Argus Filch: Something More

4: Reminisce

It was a thing she hated almost as much as those nails of his. Those nails were what had gotten him the nickname, had been the first thing she noticed about him, the cloud of filth he carried wherever he went. Bits and pieces of the filth were not physically there, but they were there in her mind. Every bit of dust reminded her of the dust beneath his fingernails. Every spot of dirt on her clothing was reminiscent of the very same dirt she had brushed off his face. These many hours later, and she could still feel the smooth skin beneath her fingertips.

Cecilia sighed and the thoughts scattered from her brain. She didn't need him. She already had a man in her life, one she actually trusted and was blood-related. Why would she need a complete stranger - alright, not a completely foreign stranger - in her life when she had her brother, Henry? Besides, the semi decent time she had spent with Argus Filch had either been drunk or meaningless arguments. She had better memories with her brother, whom, to be fair, had known her much, much longer than Filch had. Still, could it be any more difficult to get a straight answer from that man?

Her eyes closed and dreamland came upon her, a habit she had been meaning to break since she was six years old. Now, eighteen years later, she still had not quite broken that habit. Lifelong habits would last longer than life itself, God knows how. 

A second later, and she felt the smooth temple of Argus Filch under her fingers. She rubbed the very tip of her fingers in small circles on the spot the headache was persisting on her own head. He smiled slightly, but it was more of a grimace, but a smile was a smile. Ah, it was good to have Filch back.

She greeted his smile with one of her own. His smile faded, a sight that made her heart seem to fall. Her smile remained in this newfound memory that ceased to exist but only in her mind. She liked it though, real or not.

Swiftly, her hand touched his in a manner of a second. He looked down at it and his hand turned over, exposing his palm where the lines in the skin were covered with a thin patch of dirt and dust. In all the filth she had seen, she could still see the beauty hidden beneath coat and coat of the stuff. With a fingertip, she traced a half-spiral into the dust and another next to it. They were connected by a V at the bottom. Argus stared at the heart she had drawn.

Cecilia spoke, "Beneath the dirt is a hidden beauty. I can see it in you, buried by all the hate and filth you find in your life. You just don't see the good things, Argus."

But the words were for no one, because Argus Filch was not really there, seated beside her, watching as she continued tracing hearts into the filth on his arm, each time brushing more of the dust into herself. The act was stupid, worthless, like all the other dreams she had. Filch could see that; it seemed all he could see in life was what affected himself. He just didn't know how much he was beginning to affect her.

There were two types of love in her life: family love and this new love she was starting to feel around Argus. No, she shook her head. She had only known this man for a little over two days, and most of that was a foggy collection of memories scattered from walking into the Hog's Head than waking up at her house the next morning. Her headache was gone now. She knew memories do not just simply last a few hours than disappear from existence until the next time she picked up a bottle. Oh, how she wished they did.

Henry came in to her room, unlocking it with a spell, to check on her. She said she was fine, but she was not, not really. She had locked her bedroom door magically to keep him out, but he had left, leaving her with a useless spell her brother knew the counter curse to anyhow. Argus did not know the counter curse, and even if he had, it would not be much use. He had said it himself: Squibs were as useless as the dust he had to clean from the halls.

Cecilia did not want to believe that, that Filch was worthless. In the eyes of others, he may be. In her eyes, though, he was worth more than any Pureblood. Henry may had disagreed, but spoke none of it. He knew better than to start an argument when her sister was the most stubborn Pureblood  he knew.

~

Argus Filch had not even thought of taking a backwards glance at the home. He had spent the night there, nothing more, nothing less. Strictly speaking, he should not have been there in the first place. What he should have done was go into Diagon Alley maybe with a fellow wizard and spent the night there. He could have spent the night in some Muggle motel, or better yet slept on the floor of that pub in Hogsmeade. Still, he should not have spent the night in a full-wizard household. Of course, he did not know it at the time but Cecilia Young was not just a witch but a Purely blooded one, too. There was no law about it, but that would not stop the glares and scoffs had the neighbors known they had housed a Squib, a good enough Muggle. Besides, even if he was a full-blood wizard, he would have had no reason to be there; trespassing was trespassing. And the alcohol made it a tenfold worse.

Ah, that was it. His mind came with a new thinking. If he had not went to the pub, he would not have had to been a burden on the Youngs. He thought back and chose that if he had not ran into Cecilia, he would not have gone into the pub - she had been coming from there after all. He backtracked farther, coming to the conclusion of yesterday morning. The Headmaster had given him a 'vacation' and because of it Argus had taken the way out of Hogwarts through Hogsmeade where he met Cecilia outside the Hog's Head and then the evening took its way from there. So it was not Filch's fault, nor Cecilia, but the Headmaster himself's fault as to why he had been trespassing on the Young's property. He shook his head and sighed, knowing he was wrong. It was his own fault, but he was too proud to admit it. It really was his own fault as to why he was staring right back at the front door of the Young household, knowing that he was trespassing once more.