Squib Doors
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
a sequel to "The Squib and the Death Eaters"
Chapter 2: Detention
Everything in this story really belongs to J.K. Rowling.


Detentions are supposed to make the students nervous. Not me. I live for detentions. Ask anyone
at Hogwarts. They'll tell you about the horrid old squib caretaker who exists simply to make the students'
lives a misery.

It could not be nerves that were making me shake inside as I stared at the pair of young
Gryffindors who'd been sent to me for a detention. It had to be anticipation. Surely, that was it.

I regarded the serious, round face of the fifth year boy and the equally serious face of the red-
haired, freckled fourth year girl and tried not to tremble visibly.

It *was* nerves. I admitted it to myself. I felt awkward, almost frightened.

Nearly two months had gone by since I'd last had students for a detention. In that time I'd been
kidnapped and tortured by Death Eaters and rescued by Professors Snape and McGonagall. My recovery
had been slow. Some things were still not back to normal. My interactions with the students, for example.

Nothing truly major had changed. The students still despised me. I didn't mind since, in most
cases, the feeling is mutual. The students still avoided me. I didn't mind that either. I could never get my
work finished if I had the brats always underfoot. (Look at Hagrid; children hanging about his hut at all
hours. It's a wonder he can get anything done!)

But, since I'd been injured, I had noticed a different quality in the way the students avoided me.
Some eyes were averted out of pity. Others seemed afraid of me, not because I am a grumpy and vindictive
old man, but because the sight of me reminded them of the Dark things currently moving through the
Wizarding world, despite all the Ministry's words of reassurance to the contrary. Terrifying things that
could strike without warning, leaving broken bodies in their wake.

I had spent nearly a month in the hospital wing. Poppy had put curtains around my bed so that
the students wouldn't gawk. It had been for their benefit as well as mine. I hadn't needed a mirror to let
me know what a dreadful mess I was. Frightening children was usually something that I did not mind
doing, but I hadn't wanted to do it that way.

My bed had been at the back of the ward, where the noise from the rest of the hospital wing was
less likely to disturb me. But I'd had nightmares, sometimes during the day as well. It was inevitable that
some of the students had heard my cries. It was also inevitable that some of them had caught glimpses of
me as Poppy had tended my wounds.

The details of what had happened to me had been left unclear. I was not supposed to remember
anything about the attack, or my attackers. But, as always, the Castle was awash with rumors. And some
of the rumors came close to the truth. Many of the students seemed to know that I'd been left broken and
nearly dead, by the Dark.

The two children now facing me had each suffered their own terrible encounters with the Dark.

Neville Longbottom's parents had been attacked and tortured by Death Eaters when he was only
an infant. His Auror father and his gentle mother had been driven insane by repeated applications of the
Cruciatus Curse.

Ginny Weasley had found a diary during her first year at the Castle. A fifty year old evil relic,
belonging to the boy who would one day become the Dark Lord. She'd been entrapped, used against her
will and nearly killed.

Neville and Ginny were eyeing me with haunted expressions. Fellow survivors, they seemed to
know that I would spend the rest of my life struggling against the aftereffects of what had been done to
me. The evidence of their own, private battles seemed vivid in their young faces.

Or perhaps they were just two children who would simply rather be anywhere else. They could
merely be nervous about the work they would be asked to do for me. I was being a foolish old man.

My voice still wouldn't work when I tried to speak to them.

Mrs. Norris came to my rescue. Leaping lightly down from my desk, she padded over to Ginny
Weasley. Then, to my shock and amazement, she rubbed against the girl's ankles and purred.

"Mrs. Norris?" I exclaimed, finally managing to talk, even if the words came out in an indignant
squeak.

"Hello, Mrs. Norris," Ginny said, at the same moment. She stroked my cat once, very lightly.
Wisely, she didn't make a second attempt. Mrs. Norris isn't one to permit undue familiarity, least of all
from students.

Neville and I looked at Ginny with astonishment.

"How often has she let you do that?" I demanded. To my knowledge, my cat had never permitted
herself to be touched by a student before. In the past there have been students who have attempted to get
on my good side by making up to Mrs. Norris. She can see through that type even faster than I can. Those
foolhardy students had been lucky to escape with any of their skin left intact.

"That was the first time she's ever let me pet her," Ginny admitted. "But she's purred at me
before."

She blushed, making her face nearly as red as her hair. "I've talked to her sometimes. When
she's in the hall by herself. After what happened during my first year ...the Basilisk.... well, I just wanted
to apologize to her. And since then she's never seemed to mind if I speak to her. As long as she isn't too
busy."

"The only thing she's been busy at lately is getting underfoot!" I grumbled, giving my cat a dirty
look.

I continued, gruffly. "And, as for what happened with the Chamber... Merlin's Beard, child!
Everyone knows that none of it was your fault! Even Mrs. Norris and I know that."

I hoped that Ginny Weasley really knew, deep down, that it wasn't her fault. I hoped that people
who loved her told her every time she needed to hear the words. I wanted to reassure her further, but I
knew that my aptitude for kindness is about the same as my aptitude for magic.

But Ginny surprised me with a smile. A genuine one. I could see the tension beginning to leave
her.

Neville had remained quiet, observing Ginny and me, but he also seemed less tense.

Well, good for them. Silly children. I was still as tense as a bowstring. My "conversations" with
students usually consisted of me scolding and complaining, with very little participation needed from the
brats involved. This was a new and uncomfortable experience for me.

"Lets get on with it, shall we? Can't hang about all night. We've got work to do..." Stiffly, I got
up from my desk. I gave Ginny a tray bearing several large bottles of cleaning solution, and handed
Neville a sack filled with rags. Picking up my toolbox, I lit a lantern and led the way out of my office. As I
stepped into the corridor I nearly fell over my own feet in order to avoid treading on a toad.

"Trevor!" Neville darted past me, nearly knocking me over as I was still off balance. "I thought
I'd left you back on my bed!"

The boy blushed as he looked up at me guiltily. "Sorry, Mr. Filch..." he said, putting Trevor in
his pocket.

Usually I would have spent the next several minutes yelling about careless children who couldn't
keep track of their pets. But I simply didn't have the energy. It takes a great deal out of me to shout at
Neville. I know, because I've it done so many times. Not as often as Professor Snape has done, but close.
Without meaning to be, Neville is one of the most infuriating students at Hogwarts.

Neville is clumsy and unlucky (which was why I'd given all the breakable bottles to Ginny to
carry) but he is also earnest and brave and unfailingly good natured. Not to mention self-effacing. I've
even heard him say that he's "almost a squib." I am glad that he doesn't know I've overheard him. The
foolish boy might want to fall through the floor with embarrassment. Knowing him as I do, it's safe to say
that he might actually, literally, fall through the floor. And then who would have to mend the hole? Me,
that's who.

You can't be "almost" a squib. You either are, or you aren't. Believe me, I know. It really makes
me want to give him a good, hard shake.

Neville Longbottom is, most definitely, a wizard. An almost unbelievably inept one sometimes,
but a wizard. I could have told him that his magic was as strong as anyone's (and certainly much stronger
than mine!) but I knew the boy would never believe me. That's what infuriates me about him, more than
anything else.

Holding the lantern, I led the way through the labyrinth of dungeon corridors. Our destination
was several long passages away, but the walk took even longer than it should have because Trevor
managed to get away from Neville twice. The second time Mrs. Norris caught the toad before Neville
managed to, and I had to snatch him away from her. This put my cat in a miserable temper.

"You can't eat that creature!" I scolded Mrs. Norris, while Neville and Ginny checked Trevor
over to make sure that he was uninjured. "Not even the boy knows where it's been!"

By the time we reached the gloomy dead-end passage with the small storeroom I'd been heading
for, I was in a foul temper myself. In other words, I felt perfectly normal. What a relief.

"Hardly one of the show-places of the Castle, is it?" I growled, when I saw the nervous looks on
their faces. "Well, I come down here fairly often, and nothing's ever gotten me. The only thing we'll find
down here is some hard work."

"Has Professor McGonagall told you anything about the job we'll be doing?" I added harshly.

Both children shook their heads.

"It's going to be painstaking, and tedious!" I warned them, warming to my subject. "It'll strain
your eyes and get your hands dirty!"

I unlocked the door to a small, dingy storeroom with a dirt floor, crowded with crates and boxes
and unidentifiable bits of lumber. An earthy, musty smell rose around us.

Neville and Ginny watched wide eyed, as I set the lamp on the floor beside my tools and began
wrestling a large, heavy crate out into the passage. "You'll probably get your fair share of splinters too, I
should imagine..." I continued, wiping sweat from my face. "Not to mention smashing your fingers when
we start hammering..."

"Mr. Filch?" Ginny interrupted me. "Professor McGonagall said that we were to help you. Please,
why don't you let us get everything out? Tell us what we need. We can use a levitation charm."

"I am perfectly capable of moving a few crates and boxes!" I growled at her. I knew that she'd be
all right with the levitation charm, but I was worried that poor Longbottom would drop something large
and heavy on top of me. Accidentally, but that wouldn't make it any less painful. I'd spent enough time in
the hospital wing lately, thank you very much.

To my surprise, both children came forward to help me as I started moving the next crate. Denied
the use of their magic, they readily put their backs into the job instead. With the three of us lifting, it
wasn't that heavy. Before long there were three crates out in the passage, and I was prying them open.

Besides a plentiful amount of cobwebs, dust and spiders, these crates contained empty paintings.
Not blank canvases, just paintings vacated by their inhabitants. The frames were broken, the canvases
were dingy, a few of them were torn, and the colors muted with grime.

"Where have the people in them gone?" Neville asked, sneezing. Trevor had hopped out of his
pocket again, but the toad was staying nearby, apparently stalking the many scuttling spiders.

"They're all over the Castle. Staying in other paintings, mostly, with friends..." I said. I paused to
give Mrs. Norris an angry look. She appeared to be weighing the odds of making another successful go at
catching Trevor.

"Don't even think it!" I said to her. "If you do, we'll never get any work done!"

Wide-eyed, Neville retrieved the toad. Trevor had a mouthful of spiders, and went willingly back
into the boy's pocket.

"I was supposed to clean these up ages ago," I said. "But, with one thing and another..." my voice
trailed off in embarrassment.

"Oh! This one's lovely..." Ginny was examining a painting of a meadow filled with wildflowers.
"Who lives in it?"

"Er... a maiden and a unicorn, I believe. The unicorn has been staying in a forest in one of the
paintings near the prefects' bath entrance. The wretched creature gives me dark looks whenever I walk by.
I don't know where the maiden has gotten herself to."

"I'll start with this one," Ginny said.

Neville selected a painting of a table, with a banquet spread out on it, surrounded by empty
chairs.

"You must be getting plenty of dark looks from this lot," he said, sympathetically. "They ought to
be terribly hungry by now..."

Before long I had them both set up with rags, bottles of cleaning solution and careful
instructions. "Only a dab of the potion is needed to clean off the dust and restore the brightness of the
colors. Too much might damage the paint. And, for best results, try to move in the same direction as the
brushstrokes!"

Ginny and Neville nodded and went to work willingly enough.

When I saw that they'd gotten the hang of it, I turned my attention to fixing loose frames and
mending rips in canvas.

I was squinting over my work, when I noticed a tingle of magic whispering against my skin. The
light seemed to have improved. I looked up to see my lantern levitating beside me.

Globes of glowing light were also illuminating the area near Neville and Ginny.

"Miss Weasley! You are not supposed to use magic during a detention!" I growled.

"I'm not using magic to do the work," she said earnestly. "Just to make things a bit easier for all
of us. You were straining your eyes. You needed more light, but we need the light too. This seemed the
best solution."

I had to admit, the child had a point.

"I like having the extra light..." Neville admitted shyly. "Brightens the place up a bit."

He had a point too.

Both of them were wise enough not to press me any further. At least not with words. But there
were looks of entreaty on their grubby faces. They were working hard, diligent and uncomplaining
enough to impress even Helga Hufflepuff. These were good children, as Minerva had told me.

I did not know that those globes of light, and the levitation charm on my lantern were the first
spells used in this little dead-end passage, in front of the small storeroom with the dirt floor, in a dragon's
age. I had absolutely no idea what I was setting in motion. I was thinking "What harm will it do?" Merlin
help me, I was trying to be kind.

"All right, keep the lights. And keep the lantern up for me too, if it's not a strain for you," I
muttered.

I consider everything that happened later to be all my fault.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

Author's Notes:

RioRaptor: Yes, Filch looked so cool in the movie! "God, I miss the screaming!" What a great line! Say
"Hi!" to Shadow for me!

Gramarye, Thank you for your very kind words!

Warlise: Excellent point about how people who do the sort of work that Filch does become a)invisible and
b) highly observant!

Zebee: Filch knows he's cruel, but he wouldn't call himself "mindlessly" so. From his point of view, the
students stay up late at night thinking of ways to make his life miserable and he's simply returning the
favor. Being so relentlessly cantankerous takes plenty of hard work, clean living, dedication and
imagination! ;-) Though, yes, in my stories he is going to start to realize that some of the students do have
redeeming qualities.

Rabbit: Thank you for your very kind words! I'm glad that I didn't stay lost!

Alys Landale: These stories are the first ones that I've ever written in first person POV. Writing this way
is tricky sometimes, but it felt right. Perhaps I should worry because I find it easy to hear Filch's voice?
Nah.

I post as often as I can, as long as the story that I'm working on continues to flow smoothly. But I don't
have a posting schedule.

Quoth the Raven: Poor Filch. He doesn't seem to appear in very many fan-fics, does he? He sure is fun to
write, though.

Blue Meanies: I've read and enjoyed stories where Minerva and Severus are romantically involved, but
they aren't going to have a romantic relationship in my stories. Minerva cares for Severus deeply, though.
He's her former student, current colleague & sparring partner and her sometimes infuriating friend. She
feels protective of him and doesn't like to see him getting hurt.

Nightengale: Thank you for your very kind words!




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