POV: Argus Filch
I was an ugly child. You've probably never seen a child that's plain ugly. But I was.
And my parents hated me for it.
I paid for it.
My mother was a stunning woman who became quickly fascinated with Muggles. And their drugs. Every weekend since I was three, I've walked alone, along the Muggle streets to visit her in rehab. Every weekend, she sits motionless. She looks at me carefully. And I look at her. I notice the track marks up and down her arm. Her sickly, pale, white, arm. They are cuts and they are repulsive. She's still beautiful though, my mother. Beautiful and sick. I visit her for an hour and I've never said a word to her during that 60 minutes, that 3600 seconds. And every week, approximately three and a half minutes before I leave, she says, "You are ugly." I look at her. And just then, at that moment, I hate her. How can I hate a woman who gave birth to me? And I hate myself for hating her,
My father was sick. When I was six, he began coming into my room late at night and making me do things and screaming at me that I was ugly. Horrible things. And every night since I was six, I've cried. And regardless, I've loved him. Because he's my dad. He gave me life. A life not worth living, but still, a life. And every morning, he greeted me, "Good morning son. How did you sleep?" I looked at him and I hated him. Just then. But it was a fleeting feeling and I loved him. Still. I loved him like a son should love his father. My father died alone. In some prostitute's bed. Alone.
Hogwarts has been a safe haven for me since I was 11. But I was a Squib. And everyone knew it. So I got notes in my dormitory that said, "Squib". I got hit in the hallways. I was teased every day until I was forced to cry. In front of them. Lucius Malfoy beat me up until I was shivering and crying, my nose bloody. He did it in front of everyone. "Say 'I'm ugly'." He told me. And he made me repeat him. "I am ugly, I am ugly, I am ugly." I sobbed. Even the teachers thought it was funny.
When I went to Hogwarts, I got a cat, Mrs. Norris. She has been my only friend for 39 years. Dad hated her. He kicked her and abused her like he abused me. But different, because he kicked her on the outside, but he kicked me on the inside.
Today, I visited my mother. I rose ten seconds before she could say that I was ugly. I turned, fighting back tears. "Wait!" she cried. My mother begged me to stay. "Come here." She whispered. "You are beautiful. You are my baby and I love you. My beautiful, beautiful, beautiful baby." I turned and sobbed. And she held me, like a mother should. And that was when I realized that I wasn't ugly.
I was an ugly child. You've probably never seen a child that's plain ugly. But I was.
And my parents hated me for it.
I paid for it.
My mother was a stunning woman who became quickly fascinated with Muggles. And their drugs. Every weekend since I was three, I've walked alone, along the Muggle streets to visit her in rehab. Every weekend, she sits motionless. She looks at me carefully. And I look at her. I notice the track marks up and down her arm. Her sickly, pale, white, arm. They are cuts and they are repulsive. She's still beautiful though, my mother. Beautiful and sick. I visit her for an hour and I've never said a word to her during that 60 minutes, that 3600 seconds. And every week, approximately three and a half minutes before I leave, she says, "You are ugly." I look at her. And just then, at that moment, I hate her. How can I hate a woman who gave birth to me? And I hate myself for hating her,
My father was sick. When I was six, he began coming into my room late at night and making me do things and screaming at me that I was ugly. Horrible things. And every night since I was six, I've cried. And regardless, I've loved him. Because he's my dad. He gave me life. A life not worth living, but still, a life. And every morning, he greeted me, "Good morning son. How did you sleep?" I looked at him and I hated him. Just then. But it was a fleeting feeling and I loved him. Still. I loved him like a son should love his father. My father died alone. In some prostitute's bed. Alone.
Hogwarts has been a safe haven for me since I was 11. But I was a Squib. And everyone knew it. So I got notes in my dormitory that said, "Squib". I got hit in the hallways. I was teased every day until I was forced to cry. In front of them. Lucius Malfoy beat me up until I was shivering and crying, my nose bloody. He did it in front of everyone. "Say 'I'm ugly'." He told me. And he made me repeat him. "I am ugly, I am ugly, I am ugly." I sobbed. Even the teachers thought it was funny.
When I went to Hogwarts, I got a cat, Mrs. Norris. She has been my only friend for 39 years. Dad hated her. He kicked her and abused her like he abused me. But different, because he kicked her on the outside, but he kicked me on the inside.
Today, I visited my mother. I rose ten seconds before she could say that I was ugly. I turned, fighting back tears. "Wait!" she cried. My mother begged me to stay. "Come here." She whispered. "You are beautiful. You are my baby and I love you. My beautiful, beautiful, beautiful baby." I turned and sobbed. And she held me, like a mother should. And that was when I realized that I wasn't ugly.