any man under the table. She was only twenty-five when Filch had to wipe her blood from the stone floor.
He fancied himself in love with her, once.
Now, he thinks her a fool.
Coming in with wand loaded, scar on her face silver as the energy pouring from her blasted stick, she caused chaos for mere moments before falling in a bloody heap on the floor.
"Unacceptable," Amycus Carrow frowned, rubbing his bloodied hands together. "Security in this castle is just unacceptable."
Amycus sneered at her corpse, while Filch brought out the mop.
Her hair was taking new form. No longer did it lay down her back in a black sheet. Instead, it's new purpose was not unlike the purpose of a sponge - her hair absorbed the blood dripping from her skull, tinting dark a deep red. (He whispered underneath his breath, considerate even in death). Her brains gleamed underneath the candle light. She seemed smart, that Amira. Head Girl, a few years before.
But as Ms. Norris began to nibble on the meat Ravenclaws envied, Filch questioned if she had any sense of intelligence. She had always had her head in a book. He remembers two Muggle ones she carried till they finally broke, pages littering the floor, her mumbled apologies (sincere) - the Communist Manifesto and Appeal.
He had asked her, while she greedily snatched the yellowed papers from the newly cleaned stone, what they were about.
She bit her lip in thought, and slowly responded, "They're about liberation."
She was a fool. There is no such thing as liberation. Filch has seen attempts for freedom. Attempts. No good comes from overthrowing power. A new tyranny will always form in the absence of another. That Amira knew nothing of oppression. She thought she did. She thought she could learn from literature and History of Magic lessons, but she was naive, as all of the children in the castle were, once.
Filch knows what oppression is. He has had to feel the effects of it within his own static fingers (dirty Squib). He has had to feel the effects when students run through the hallways with dirty shoes and giddy laughter, paying no mind to the man with the mop and cat around his ankle. Filch is rarely given an ounce of compassion from these ingrates - they hardly spare him a glance unless it is to torture him by pointing out his unkempt appearance or curled spine.
And now he cleans the guts and grime and life of the only girl who did not look at him with disgust, who once talked to him like he was not scum, off the stones he has been cleaning for nearly four decades.
Despite past endearment, Filch is apathetic to the girl. Filch knows more than most that fools know nothing of pain. Wizard children know nothing of hard work. Beautiful women with beautiful brains know nothing of liberation.
Filch rings out her blood in a bucket and spills the remains out a window. He carries her body to the Great Lake, wraps her mangled skull in a headscarf tossed by a First Year, and throws her in the lake.
He fancied himself in love with her, once.
But Filch must admit, even he has been known to act a fool.