Denial

Argus Fudge hugged his knees. He was hiding in his family’s garret and was hoping no one would find him. Argus spent a lot of time hiding upstairs in the garret; it was nice to be alone and have somewhere to think. Argus had quite a bit of thinking to do. Next month would be his eighth birthday. Most boys his age would be excited at the prospect of their upcoming birthday, but Argus was terrified. His parents had decided to take him to a Healer if he didn’t show some magic by the time he turned eight

Most young wizards had their first signs of magic before they were seven. Archibald Fudge, Argus’ father, had tried all sorts of ways to ‘force’ the magic out of him. His mother insisted, somewhat desperately, that Argus was just a late bloomer and simply needed time. After her husband had nearly killed Argus with his attempts, Lydia had put her foot down. She had declared that Argus would see a Healer when he was eight, hoping that this compromise would keep Argus safe from any more life or death situations.

Matters had not been helped when Cornelius, Argus’ younger brother, had turned Argus purple in one of their arguments. Archibald had proudly taken Cornelius out for ice cream, leaving Lydia to try to turn Argus back to normal.

Now Argus was running out of time. He’d spent the past hour trying to concentrate hard enough on an old hat in order to make it levitate, or burst into flame, or sing, or do anything at all that was even slightly magical. However, the hat continued to sit there, gathering dust. There was nothing remotely magical about it.

Argus could hear his mother calling for him to come down for dinner. With a sigh he got up, brushed himself off and hurried downstairs. During dinner Cornelius proudly announced that he had managed to make their next door neighbour’s cat meow like a train whistle. Archibald proudly clapped him on the back. Argus became extremely interested in moving the vegetables around on his plate. Lydia smiled at Cornelius and then muttered something about how she’d better fix the cat before Mrs Smith noticed.

After dinner, Lydia asked Argus to help her with the dishes. Once they were all washed and dried, she told him that she was going to Diagon Alley the next day and that he could come along if he liked. Argus was quite eager to get out of the house, away from his abundantly magical brother and happily agreed.

Argus spent the rest of the evening back up in the garret desperately trying to perform even the weakest magic. By now he was nearly certain that he must be a Squib. He’d heard the things his father said about Squibs, how they were dirty and a disgrace to their families. Archibald already loved Cornelius more than Argus but he at least still liked his older son. Argus knew his father would hate him if he dishonoured the family by being a Squib. He knew his mother would try to make the best of things but she’d still be terribly disappointed in him. Tears of frustration leaked down his cheeks, there had to be something he could do, perhaps if he tried harder… Maybe he just needed more time… Argus eventually fell asleep and spent the night having troubled dreams.

The next day, Lydia gave Argus a few Galleons. “Here you go, Dear. Buy yourself something nice and maybe get a snack, but don’t spoil your supper. And don’t forget to meet me back here at two,� she reminded him.

Argus happily set off to explore Diagon Alley while his mother headed for the Apothecary. He suspected she was only being so nice to him because she felt sorry for him, but it was still a welcome change.

He wandered about looking at Quidditch supplies, stopped in at Flourish and Blott’s and then proceeded to the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, he decided to go out and look at some of the Muggle shops. He’d only walked a few blocks when a storefront sign caught his attention: Black Magic. Intrigued, Argus wandered inside.

The shop was like none he had ever seen before. There were decks of cards, silk hats, wands that didn’t seem to be made of wood, and an assortment of many other things. Before Argus had had a chance to properly examine most of it, a gentleman appeared behind the counter. “How may I help you, Sir?�

“Er… erm, I was just looking,� replied the boy.

“Was there any particular magic trick that you were looking for?� asked the man.

“M-magic trick?�

“Why yes! Black Magic caters to budding magicians such as yourself, you can impress your friends and family with astounding feats of magic!�

Argus wasn’t sure he understood. “You mean I can buy stuff here that’ll let me do magic?�

The man looked at him oddly, leaned over and said in a low voice, “Well, it will look like magic.�

Argus was intrigued and spent a good hour in the shop. The owner happily showed him all sorts of interesting things. The man was very helpful and Argus placed a rather large order with him. The owner promised most of it would arrive at the post office within three days. Argus was so excited at the prospect of buying himself more time that he didn’t even wonder why the man accepted Galleons. Neither did he notice the sympathetic look on the man’s face as he left.

It was several minutes before Argus realized that he was lost. He couldn’t find the sign for the Leaky Cauldron. After nearly an hour of searching, he sat down on the sidewalk hoping his mother would be able to find him.

It was nearly half past three when Lydia found her son. She’d been desperately searching for him and had finally met someone who’d remembered seeing a boy about his age leave the Leaky Cauldron. By the time she found Argus sitting by himself on the verge of tears, she’d long since been angry. Argus had explained that he couldn’t find his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Lydia hugged him and took him home by side-along Apparition. She was too relieved at having found her son to worry over the fact that he had been sitting less than a block from the Leaky Cauldron and hadn’t been able to find it. She told herself that he must have simply been frightened at being lost and hadn’t noticed it. Still, she told Argus not to mention the incident to his father. There was no point worrying Archibald unnecessarily.

Argus went to bed that night so excited he could hardly sleep. In two days time the solution to his problems would arrive. He just had to walk down to the Muggle post office to collect it. Then his parents would love him as much as Cornelius again. For the first time in weeks, Argus had a good night’s sleep.

Lydia didn’t ask Argus where he was disappearing to each morning. She hoped the trip to Diagon Alley had cheered him up enough that he had gone back to playing with his friends; Tiberius and Barty. She knew he’d been avoiding them for weeks, going off to hide somewhere.

Argus wasn’t playing with his friends though. He had been walking three miles each morning to the Muggle post office in order to collect his magic tricks. He needed them to arrive soon as the owner of Black Magic had advised him to practice the tricks before showing anyone. The shop owner had even been helpful enough to show Argus a few ‘magic’ tricks and how they worked. Argus was planning on starting with something relatively simple and had already begun practicing upstairs in the garret. He’d also realized that it might be a very long time before he could go back to the magic shop, so he had ordered a good bit. It wouldn’t all arrive at once though; his white bunny would take about three weeks to arrive since it needed a proper cage and special delivery.

The third morning, Argus was delighted that a brown paper package had arrived for him. He nearly skipped the three miles back home and then snuck his treasure into the attic. He carefully removed the string and paper and opened the package to find a book, a wand, a top hat, some silk handkerchiefs and an assortment of other things.

Argus spent the whole afternoon practicing in front of a cracked old mirror in the garret. By dinner time, he still didn’t have it quite right and decided he’d have to hold off on doing it until the next day.

Lydia was delighted to see a broad grin on Argus’ face and was equally pleased to note that his appetite had finally returned. Archibald didn’t seem to notice; he was busy discussing Quidditch teams and the upcoming World Cup with Cornelius. Argus didn’t join in the discussion much, but he didn’t have the same defensive posture he’d been using for the past month.

The next day Argus was back up in the garret practicing in front of the old mirror again. After a few more hours he decided that he knew the trick flawlessly enough that he could risk an audience. He went out to the woods behind the house and picked a small bouquet of wildflowers. He knew daisies were his mother’s favourite so he was sure to pick plenty of those.

One last practice in front of the mirror and he was ready for his grand debut. He waited eagerly in the garret, watching out the window for his father to Apparate at the gate. Within minutes Archibald popped into view and made his way up the walk. Argus hurried downstairs to the kitchen. His mother had been baking cookies.

“Mum, may I please have a cookie?� Argus asked.

“Of course you can, Dear,� Lydia answered. She looked at her son somewhat suspiciously. He was normally polite, but not quite that polite.

Just as Archibald entered the room, Argus replied, “Thank you, Mum.� He then produced the bouquet of wildflowers from thin air. Argus had carefully practiced his look of astonishment in the mirror and pulled the trick off flawlessly. The shop owner would have been proud, but not nearly as proud as Archibald and Lydia were.

Archibald was beaming ear to ear and Lydia was hugging Argus and crying. “That’s my boy!� boomed Archibald.

He ruffled Argus’ hair and added, “I always knew that the magic was hiding in you somewhere.�

Lydia was smiling through her tears and barely speaking coherently. “…was so worried, thought that you might be… but no matter… ..can’t remember being so proud…�

Before Argus had a chance to feel bad for deceiving his mother, his father happily announced that this called for a celebration and he was taking the entire family to the Three Broomsticks for dinner. Argus was fairly in shock. Cornelius had only been taken for ice cream, but for him they were all going out for supper. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy as his father proudly carried him out the door on his shoulders

*

The wildflowers trick had worked so well that Argus continued to improve his repertoire. He cleaned up the garret and even polished the old mirror. All of his tricks were kept in a large trunk against the far wall. Argus was quite certain that no one would ever go looking there.

He had now ‘repaired’ his father’s torn newspaper, produced any number of handkerchiefs, made a few of Cornelius’ toys disappear, and reappear. Today he was quite excited, the white bunny had arrived the day before and he was nearly ready to produce it from a hat. He remembered what the man at the magic shop had told him and was careful not to hold the bunny by the ears. He didn’t want to hurt the bunny; he was hoping that if he impressed his father enough he’d be allowed to keep him as a pet. Today was Argus’ eighth birthday and what he wanted most was to be able to keep his pet bunny, who he’d named, Whiskers. A few weeks before the only thing Argus had wanted was to not be a Squib, now he had hopes and dreams again. He was back to playing with Barty and Tiberius, when he wasn’t practicing. It was as though being able to do something that looked like magic meant that he wasn’t a Squib after all. Argus hadn’t even begun to worry over the fact that he couldn’t keep pretending forever.

Early in the afternoon Argus scurried downstairs, keeping Whiskers well hidden. He’d carefully practiced and completely impressed his father with the appearance of the white rabbit.

“You’re magic is just taking off isn’t it, Son?� asked his father, beaming with pride. “You’ll be excellent at Transfiguration, just like I was and my father too. Transfiguration ability runs in the family.�

“May I keep the rabbit, Father?� asked Argus hopefully.

“Well, seeing as how it was a pretty impressive bit of magic and it is your birthday… I don’t see why not.�

Argus couldn’t help but beam as he held Whiskers. Before he ran upstairs his father called after him, “Oh, and Argus, try to keep the magic toned down a bit. We don’t want the Ministry here.�

Argus nodded, noting his father’s smile. It was a bit of a relief that he didn’t have to continue performing his magic tricks. He still planned to practice in the garret though. Argus took Whiskers with him to see his best friend, Tiberius. They hadn’t played much in the past few weeks but Tiberius was glad to see him.

“What do you have there?� asked Tiberius eagerly.

Argus proudly held up the bunny. “This is Whiskers.�

“Where’d you get him? Was he a birthday gift?� asked Tiberius enviously.

“I made him appear, accidental magic,� explained Argus, somewhat smugly.

“Can you get me one too?�

Argus hadn’t considered this problem. After a few moments he lied, “I don’t know how I did it, it just happened.�

Tiberius looked a bit disappointed. “Yeah, I still don’t know how to make myself float again. I’ve been trying for weeks and weeks. Mum would kill me if I made my corduroy trousers shrink again though.�

Argus sat next to Tiberius on the grass, still holding Whiskers. “Father asked me not to try to do magic for a while, so even if I knew how I couldn’t get another.�

He gently placed Whiskers into Tiberius’ lap and added, “But you can play with him too. Whiskers, this is my best mate, Tiberius. Tiberius, this is Whiskers, the bunny.�

“Pleased to meet you, Whiskers,� giggled Tiberius. Whiskers only wiggled his nose in reply.

The two friends spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the bunny on the hilltop. Argus felt like his troubles were finally over. It was several years before they caught up with him again.

“Darius said Tiberius got his Hogwarts letter yesterday,� Cornelius informed the family.

Argus nearly choked on his toast. He hadn’t thought what to do about a Hogwarts letter. Lydia noticed the worried look on Argus’s face and tried to reassure him, “Don’t worry, Honey, I’m sure the owl is just a bit late. It should be here by tomorrow.�

Her words did nothing to reassure Argus who was quite certain that no Hogwarts letter would be arriving. He still hadn’t done any real magic and simply hadn’t worried about it for over three years. He had never thought about the now glaringly obvious problem of school. Perhaps he could pretend he got a letter and then pretend to go away to school… but then he would really have to go somewhere and he hadn’t the slightest idea where. Before Argus got much further with this doomed plan, his father’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I’ll take Argus over to Hogwarts after work today and we’ll sort the whole thing out then.�

This was not the least bit reassuring. Argus tried to protest but before he could find the right words, his father had Disapparated. Lydia misread Argus’s look of panic and told him, “Don’t worry, I’m sure your father will sort the whole thing out. I still think the owl just got lost but it would be good to have your school list. We’ll go to Diagon Alley and get your school things tomorrow.�

Argus was miserably looking at his scrambled eggs and didn’t even notice Cornelius’s look of envy. Argus had been Archibald’s favourite ever since he’d produced the rabbit and Cornelius would have jumped at the chance to see Hogwarts.

“Can I go too, Mum?� pleaded Cornelius.

Lydia ruffled Cornelius’s hair and told him, “No, Sweetheart. You’re not old enough yet and Argus is only going because his letter’s been misplaced. You can go too when you’re eleven.�

Argus excused himself from the table as Cornelius loudly complained, “It’s not fair! Argus gets to do everything! And he has Whiskers! Why can’t I have a pet?�

Just before lunch, Lydia knocked on Argus’s door but he told her he wasn’t feeling well. She had just agreed to buy Cornelius a pet owl. She was worried that Cornelius would be lonely once Argus was gone to school and hoped the owl would help keep a connection between the two brothers.

At five o’clock the grandfather clock in the front hall began to chime, sounding Argus’s doom. Should he tell his father the truth? Perhaps he could convince Hogwarts that there really was a mistake and he could still go to school. Clinging to this last desperate hope, Argus took his father’s hand as they Apparated just outside the school’s gates.

Archibald had contacted the school in advance and Mr Pringle, the caretaker was waiting for them at the gates. Mr Pringle gave Argus a look of deepest loathing and Argus could hardly help but return the look. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen such an ill-tempered person. As the three made their way up to the school, Argus couldn’t help but wonder why Mr Pringle had taken a job at Hogwarts when he so obviously hated children. The whole way up the drive Mr Pringle complained to Mr Fudge about how messy children were, how they didn’t appreciate his hard work and how they lacked proper discipline. Mr Fudge didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Mr Pringle’s complaints as he was too busy showing Argus the lake with the giant squid, the Quidditch pitch and the castle. Argus was amazed and could barely take it all in. Before he knew it, they had arrived in front of an office door. Mr Pringle rapped on the door a few times and a voice inside answered, “Come in.�

A man with long auburn hair and a matching beard was sitting at a desk. He stood up and greeted them. “Good evening, I’m Professor Dumbledore, deputy headmaster. How can I help you?�

“I thought I made the appointment with Headmaster Dippet,� replied Archibald Fudge.

Neither Dumbledore, nor Argus missed the slight emphasis on ‘headmaster’. Argus winced but Professor Dumbledore smiled broadly. “Yes, but as deputy headmaster, I am the one in charge of sending out the Hogwarts acceptance letters, so Headmaster Dippet suggested I meet with you instead. May I interest you in a sherbet lemon?�

Argus happily accepted and mumbled, “Thanks.�

Before Professor Dumbledore could tell him that he was welcome, Archibald cut him off saying, “A what lemon?�

Dumbledore politely turned to him and explained, “A sherbet lemon. It’s a type of Muggle candy. They’re quite good.�

The look on Mr Fudge’s face clearly expressed that he was there to discuss more important matters than Muggles or their sweets, ignoring the offered candy he continued, “Now, about the letter you misplaced…�

“I’m sorry to say, it hasn’t been misplaced,� answered Professor Dumbledore somberly.

“What do you mean it hasn’t been misplaced? He hasn’t received it has he? So obviously you’ve made a mistake and lost it. Or your owl did. Either way, just write us out a list of school supplies and we’ll be on our way.�

Mr Fudge’s face had taken on a slight shade of purple. Argus knew this meant his father’s temper wouldn’t hold much longer, Professor Dumbledore seemed woefully ignorant of this fact.

“Sir, I’m sorry but the letter wasn’t misplaced because I never wrote nor sent it.�

“WELL WHY THE RUDDY HELL DIDN’T YOU SEND IT?!� yelled Mr Fudge.

Professor Dumbledore suggested that Argus be permitted to leave the room but Archibald Fudge would have none of it. “No! You can tell him to his face why you neglected your duty to send him his letter!�

Dumbledore looked at Argus sadly before turning to Mr Fudge and explaining in a gentle tone of voice, “I didn’t send Argus a letter because his name was not on our list. I’m fairly certain this means that Argus is a Squib.�

Even if Argus had been allowed to leave the room he wouldn’t have been able to get far enough away to avoid hearing his father’s reply of “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY SON OF BEING A FILTHY SQUIB?!�

Dumbledore’s pleasant demeanor immediately vanished. Anger flashed in the previously twinkling eyes. He stood up from behind the desk and said in a firm yet dangerous voice, “Do not insult Squibs in my presence.�

Dumbledore turned to Argus who was trying to make himself small in a corner and told him, “Run along the corridor until you get to a picture of a bowl of fruit, tickle the pear and then go inside. I’m sure the house-elves would be delighted to serve you a snack. They’ve had precious little to do over the school holidays.�

Before Argus left he saw Professor Dumbledore throw some floo powder into his fire and inform Headmaster Dippet that matters were more complicated than expected. Argus followed Dumbledore’s instructions and found a gleaming kitchen filled with house-elves who were, as Dumbledore had indicated, only too happy to feed him. Argus found he had little appetite; he knew what his father thought of him now. He felt quite miserable being inside the wonderful school, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed to study there.

It was about a half hour later when Professor Dumbledore came back for Argus. As they walked along the corridor, Dumbledore explained, “We’ve run into a bit of a snag in convincing your father that we haven’t made a mistake. You see, we have a golden quill that inscribes the names of all magical babies upon their birth. I simply send letters to all the children’s names which were inscribed eleven years ago. However, your father insists, quite forcefully I might add, that he has seen you perform magic. Thus, I thought it would be best if you and I had a little chat in my office.�

Just as Professor Dumbledore finished telling Argus this, they had arrived at the office door. Dumbledore indicated that Argus could sit in one of the squishy purple chairs while he took the seat behind his desk.

Once Argus was seated Dumbledore looked at him with penetrating blue eyes and softly asked, “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?�

Argus wasn’t exactly sure why he told him but the words just came tumbling out. How he’d suspected he was a Squib, how he found the magic shop, the hours of practicing, his parents being pleased with him, everything. Argus was crying by the end of his story. Professor Dumbledore looked at him sadly and told him, “Your parents will eventually find out. I won’t tell them unless you want me to, but if I don’t they’ll still find out.�

Argus let out a sound somewhere between a sniffle and a yelp. “No! Don’t tell Father, he’ll hate me. You heard him, he doesn’t want a… a… one of those in the family.�

“Well, like it or not, you are what you are. Your father will still love you. There is no reason for you to be ashamed of being a Squib.�

Argus hung his head.

Dumbledore continued, “If you don’t tell him, I expect he’ll take you to Saint Mungo’s for testing. At most that will probably buy you another week or two, but as I promised, your secret is safe with me.�

Argus nodded, still studying the pattern of Dumbledore’s carpet.

“Oh, and before you go, could you perhaps show me one of your magic tricks?� asked Dumbledore, interest evident in his voice.

Argus couldn’t help but grin as he made a Galleon appear out of thin air.

Bargaining

A vein was throbbing in Archibald’s jaw as he left Hogwarts with Argus. They used side-along Apparation to return home where Archibad yelled about the incompetent deputy headmaster and the senile headmaster of Hogwarts for a good half hour.

Lydia, being somewhat more sensible, suggested they take Argus to Saint Mungo’s to see a Healer. She pointed out that he was obviously magical and that all they needed was a note from the Healers of St Mungo’s to confirm this. Then Hogwarts would have to accept him.

Argus was in shock. He’d told his secret to that Dumbledore man and if he hadn’t he might still have been able to sneak into Hogwarts. He would simply have had to fool the Healers. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. After all, Professor Dumbledore had promised not to tell so if he could trick the Healers…

As it turned out, Healer Nutcombe wasn’t the least bit interested in seeing Argus perform magic. He was mainly interested in poking and prodding and saying “Hmmm� and “Interesting.� Argus began to suspect that Healer Nutcombe was about as much of a real Healer as Argus was a real wizard. Lydia’s impression of Healer Nutcombe wasn’t much higher than Argus’s. Within the week she’d had him referred to see Healer Greengrass instead.

Healer Greengrass had a long list of ideas of why Argus’s magic was ‘repressed’. He had Argus drink funny tea and encouraged him to recount his earliest memories. It was during the interpretive dance which was to stimulate the flow of magic that Lydia decided it was time for another referral.

Healer Jenkins asked Lydia to recount as many of the events of Argus performing magic that she could recall. She was taking a good deal of notes and Argus noticed her raise her eyebrows upon hearing about Whiskers. She turned to him and gave him a penetrating stare.

“You made a white rabbit appear out of a hat?�

Argus nodded his head, fully expecting her to write him a note telling Professor Dippet to accept him to Hogwarts at once. Instead, she turned to Lydia and informed her, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your son is a Squib.�

“But.. but the rabbit…� Lydia faltered.

Healer Jenkins sighed. “It’s a Muggle magic trick. It’s not really magic. It’s sleight of hand and the ability to distract the audience. Your son is apparently quite gifted at it but I sincerely doubt he can perform any real magic.�

Argus had never seen his mother look so hurt. Suddenly he wished very much that he had confided in her instead of Professor Dumbledore. Lydia had tears in her eyes and her voice was choked. “So… the flowers, the vanishing and… and everything… none of it was real?�

She looked at Argus almost pleadingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?�

“I… I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore,� cried Argus.

Lydia looked stricken. She rushed across the room and hugged her firstborn tightly. “Argus, I’ll love you no matter what.�

Healer Jenkins coughed. She was not a woman taken to overly emotional displays and had a busy schedule to keep.

“We still have the problem of what is to be done about Argus.�

“What do you mean?� asked Lydia.

“Well, the boy is an eleven year old Squib. He can’t go to Hogwarts and because he’s escaped detection for the past four years and grown up in a wizarding household I doubt we can put him in Muggle school either.�

Lydia clutched Argus’s shoulders protectively. “Well he has to get some sort of an education! Surely, he could catch up enough to get into a Muggle school… He’d just have to be careful not to mention anything about our world.�

Healer Jenkins looked at the Fudges skeptically and turned to Argus. “Do you know how to operate a toaster?�

“Er… I don’t know what a toaster is, Ma’am,� replied Argus, deciding honesty would be a good policy with this annoyingly perceptive woman.

“I think that safely rules out a Muggle education,� replied Healer Jenkins, making a note on her clipboard. Lydia didn’t protest as she hadn’t the slightest notion what a toaster was either.

Healer Jenkins made a few other notes on her clipboard. “I think the best possible solution would be for Argus to apprentice in a Muggle magic shop. He obviously has an aptitude for it and I think I know just the place.�

She withdrew a business card and handed it to Lydia, telling her, “Inform the owner that I sent you. I expect he’ll be quite helpful.�

With that, Lydia and Argus understood themselves to be dismissed. Just as they were about to go inside, Lydia told Argus that it would probably be best if she broke the news to Archibald. Argus was only too glad to not be the one to tell his father. He hurried up to his room, ignoring the hooting of Twitters, Cornelius’s owl.

It wasn’t long before Archibald’s shouting resounded throughout the house. Argus couldn’t hear what his mother was saying in reply and decided to creep over to the staircase in hopes of overhearing.

“HE’S BEEN LYING ALL THIS TIME?!�

“Well, he thought he had to…�

“I WON’T HAVE A SQUIB SULLY THE REPUTATION OF THIS FAMILY!�

“Well you’re going to learn to live with it!�

“OH NO I’M NOT! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!�

“MY FAULT?� screamed Lydia. Her voice went down in volume but sounded deadly. “Do you think I want to live with the shame of being the mother of a Squib? Do you think I wanted any of this? How dare you say this is my fault?�

Tears blurred Argus’s vision. He hurried back to his room where he at least couldn’t hear his mother’s voice. Neither of his parents heard the footsteps overhead. Cornelius who had also been hiding in the shadows was the only one who knew what his brother had overheard.

Lydia and Archibald fought well into the night. Archibald had never been out-shouted before. In fact, he couldn’t recall Lydia ever having raised her voice to him. She had won and he had agreed to learn to live with having a Squib for a son. He hadn’t agreed to like it though.

A few days later when Twitters the owl killed Whiskers the rabbit, Archibald simply told Argus that these things happen. Argus ended up burying Whiskers by himself. Cornelius had offered to help but Argus was still angry with him and had threatened to punch him. Lydia had offered to help and even gave Argus her nicest tea towel to wrap Whiskers in. Argus thanked her for the towel but insisted on burying his pet alone.

Lydia was unaware that Argus had overheard what she’d said when fighting with her husband. The day after Whiskers’ funeral she took Argus to the place that Healer Jenkins had recommended.

Argus’s jaw dropped in shock upon seeing the name Black Magic. Working here wouldn’t be nearly as fun as being able to do real magic at Hogwarts, but it was the next best thing. Lydia nervously walked into the store and asked to speak with the owner.

“That would be me,� answered a friendly voice, “Pleased to meet you, I’m Marius Black.�

Lydia seemed slightly surprised but offered her hand and introduced herself and Argus, explaining, “We were sent here by Healer Jenkins… she thought perhaps Argus could apprentice with you.�

Marius looked at him skeptically and asked, “Can you show me a few tricks?�

Both Lydia and Marius were sufficiently impressed with the show Argus was able to put on for them. Marius told Lydia that Argus could come by for a few hours every day and apprentice with him. The pay wouldn’t be much, but it was better than nothing.

Lydia asked rather timidly, “When should he start?�

“Tomorrow’s fine,� answered Marius, “Sometime in the morning.�

Lydia thanked him and took Argus back home. Argus went through the woods, hoping to play with Tiberius and Barty but they still weren’t speaking to him. Argus wasn’t sure if it was because they were mad that he’d lied to them or because their mothers wouldn’t let them play with a Squib.

At dinner, Archibald completely ignored Argus, only speaking to Cornelius and Lydia. Lydia and even Cornelius tried to include Argus in the conversation but he didn’t really feel like talking anyway. His friends and his father were treating him like he was unclean and he was feeling quite sorry for himself.

The next day Marius showed him some of the newer stock at the magic shop. He couldn’t help but notice Argus’s lack of cheer and asked him what was wrong. Argus blurted out, “I’m a Squib! I’m disgusting and filthy, no one wants to be around me.�

Marius looked at him sternly and said, “Being a Squib is nothing to be ashamed of. Squibs are neither disgusting nor filthy and there are some more enlightened people who don’t mind spending time with a Squib.�

“How would you know?� asked Argus, sulkily.

“Because I’m a Squib too.�

Argus’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know what to say.

Marius ignored the look of disbelief on Argus’s face and continued, “I was born into the “Most Ancient and Noble family of Black�, my ancestry is as pure as anyone’s can be. When I was seven my mother realized that there wasn’t an ounce of magic in me and put me up for Muggle adoption. I completed a Muggle education and then opened a magic shop. We also sell some rather rare apothecary supplies in the backroom.�

Over the next few weeks Argus became more and more familiar with Black Magic and Marius Black. Marius was a skilled ‘magician’, a word that was new to Argus and which he greatly preferred to Squib. Every few weeks Marius would go off to do a magic show, performing his tricks and handing out business cards. Previously, he’d closed up shop during his shows but now Argus was left in charge of running Black Magic. It had taken Marius some time to explain to Argus how Muggle currency worked. Black Magic accepted both Muggle and wizard money, but they had to be certain to give back change in the same currency.

“The last thing we want is the Ministry snooping about in the shop,� explained Marius, gesturing to the backroom. The backroom contained a good deal of Class A Non-Tradeable Goods. This had initially worried Argus until Marius had explained that, technically, it wasn’t illegal.

“We’re Squibs, which are a special type of Muggle, therefore Wizarding Law doesn’t directly apply to us. Still, if they found out about it, they’d confiscate the whole lot of it and possibly try to modify our memories.�

“If you had a choice between being a wizard or a Squib, which would you choose?� asked Argus.

“Wizard, no doubt about it,� replied Marius. “But I don’t have a choice, I am a Squib and I plan to make the most of it.�

This hadn’t been the answer Argus was expecting, but after thinking it over a while, he decided that perhaps he should adopt a similar attitude.

Depression

Marius was pleased with how well Argus was learning the trade. He was a fairly good magician, caught on quickly and kept the store immaculate. Some afternoons he and Argus would sit in the back room, keeping an ear out for the shop bell, and simply talk over a cup of tea.

Argus was often surprised at how well his mentor could integrate the Muggle and Wizard world, and how knowledgeable he was in both. Marius had explained electricity to Argus and to Argus’s disgust he discovered how easy it was to ‘operate’ a toaster. Marius subscribed to several newspapers, among them, the Daily Prophet.

“Humph,� said Marius one day, putting the Daily Prophet down in disgust. Argus looked up and waited for Marius to explain.

“The Ministry is giving far too much power to the pure-bloods again, prejudice against Muggleborns is mounting. There’s some idiot out there accusing them of ‘stealing’ magic.�

Argus, having many opinions at thirteen, pointed out, “Well, what’s wrong with having pure-bloods in power? How do we know that Muggleborns aren’t stealing magic?�

Marius rolled his eyes and silently counted to five in which time Argus had added, “Maybe that explains Squibs. We’re having our magic stolen by Muggleborns.�

“That is utter nonsense,� replied Marius. “First of all, there are roughly thirty Muggleborns for every Squib, so I’d like to know who’s magic the other twenty-nine stole.�

This argument quelled Argus a good deal but Marius continued. “Secondly, pure-bloods aren’t any better than half-bloods, Muggleborns, Squibs, or just plain Muggles. In many cases they’re worse. I know; I came from a horrible pure-blood family. Think about it, they put me up for adoption at the age of seven because they were ashamed of me. Those aren’t the sort of people who should be in charge of a dog kennel, let alone a country.�

Argus looked down at his hands. He hadn’t really thought about what he had been saying.

“Thirdly, Squibs are most likely the product of this ridiculous pure-blood mania. Almost all Squibs are born into old pure-blood families. It’s a rare mutation and is most likely to occur in old Wizarding families that refuse to allow any new blood into them.�

Upon hearing this ridiculous statement Argus looked at Marius with a mixture of puzzlement and shock. “Did you just say it’s the pure-blood’s fault that there are Squibs?�

Marius stood up and walked over to a hidden cupboard, pulling open a drawer. He came back with some old papers. “My nephew’s mother-in-law, Walburga Crabbe, was a celebrated Healer in her day. She was a pure-blood who didn’t hold with a lot of the prejudicial nonsense that’s toted about nowadays. She was quietly researching Squibs and contacted me years ago. Her research found that nearly every old pure-blood family you can name has at least one Squib in it, whereas the half-blood families don’t and there has never been a reported case of a Muggleborn being the parent of a Squib.�

Argus was looking at the papers upon which there was a long list of names.


Gabriella Gaunt 1705 – 1787
Everett Crouch 1730 – 1796
Theodore Weasley 1747 – 1802
Harriet Longbottom 1766 – 1813


The list continued to modern days.

Frederick Malfoy 1870
Demeter Lestrange 1903
Marius Black 1917
Arabella Prince 1933
Argus Fudge 1927


Marius leaned over his shoulder and said, “Yeah, you messed up my timeline.�

“Sorry, had I known you wanted a complete and ordered record of every Squib in Britain I’m sure I would have changed my mind and told my parents sooner.�

Marius couldn’t help but laugh at this and replied, “You should meet Arabella, sweet kid. She’s in Muggle primary right now. Her aunt caused a huge scandal marrying a Muggle and now Arabella’s pure-blood parents are the talk of the town.�

“So… I still don’t understand how pure-bloods cause Squibs. It seems backwards.�

“Well, from how Healer Crabbe explained it to me, there’s some rare sort of thing called a mutation that some wizards have. The old pure-blood families are the most likely to have it and if both of your parents carry it there’s a chance you’ll be a Squib. Muggleborns can’t carry the mutation for some reason. So, essentially, this whole desperation to keep blood pure is what’s causing some kids to be born into very ‘pure’ families and have no magical ability. I suppose I should write mother and let her know how very pure her blood must be.�

Argus still didn’t really understand but he believed Marius. The older man had yet to lead him astray. Before he could ask any more questions the shop bell rang and Argus hurried out to sell another cape and top hat.

*

A few months later Argus entered the shop in a foul mood. He very uncharacteristically slammed the front door. Marius poked his head out to see who was abusing his door and bell and was rather surprised to see it was his apprentice.

Marius asked in a rather dry tone, “I don’t suppose something has perturbed your rather delicate good humour?�

Argus only grumbled in reply. Marius sighed; something must really be bothering the boy. In a more understanding voice he asked, “What’s wrong, Argus?�

Argus scowled and replied, “Cornelius got his letter this morning.�

“Ah. I see.�

“Father’s buying him a broomstick.�

“That’s thoughtful of him.�

The glare Marius received from Argus clearly indicated that Argus did not share Marius’ opinion.

“What would you have wanted if you’d gotten a letter?� asked Marius conversationally.

“I would have been pretty damn happy with just the letter,� answered Argus bitterly.

Marius nodded in agreement. He didn’t normally allow such language in his shop but the boy was obviously in pain.

“They gave him an owl too. No one cared when the owl killed my pet rabbit.�

“That’s a shame. Why don’t you take the morning off? I know it’s no Hogwarts letter, but I can’t very well have you scaring off my customers with that glaring face. Take a couple of coins out of the till and bring back lunch.�

Argus was rather shocked at this response but obediently took the money and left. He’d cooled off a good bit by the time he returned, carrying some sandwiches and sodas. When he got back to the shop, Marius grunted and pointed him to the back room.

As Argus entered the room, his eyes bulged in shock. There were balloons and a cake with icing that read, “Congratulations on being a Squib!� and there were two other people in the room. One was a girl a few years younger than him and the other was an elderly gentleman. Marius introduced them as Arabella Prince and Frederick Malfoy, apparently they were both Squibs too.

The four of them spent the afternoon together, having a small party. Marius had closed up the shop and proceeded to put on a magnificent magic show. Argus showed a few of his better tricks and was pleased to hear the applause of Arabella, Frederick and his mentor. Frederick gave Argus a basket of baked goods that his wife had made and Arabella gave him a rather dust coloured kitten with bright eyes.

“She’s not really a cat,� Arabella told him, “My Kneazle just had a litter. She’ll live much longer than a cat and will be ever so much smarter.�

Argus carefully held the kitten in his shirt. He didn’t know what to say.

“I hope you like her,� added Arabella, somewhat nervously.

Argus just nodded his head and grinned ear to ear. Marius noticed this as he was discussing the changing politics of the Wizarding world with Frederick. Their world was changing and it seemed to be a change for the worse. For now Marius was content to see his apprentice enjoying a moment of happiness.

*

When Argus was twenty-two he went to work one day, only to find smouldering ash where Black Magic had previously stood. The Muggle police and firefighters were at the scene but it was already too late. The official Muggle report was that some of the fireworks had exploded causing the fire in the shop and resulting in the death of Marius Black.

In one night Argus had lost nearly everything he held dear. Black Magic had been like a home to him and Marius Black had been a better father to him than Archibald Fudge ever had. All that was left to him of his time at the magic shop was the cat, or Kneazle, that Arabella had given him years earlier. Marius had suggested the name, Mrs Norris, after a character in a book that Argus had never read. She had taken to the name and refused to answer to anything else ever since.

There was a very small turnout at the funeral. Arabella and her husband came and brought notes from Frederick Malfoy and Demeter Lestrange. Both were Squibs and had gone into hiding from their families. They didn’t consider the fire at Black Magic to be an accident, especially since now the records of nearly a hundred Squib births to pure-blood families had been destroyed too. A few Muggles who owned the nearby shops attended as well. It was a cold, depressing day. Argus couldn’t remember ever having felt so alone.

He returned to his flat and put on a pot of tea, realizing that he would never again be able to sit and talk about politics in the backroom with Marius. Just as this depressing thought was sinking in, there was a knock at the door.

Argus wondered if perhaps it was another Squib who had been too frightened to come to the funeral. He was completely shocked to see Archibald Fudge standing in the doorway. Argus was nearly overcome that his father had come to give his condolences, however it turned out that Archibald’s visit had nothing to do with Marius’ death. Instead he had come to make a request of his eldest son.

“As you may have heard, Cornelius’s political career is beginning to really take off but it could really hurt him career-wise if it became public knowledge that his brother is a Squib.�

Argus’s face began to go red and blotchy. He couldn’t believe how insensitive his father was being.

“Your brother and I, we were wondering if you would consider changing your last name. It would be for the good of the family.�

“You and Cornelius and his bloody political career can go to bloody hell for all I care!�

Archibald’s face was taking on a shade of purple, but he managed to control his voice, “If you won’t do it for your brother at least think of your mother. This is a dangerous time for a witch to be the mother of a Squib.�

“GET OUT!� yelled Argus.

Archibald hurried to the door, turned around and shouted, “You are no son of mine, you filthy selfish Squib!�

“And you’re a bloody poor excuse for a father!� Argus yelled after the retreating cloak.

Argus sat back down to his kitchen table, fuming. He hurled the teapot across the room and heard it shatter into hundreds of pieces. As much as he hated to admit it, his father was right. He’d change his name, but only to protect his mother. From that day forth he considered Argus Fudge, magician, to have died in the same fire as Marius Black. Argus Filch never practiced any sort of magic, real or otherwise.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much work for an uneducated Muggle. He tried working as a farm hand out in the country but he hated the work. No matter how hard one tried, a farm was never clean. After several years of bouncing from one job to another, Argus finally swallowed his pride and went to see his brother. Cornelius had been named Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes; surely he could find something for his brother. After all, Argus’s fight was between him and his father. Cornelius and he hadn’t seen each other since the day Cornelius had first left for Hogwarts.

Argus timidly knocked at Cornelius’s office door. “Come in,� answered a voice, that he recognized as his brother’s.

The recognition pretty much ended there. The two men looked at each other and Argus knew that Cornelius didn’t even recognize him. Time had not been kind to Argus; he had aged prematurely, and was underweight. Cornelius on the other hand still had a sort of boyish look to him and could easily be described as portly.

Not knowing what else to say, he croaked, “It’s me, Argus.�

Cornelius looked at him as if dumbstruck. He continued to stare but a look of fear crossed his face. “What are you doing here? What do you want?�

“I… I was hoping you could help me find a job.� They were likely the most difficult words Argus had ever spoken.

Cornelius looked even more anxious. “A job? What sort of a job could I possibly give you? I’m- I’m sorry, Argus but that simply isn’t possible. Now, if you don’t mind leaving, I have a very important appointment that I must keep.�

There were many insults that came to mind but Argus was unable to utter any of them as they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Argus almost mechanically answered it, to find himself face-to-face with the last person he was expecting.

“Dumbledore?� he asked in disbelief. The auburn hair had faded to silver but there was no forgetting the crooked nose or bright blue eyes.

“Professor Dumbledore,� corrected Cornelius, with obvious distaste for his brother’s lack of manners.

“Have we met?� asked Professor Dumbledore, good-naturedly extending his hand.

“Years ago… but I don’t expect you’d remember…� spluttered Argus.

“Mr… er, Filch was just leaving,� explained Cornelius, trying to usher his brother towards the door.

“I’m afraid I can’t recall when we met,� continued Dumbledore, pleasantly. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting your appointment?�

“I was just looking for a job.� Argus shot Cornelius a nasty look. “But it seems I’ll have to look elsewhere.�

“Really?� asked Professor Dumbledore. Before Cornelius could interrupt he continued, “As it happens I’m currently trying to fill the position of caretaker for Hogwarts. If you’d be interested I’m sure we could set up an interview.�

Argus couldn’t think of a job he’d like less than cleaning up after magical brats but the horrified expression on Cornelius’s face made up his mind.

“I’d be much obliged,� he told the headmaster of Hogwarts.

Acceptance

It had been many years since Argus had accepted the position as caretaker of Hogwarts. It had been a fairly thankless job; cleaning up the messes of ungrateful brats, unable to make them realize how very fortunate they were to even be allowed to study in such a school. Now it seemed that Snape had abandoned them all, McGonagall was once again headmistress and she was yelling at him that he was a blithering idiot.

Apparently he had to find that menace Peeves and then escort the children to safety while the ‘real’ staff of Hogwarts protected the school. Argus didn’t even bother not to grumble about the unfairness of saving the pure-blood Slytherin snobs first. If anyone deserved to be stuck in the castle during a battle, it was them. Some nasty little Slytherin princess, who had previously compared him to a glorified house-elf, was apparently to be at the head of the line.

By the time Argus had escorted all of the students out of the school and to safety, he had made up his mind. Hogwarts had become his home and he would be damned if some Death Eaters mucked it up. Armed with only a torch and a heavy poker that he’d borrowed from the Hog’s Head, Argus marched back through the corridor, escorting a rather annoying Mrs Longbottom who wouldn’t shut up about her grandson.

Once back in the castle, Argus called for Mrs Norris. The Weasley twins may know most of the secret passageways, but there still were only two of them. Mrs Norris was put on the task of patrolling corridors and sounding the alarm should any Death Eater be sighted. Argus silently thanked Arabella, as he had many times, for the wonderful gift of his cat.

Next, Argus ran off to the broom cupboards grabbing a bucket of water and a good deal of soap. He hurried over to the library that Madam Pince had been trying to put up more protective charms on. She’d also lined up a few rather vicious looking books that Argus recognized as being for Hagrid’s third years. Madam Pince gave him a grim smile and said, “These books can look after themselves.�

He smiled in return and dumped the soapy water in front of the library doors. “That ought to give ‘em some trouble too.�

Madam Pince gave him a grateful smile and then hurried off to further secure the library’s walls. Before he could follow Irma, Argus heard Mrs Norris yowling. Brandishing his poker, Argus used the secret-passageways and was there within moments. The surprised Death Eater hadn’t even raised his wand before he’d been smashed over the head with the iron poker and crumpled to the floor. Not knowing what else to do with him, Argus dragged him off to the dungeons where he shackled the unconscious man and cheerfully snapped his wand.

He hurried back out into the fray only to find that there were now Death Eaters all over the place. He broke the nose of one who was threatening the Weasley girl. Ginny quickly disarmed the man and even said a quick “Thanks� before rushing off, leaving Argus to tie up another unconscious body. Just as he was finishing the last knots a voice cackled behind him. He turned to see a wand pointed in his face but before any incantation was uttered a flash of fur hit the Death Eater in the face, clawing off the mask and leaving sizeable gashes in the cheek of Avery.

It gave Argus just enough time to break Avery’s wand arm. Decades of scrubbing the floors of Hogwarts by hand had built up some muscle. Dean Thomas grabbed the dropped wand and ropes shot out of it, effectively binding Avery. Argus cracked him over the skull with the poker; he’d realized a tied Death Eater could easily be freed. A Death Eater with a cracked skull was a danger to no one.

Two more Death Eaters came around a corner. Argus knew there was no escaping this time. He and Mrs Norris could not take on two armed Death Eaters. However, just when he thought all was lost, Peeves swooped in and dropped a rather heavy bust on one of the two men. A well aimed kick from Firenze caught the other as he galloped past, carrying what looked like a spear borrowed from a suit of armour. Firenze handed off a mace to Argus and continued down the hallway. Then Argus heard Mrs Norris screeching and he knew she must be in trouble.

Armed with both poker and mace he quickly found his cat. A Death Eater was laughing as he kicked her. Argus flew into a rage, swinging the mace he hit the attacker in the back of the head, shouting, “NO ONE HURTS MY CAT!�

He removed the mask to see that it was Rodolphus Lestrange, the man who had boasted of burning down Black Magic and murdering Marius Black so many years ago. Anger still coursing through him, Argus smashed Rodolphus’s face with the mace until it was no longer recognizable.

Mrs Norris finally brought him back to reality. She was hurt badly and meowing pitifully. Argus cradled her in his arms as tears began to spill down his cheeks. It was only a few minutes before Voldemort’s voice could be heard, making his ultimatum. Argus carried Mrs Norris down to the Great Hall. None of the Healers, not even Poppy could find the time to spare for a cat.

It was Luna Lovegood who walked up to him and offered to help. Argus couldn’t find words to express his gratitude. Luna managed to heal Mrs Norris’s broken ribs and fixed the gashes too. She also insisted on looking after some of Argus’s injuries. He hadn’t been aware that he had any until she mentioned it.

When the battle resumed, Mrs Norris had been carefully hidden in her basket while her owner went in search of Rabastan Lestrange ready to send him to the same fate as his brother.

*

It was nearly a month later when Kingsley Shacklebolt had organized the new ministry sufficiently to have a ceremony to honour those who had fought in the battle of Hogwarts. The ceremony was held on the Hogwarts grounds on a bright sunny day. A memorial had been erected with the names of those who had fallen inscribed.

The crowd gathered at Hogwarts was enormous. Argus was quite certain that half of Wizarding Britain was crammed onto the grounds. The centaurs had declined individual recognition, but had elected to have Firenze accept the Order of Merlin on behalf of his entire herd. The house-elves had made a similar request, choosing Kreacher as their representative. Next, Grawp and Hagrid were presented with Orders of Merlin.

Each of the Hogwarts teachers were called upon, followed by an enormous group of Weasleys, other members of the Order of the Phoenix, students who were members of Dumbledore’s Army and finally, the name ‘Argus Filch’ was called.

Argus was shocked. No one had told him that he would be receiving any sort of recognition for his efforts in the battle. He’d just expected to be stuck cleaning up after the celebration. He shuffled up towards the podium as Kingsley said, “For your assistance in safely evacuating the students of Hogwarts, aiding in the protection of the school, disarming at least three Death Eaters and saving the lives of at least two students and probably many others, the British Ministry of Magic, awards you with the Order of Merlin, First Class.�

Argus couldn’t believe that he was shaking hands with the Minister of Magic and being presented with the highest Wizarding honour, an honour that had never before been conferred upon a Squib. He made his way back down through the crowd as if in a daze. As he headed towards the castle, Cornelius came up to him and extended his hand, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d like to shake your hand.�

Argus looked at him suspiciously but decided to offer his own hand. Cornelius continued, “I’ve been a fool for many years, I should always have been proud to have you for a brother. You’re a better man than I. I hope you can forgive me. My wife and I would like to have you over for dinner soon, if you’ll agree to come.�

Argus was quite certain that he must be dreaming, but the dream certainly seemed real. He dumbly nodded his head, unable to fully believe the words he was hearing. Cornelius was playing with his bowler, obviously feeling awkward.

“Would you care to come in for a cup of tea, after this ceremony is over? I suppose we have a lot of catching up to do.� said Argus.

Cornelius grinned, looking much more like the boy Argus remembered. “I’d be honoured.�

After the ceremony finally ended Cornelius asked, almost in awe, “Did you really break Avery’s arm and crack his skull?�

Argus grinned slyly. “Just doin’ my job.�

“Yes, well Mum keeps crying she’s so happy and Father’s been proudly telling anyone who’ll listen that you defended Hogwarts armed with nothing but a poker.

“I had a mace too. That’s how I killed one of the Lestranges.�

It had been many years since Cornelius had given Argus that look of admiration. The two brothers slowly made their way up to the castle together.