Title: Caught
Author: SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Warnings: Strong language, spoilers for all the books
A/N: Snape centers the fic, flanked by possibly the most underappreciated character of the
HP universe--Argus Filch. No slash! Shame on you for even thinking that! Ew, now I feel
dirty...Seriously? I actually like the dynamics of this idea: Why, exactly, does Snape trust
Filch enough to show him his Fluffy-inflicted wounds and even *tell* him how he got them?
"Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.
'Blasted thing,' Snape was saying. 'How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?'
Harry tried to shut the door quietly but--
'POTTER!'
Snape's face twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.
'I just wondered if I could have my book back.'
'GET OUT! *OUT*!'"
--Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
"Caught"
Argus Filch realized that Professor Snape was limping when he entered the main hall.
He scrambled over and said, "What happened? Are you all right?"
"No, I'm not all damned right." Snape hissed through gritted teeth. The old caretaker of
the castle flinched at his harsh tone. Of all the teachers at Hogwarts, Filch feared only Snape.
"Let's get you to the Hospital Wing then."
"No!" Filch's pale eyes registered surprise at the note of panic in Snape's voice. The
younger man was leaning heavily on him, but he staggered to his feet and regained his
balance. "Madame Pomfrey doesn't need to be involved."
A look of comprehension lighted Filch's face as he murmured, "I see. The staff room is
empty. We'll go there."
****
Filch prided himself on knowing something about every student who had ever passed
through the halls of Hogwarts during his stint as caretaker. What he knew about Severus
Snape made him extremely cautious around the dark-eyed, enigmatic Potions Master.
Snape had been a Death Eater. Filch was a Squib. Little more than a decade ago,
Filch was the sort of person that Snape killed on a regular basis. But that wasn't the whole
reason why Filch feared him.
Snape was also the only teacher who treated Filch like an equal, sharing with the old
man his opinions on many things (they saw eye-to-eye on a majority of those things), and
sharing with him too a very strange and dark secret.
The Philosopher's Stone of Nicholas Flamel was in Hogwarts, the third-floor corridor on
the right-hand side. Filch knew that, but only because Snape had told him. Dumbledore
was the one with superiority issues, Filch had decided long ago. Except for the times when
Filch consistently bothered the Headmaster over matters like closing off cursed rooms or
clearing out one of the hidden passages, Dumbledore was very secretive about the
restrictions he saw fit to place on the castle.
Filch was worried. Why *had* Snape told him so much about the Philosopher's Stone?
Did he mean for Filch to be killed off later, once he'd served his purpose? The caretaker
wouldn't have put it past him.
****
Snape collapsed onto one of the chairs in the staff room and shut his eyes, grimacing
against the pain. "It was Quirrell," he groaned.
"Quirrell, Quirrell...he was in the year below you, wasn't he?" Filch asked as he went to
find some bandages and antibacterial solutions.
"Yes..." Snape muttered. "Slatero Quirrell...he was in the same year as my sister...I
never thought that he..."
Filch squatted beside Snape's chair. Snape tugged his robes up over his knees,
revealing the extent of the damage wrought by Hagrid's Fluffy. "People are never what we
think they are...this is going to sting."
The solution bubbled as he dabbed it carefully onto Snape's leg. Wincing, Snape
commented, "I don't know how he's doing it, though."
"Doing what?" Filch asked.
"Speaking to the Dark Lord." Snape answered. "My Mark is still as faded as it was
after his downfall."
"Hm. Isn't Slatero supposed to be talented in the Dark Arts?" Using a fresh handcloth,
Filch cleaned Snape's limb of blood and solution. "If so, could he have used some...ritual
or...well, I'm not sure. But he could have done something to contact You-Know-Who,
couldn't he?"
"It's possible." Snpe admitted. Filch poured a different, stronger solution on this time.
Snape snarled, "Shit! Will you at least warn me the next time you decide to pour liquid
fucking fire on me?"
"Sorry. Hell, it's not *my* freak-dog that bit you. I don't even like damned dogs." Filch
grunted. When Snape's leg was dried again, he passed the professor a roll of cloth
bandages.
"Blasted thing. How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"
Snape complained. Suddenly, his head jerked upward, his dark eyes flashing toward the
door.
"POTTER!" He bellowed, dropping his robes to hide his leg. Potter looked like he'd
just come face-to-face with a very peeved manticore.
"I just wondered if I could have my book back," he said in a very scared, strangled voice.
Snape would hear none of it.
"GET OUT! *OUT*!" He roared.
Harry was gone. Filch snarled, "Damned nosy brat. Just like his bloody talented
father. Just like all these little wand-waving bastards." He got up and shut the door.
Snape had finished wrapping his leg. He growled, "That nosiness of Potter's will get
him nowhere but a bad end."
Suddenly, Filch shuddered. "Professor...you may be right. I've got a bad feeling...
something about the Quidditch match. I don't know...but...watch out for Slatero, will you?"
Snape studied the old man with a new intensity. Filch may have been a Squib, but he
was not without usefulness beyond his cleaning abilities. The thing about Filch's 'bad
feelings' was that they were rarely ever far off the mark.
"Do you think he'll try to get the Stone during the match?" Snape inquired. Filch shook
his head.
"No, no...but something. He's going to try something. I know it." Filch turned his pale,
lamplike eyes imploringly on Snape. "Please, Professor, don't let anything happen."
Snape regarded Filch quietly. Being unused to most forms of magic (his range of
experience encompassed only the messes left behind), Argus Filch was easily frightened
by his uncanny ability to tell when people on the grounds of Hogwarts were up to no good.
But he was usually not aware of it, and that was what made him such an excellent
caretaker.
The Professor patted him on the shoulder in a rare display of almost filial affections. He
said reassuringly, "Nothing will happen if I can stop it, Argus."
Author: SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Warnings: Strong language, spoilers for all the books
A/N: Snape centers the fic, flanked by possibly the most underappreciated character of the
HP universe--Argus Filch. No slash! Shame on you for even thinking that! Ew, now I feel
dirty...Seriously? I actually like the dynamics of this idea: Why, exactly, does Snape trust
Filch enough to show him his Fluffy-inflicted wounds and even *tell* him how he got them?
"Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.
'Blasted thing,' Snape was saying. 'How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?'
Harry tried to shut the door quietly but--
'POTTER!'
Snape's face twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.
'I just wondered if I could have my book back.'
'GET OUT! *OUT*!'"
--Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
"Caught"
Argus Filch realized that Professor Snape was limping when he entered the main hall.
He scrambled over and said, "What happened? Are you all right?"
"No, I'm not all damned right." Snape hissed through gritted teeth. The old caretaker of
the castle flinched at his harsh tone. Of all the teachers at Hogwarts, Filch feared only Snape.
"Let's get you to the Hospital Wing then."
"No!" Filch's pale eyes registered surprise at the note of panic in Snape's voice. The
younger man was leaning heavily on him, but he staggered to his feet and regained his
balance. "Madame Pomfrey doesn't need to be involved."
A look of comprehension lighted Filch's face as he murmured, "I see. The staff room is
empty. We'll go there."
****
Filch prided himself on knowing something about every student who had ever passed
through the halls of Hogwarts during his stint as caretaker. What he knew about Severus
Snape made him extremely cautious around the dark-eyed, enigmatic Potions Master.
Snape had been a Death Eater. Filch was a Squib. Little more than a decade ago,
Filch was the sort of person that Snape killed on a regular basis. But that wasn't the whole
reason why Filch feared him.
Snape was also the only teacher who treated Filch like an equal, sharing with the old
man his opinions on many things (they saw eye-to-eye on a majority of those things), and
sharing with him too a very strange and dark secret.
The Philosopher's Stone of Nicholas Flamel was in Hogwarts, the third-floor corridor on
the right-hand side. Filch knew that, but only because Snape had told him. Dumbledore
was the one with superiority issues, Filch had decided long ago. Except for the times when
Filch consistently bothered the Headmaster over matters like closing off cursed rooms or
clearing out one of the hidden passages, Dumbledore was very secretive about the
restrictions he saw fit to place on the castle.
Filch was worried. Why *had* Snape told him so much about the Philosopher's Stone?
Did he mean for Filch to be killed off later, once he'd served his purpose? The caretaker
wouldn't have put it past him.
****
Snape collapsed onto one of the chairs in the staff room and shut his eyes, grimacing
against the pain. "It was Quirrell," he groaned.
"Quirrell, Quirrell...he was in the year below you, wasn't he?" Filch asked as he went to
find some bandages and antibacterial solutions.
"Yes..." Snape muttered. "Slatero Quirrell...he was in the same year as my sister...I
never thought that he..."
Filch squatted beside Snape's chair. Snape tugged his robes up over his knees,
revealing the extent of the damage wrought by Hagrid's Fluffy. "People are never what we
think they are...this is going to sting."
The solution bubbled as he dabbed it carefully onto Snape's leg. Wincing, Snape
commented, "I don't know how he's doing it, though."
"Doing what?" Filch asked.
"Speaking to the Dark Lord." Snape answered. "My Mark is still as faded as it was
after his downfall."
"Hm. Isn't Slatero supposed to be talented in the Dark Arts?" Using a fresh handcloth,
Filch cleaned Snape's limb of blood and solution. "If so, could he have used some...ritual
or...well, I'm not sure. But he could have done something to contact You-Know-Who,
couldn't he?"
"It's possible." Snpe admitted. Filch poured a different, stronger solution on this time.
Snape snarled, "Shit! Will you at least warn me the next time you decide to pour liquid
fucking fire on me?"
"Sorry. Hell, it's not *my* freak-dog that bit you. I don't even like damned dogs." Filch
grunted. When Snape's leg was dried again, he passed the professor a roll of cloth
bandages.
"Blasted thing. How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"
Snape complained. Suddenly, his head jerked upward, his dark eyes flashing toward the
door.
"POTTER!" He bellowed, dropping his robes to hide his leg. Potter looked like he'd
just come face-to-face with a very peeved manticore.
"I just wondered if I could have my book back," he said in a very scared, strangled voice.
Snape would hear none of it.
"GET OUT! *OUT*!" He roared.
Harry was gone. Filch snarled, "Damned nosy brat. Just like his bloody talented
father. Just like all these little wand-waving bastards." He got up and shut the door.
Snape had finished wrapping his leg. He growled, "That nosiness of Potter's will get
him nowhere but a bad end."
Suddenly, Filch shuddered. "Professor...you may be right. I've got a bad feeling...
something about the Quidditch match. I don't know...but...watch out for Slatero, will you?"
Snape studied the old man with a new intensity. Filch may have been a Squib, but he
was not without usefulness beyond his cleaning abilities. The thing about Filch's 'bad
feelings' was that they were rarely ever far off the mark.
"Do you think he'll try to get the Stone during the match?" Snape inquired. Filch shook
his head.
"No, no...but something. He's going to try something. I know it." Filch turned his pale,
lamplike eyes imploringly on Snape. "Please, Professor, don't let anything happen."
Snape regarded Filch quietly. Being unused to most forms of magic (his range of
experience encompassed only the messes left behind), Argus Filch was easily frightened
by his uncanny ability to tell when people on the grounds of Hogwarts were up to no good.
But he was usually not aware of it, and that was what made him such an excellent
caretaker.
The Professor patted him on the shoulder in a rare display of almost filial affections. He
said reassuringly, "Nothing will happen if I can stop it, Argus."