Argus Filch: Something More

8: Closed Eyes, Open Mind

The following contains violence.

It seemed a bizarre thing to think that up until almost a week ago, Cecilia had been acquainted with two uncommon people, a Squib and a Legilimens, though were they really as uncommon as witches and wizards on the street may have said? In the number of people whom actually knew one, that would be rather high considering Filch's care taking of Hogwarts. Despite this, Cecilia was beginning to realize the Legilimens was constant in being, but the Squib...he was more complicated.

Certainly, it had been not a single day past two weeks nearly since Argus and Cecilia had last spoken. She was content with that. Her conscience was a different tale.

Thoughts and dreams of Argus Filch lingered in her mind. It did not matter whether it was night or day, she would catch herself thinking of him. His hair, predominant being of brown with premature graying, she wanted to touch. She wanted to look into his pale-colored eyes and stare and stare into the depths of them.

No, there was not a point in thinking of a man like him. All this feeling was some blasted post-teenage hormones springing from the lack of a teenage romance at her time in Hogwarts. That was it. Still, a part of her nagged, the part of her inner teenager longing. Cecilia shook her head. She was twenty-four, not some fourteen-year-old crushing on a schoolmate!

That was not it because she was 'some' twenty-four-year-old crushing on the caretaker of a school.

A bitter taste shuffled onto her tongue. 'Crush' was evident of the teenager-ness of the situation. Lying to herself would not do any good. Anyway, Mentis, the Legilimens, had already seen enough 'evidence' to prove Cecilia was cru- no, she was taking a liking to Argus Filch. The dreamt-up image of Filch looking not so filthy passed through her mind for the third time that day. She shook her head and the memory dispatched itself.

Cecilia wrote on the parchment lying before her on the desk:

Dear Mr. Mentis Lestrage, July 23, 1982

You seem to know more about people than they know about themselves. That is certainly an understatement, a great one. What you do is a nasty business that I cannot help but realize intrigues me all the while to what it is you do (mind control may have its perks).

As sincere as can be,

C.

~

It was but a moment past the barn owl she sent had returned. The only thing was the owl did not return the letter to Cecilia, but to her brother.

To say Henry was outraged would be an understatement. More or less did he rip the letter from the owl's beak and gripped the bird itself in his other hand. The owl let out a screech of discomfort, but Henry did not loosen his grip. Much rather, his grip tightened to where his knuckles flashed white and the bird's eyes bulged. One was not needed to be a Ravenclaw to know the bird was on the edge of death with only Henry's fingers to prevent it from its untimely death.

The bird squawked, and Cecilia walked into the room, having not heard the ruckus over the television broadcasting. Her face paled when she saw the owl. "Henry - put down that bird!"

Henry stared at her. He, instead, opened the letter with one hand, struggling slightly but succeeding nevertheless. His lips moved as he read over each line. Eyebrows narrowing more and more at each. He read through the letter once, twice, before saying, "It appears this mind-freak friend of yours is one I haven't met yet, and what better than to meet him through his own ink!"