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.