Well, like the summary says, this is a winner, and short but sweet. Of course, nothing belongs to me; Argus Filch is the creation of Joanne Rowling. Enjoy, and I'd appreciate a review!
He could hear them; talking, whispering, behind their hands, behind his back.
'Still no sign?'
'… hasn't so much as levitated a pea …'
'… don't know how you put up with it personally.'
This was why he hated family occasions, or any event where numbers of wizards and witches gathered together. Young or old, male or female, pure-bloods or half-bloods; the only prejudice was against him.
The younger ones taunted him with their own immature magic: causing small whirlwinds, making nearby cups and plates crack, all the while running round his lonely chair, chanting.
The elder ones, the ones around his own age, were a bit cooler than that. Too cool for him; they all knew it, and made him aware of it. Chatting just loudly enough about what they had learnt most recently at … at that place, talking about people and places unknown to him, about things he knew he would never be a part of. Those old enough innocently Summoned another drink every now and then, often without even speaking.
The adults would always cast him snide glances, his parents most often; he knew he was a terrible son, lucky that they had not cast him aside as soon as his lack of magical ability was apparent; he just wished there were some way to make them proud of him. All he could do for them was to hold his head high as he heard them muttering to their friends about how incompetent he was.
He longed to ask them all how it felt to hold a wand; hold one, feel its power; speak words and have your commands followed. Wands and spells were so often taken for granted by those who could use them, used without thinking day after day, for trivial, everyday matters, with no thought of the effort put in to complete those same tasks by Muggles and … people like him.
If he could have a wand, and the ability to perform magic for – for just a day, a single, solitary day … who knew what he would do, certainly not he, but that didn't matter – just the chance to perform spells would make him feel more free, more alive than ever before; the opportunity to make his parents proud of him, for the first time, and the spine-tingling hope of attending Hogwarts one day, would keep him going throughout his life - if only that one day was thrown to him, offered to him; he would surely take it without a second thought.
For now, though, he would stay put, put up with all the chanting and the teasing and the muttering, waiting; hoping and wishing that one day, soon, his day would come.