Muck.
Luck muck.
No, no, no!
Duck muck?
Duck muck!
The duck brings the muck from the lake by the rake.
The duck brings the muck from the lake by the rake in the yard by the bard...
In Hogwarts.
Argus frowned. There was one word, in so many of his little ditties, that he could never seem to rhyme: Hogwarts. It was the main occupation of every spare hour, and while he could come up with half-rhymes (log sports, fog sorts, Prague shorts), to his seasoned mind they simply wouldn’t do. He needed a true rhyme, a real rhyme, one that made the listener sigh in relief when they heard the matched pair, fitting together more perfectly than jigsaw pieces, a more symbiotic union than the sun and the moon…
Argus Filch.
Zilch.
It seemed appropriate to him that the one word he’d ever come up with, through hours of agony, to rhyme with his name meant zero.
Argus had always been an amateur poet, though in truth it was more the rhyming verses than deeper meaning that appealed to him. He’d attempted to have some poems published in The Wizard’s Digest, but had only gotten polite, yet curt, replies.
He espied a student, Yolanda Croft (loft, soft), giggling with her latest conquest as they meandered throughout the halls. Idiot students. He staggered to the center of the hallway, leering at them as they passed.
Ridiculous. Snotty, pimple-popping, wastes of time and magic.
Ah, that reminded him.
Argus reached in his bag, and feeling the hard shape of a U, gripped it tightly.
Robbie Quinbat’s Successful Book for Successful Squibs had recommended the horseshoe, saying that any late bloomer (as Argus preferred to call himself) who held onto it once an hour (flower) for a week would suddenly be overpowered by magic.
It made sleeping a disaster, but as it seemed that Mrs. Norris never slept, as the past four days she’d kindly woken him up at the appropriate times.
Ah, Mrs. Norris.
They were two of a kind (bind), he and she, though he often thought that she seemed to be a tad more intelligent. He cared for her well, and she would sympathize with his driving need to give students the punishment they deserved. It was quite the mutualistic relationship.
“…and how would I know where to find a bloody theatre in Hogwarts?”
“Well, what did Dumbledore say? He’s got to have some sort of idea! He’s not just going to plop that onto your lap without any guidance, is he?”
He groaned. More students. And by the sound of them, Marauders.
As they came around the corner, he heard the Potter boy say, “Yes, apparently he is! And Lily’s given me all kinds of assignments, she’s in charge of that damn greenhouse fiasco, but I’m supposed to find a theatre somewhere!”
Argus grinned as he saw him tossing a Snitch up and down as he spoke.
“Just conjure one up! Stick it in the dungeons, the Slytherins could use some fine culture”oh, shitballs and damn.”
The three boys stopped still, gaping at Argus in fear.
In that moment he felt the familiar rush.
There was something positively thrilling about disciplining the Marauders. They were, quite simply, the epitome of all that Argus hated about Hogwarts and its students. The entire school was composed of rash (crash, flash) rule breakers who rarely concerned themselves with anything but their own selfish agendas. Especially Potter and Black, both of whom, in addition to being disgustingly wealthy, were quite good at spells. Argus could barely contain his hatred of the cocky boys, and the sight of the Snitch in Potter’s hand made his day so much brighter.
“Hello, Potter!” Argus cackled. Ah, what a glorious day it was truly turning out to be! First that Dungbomb scare from the snotty Ravenclaw girl (five detentions of scraping Trynine bogies for Hagrid), then the boy experimenting with love potions (fifteen detentions cataloguing information slips for Professor Graven), and now Potter with a snitched… Snitch!
Argus giggled over his little joke.
“Er”Filch”this isn’t my Snitch,” Potter said desperately, eyes darting around as if the cold flagstone surrounding him would somehow answer his prayers.
“I do believe that’s the matter at hand here, Potter.” Argus leaned in towards the boy (an intimidation tactic, according to Being Assertive: How to Make Those Puny Freaks Shut Up and Listen by a certain Chum Plankton) and grinned toothily.
“No, sir, its”er”Dawson’s!” Potter grabbed a passing third year by the collar and dragged him forward. Dawson simply looked confused.
“What’s mine?”
“The Snitch! Remember, you said I could borrow it earlier!”
Argus rolled his eyes. He wasn’t dumb. Okay, well, at least he wouldn’t be fooled by this pathetic excuse for an excuse by Mr. Potty Potter.
“What? Oh”wait”right!” Dawson chirped. “Of”of course. I lent it to James.”
Argus shrugged mentally. There was no way to disprove what Potter had said, if the younger boy agreed to it, but at least he’d still be able to hand out another detention today. “Dawson, is it?” he asked, swiveling around to face the boy who suddenly began quaking violently.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Are you aware that it is against school policies to allow any Quidditch balls outside of the pitch, and even in there they are only to be used during scheduled practices and games?” Quoting the official Hogwarts rulebook had always been pleasurable for him.
“N-no, sir.”
“And are you aware that it is also against school policies to be in personal ownership of a Quidditch ball unless it is specifically registered with Madame Hooch and kept under locked supervision in the broom shed?”
Silence.
It was too easy.
Potter, Black, and Lupin scampered off quickly, while Dawson faced nine weeks assisting Madame Pomfrey with restocking medicines and a stern lecture from Professor MacGonagall.
In the far back corner of his brain, some long latent part of Argus gave a tiny quiver at the injustice of the whole situation: allowing one boy to take the fall for another. It was just a peep, though, and too far hidden by decades of putrid hate and reeking jealousy to be taken much notice of.
“Argus?” came a voice from beyond his office door, accompanied by a soft rap.
“Stay out!” Argus shouted vehemently, desperately trying to shove his horseshoe into a desk drawer stuffed with a long accumulation of illegal articles and joke shop items. Although it had been over a week since he’d begun his horseshoe endeavor (with little results), Argus figured that perhaps he was such a late bloomer he just needed a few more days of squeezing the iron U every hour for it to take effect.
The door opened and Albus swept in, taking a seat (greet) on a chair in front of Filch. “Good morning, Argus!” he said cheerily.
Argus sighed. While he was grateful to Albus for giving him this job, he could barely tolerate the man. Cheery, serene, loved by the student body… Albus was everything Filch was not, and everything Filch would never want to be.
“I have a… favor to ask,” Albus began slowly. Argus regarded him dully, certain that it would be unpleasant at best. “You see,” he continued, “Filius and I, along with a few other professors, are endeavoring to make two young adults realize the depth of their feelings for one another. We are securing the happiness and….” The voice droned on, but Argus stopped listening. He had never been one for sappy overtures, and this one was particularly dry. Any mention of young love, too, was quite simply a conversation turn-off for him.
However, with a few words from Albus his attention was immediately focused. “…and we’d like you to give Ms. Evans and Mr. Potter detentions together, with you at your leisure to determine the cause of it.”
This was too good to be true! Argus grinned widely.
Ever since he’d accepted this post, he’d always had a private bet with himself: give each student a detention before graduation. Each year he’d succeeded (though Rallia Tristite had been a close call”he’d only managed to finally give her a detention the last week of school). He hated to leave things up to chance (dance), preferring as a general rule to target goody-two-shoes early on in their magical education careers. Lily Evans, however, had been a long source of discomfort and frustration. No matter how many times he tried, he could never find her breaking a rule!
It had come close, to be sure, with the entire pushing-Potter-out-the-window-and-damaging-school-property situation the previous year, but Albus had insisted that a detention was unnecessary. Even though he still had eight months left before she graduated, it made him anxious to even risk failing his personal bet all because of a snotty prefect.
The fact that Potter was included was merely icing on the cake”Argus loved to torment the boy. Even though he’d already received more detentions than any single student in Filch’s reign (the first being just moments after stepping off the train for the first time), every time Argus gave Potter a detention it gave a little shot of happiness to his mind.
“Minerva and I will only ask that their task may be something that… incites conversation between the two of them. I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something.” Albus paused, as if waiting for some kind of response, but Argus was too far into his mad machinations for the pretty Heads that he forgot the Headmaster was there altogether. With a sigh, Albus stood to leave, not entirely sure that bringing Filch into the situation was the best idea. But really, there was nothing else to be done, as the situation had begun to get desperate. At this point Albus was willing to do anything to force the two obstinate teens together.
Over the next few days Argus found himself to be in a rather exasperating and maddening situation. He’d caught Potter in the act almost instantly (moments after Albus left, Argus had gone to snatch a snack from the kitchens when a large tub of pumpkin juice deposited itself on his head. Mrs. Norris found Potter and Black, the two culprits, hiding in a nearby closet almost immediately), but Ms. Evans seemed on especially radiant behavior that week. Every time Argus saw her, she was either helping a lost first-year or scouring the castle for Xeno Lovegood’s hidden schoolbooks.
In short, Argus was desperate.
Finally a situation arose. He saw the Evans girl scurrying to class”even though she had a few minutes until classes started, he supposed her to be the type that hated (bated) being the last one to arrive.
“Ms. Evans!” Argus yelled to her, staggering across the hall to her when she stopped short.
“Wha”Filch? Oh”er”hello!”
“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been doing?” he sneered. True, what he was about to do was entirely unfair, but when he had the double motive of keeping his record and pleasing Dumbledore, the term ‘fair’ did not apply.
“Er”going to Transfiguration”I’m running a bit late because Professor Slughorn needed help with his newt eyes and””
“I think that’s the key of the matter here, Evans.”
“Wait”what?”
“You were running. Are you aware of the implications of that offense?”
“What? It was barely more than a speed walk! I was late to class, sir, I’m really very sorry””
Ah. This felt good.
“I’m sorry Ms. Evans, but I feel that a few detentions with me are in order to make sure the offense is not repeated.”
“What? But sir, I have a perfect record! Please! I’ve never gotten a detention before!”
Good god, the girl was groveling! He smiled slightly at that. Groveling always hit a little soft corner of his otherwise rock hard heart, but on this matter he could not be swayed. His record would be safe still. Argus whistled for Mrs. Norris, who he knew would be waiting nearby, and began his trek down the hall for other miscreants as Lily stared after him, incensed.
“Sod off, you prick.”
“Now that’s just not nice!”
“Ugh.”
“I was just trying to make some innocent conversation!”
Argus gritted his teeth. When he’d agreed to do this for Albus, to supervise their detentions, he’d never imagined that two little brats could be so annoying. He’d set them to cleaning Hogwart’s many trophies with soap and water, a time tested detention that was so excruciatingly boring it was almost impossible for the students not to talk. While they worked on the loathsome task, Argus himself sat in an adjoining classroom filling out detention records”the most frustrating aspect of his job (which was saying quite a bit).
There was a blessed moment of silence, then Potter broke it tentatively.
“Er”Lily”I was wondering how the greenhouse plans are going? I’m really sorry I couldn’t make the last meeting”Georgiana scheduled a practice that I couldn’t miss…”
“God forbid you should miss your basketball on broomsticks to discuss our astronomical responsibilities as Heads so we aren’t the laughingstock of the whole school!”
“Basketball?”
“Never mind.” The Evans girl paused, then said more reasonably, “Professor Sprout finally finished drawing up the plans. She wants three now! Three! I’ve no idea why Dumbledore is forcing us to do this, we’re just students… anyway, tomorrow I’ll contact the dwarves Hagrid recommended and we’ll see if they’re compliant. If they are, after that we’ll have to write letters to the Minister to get special building licenses. And that’s just the beginning.”
Argus was bored with their meaningless prattle, but in a sudden spurt of self-honesty he admitted that even the trivial concerns of a student were (fur, burr) more interesting than his reports. He focused his attention more sharply to the trophy room.
“Wow. After that you’ve made me feel like my job’s easy!”
The girl laughed. “I don’t think anything we have to do as Heads is easy. How goes the search for a theatre?”
“Well, actually, I had a pretty good idea. It’s very very advanced magic, but Dumbledore said he’d help if we needed it. Actually… well, it all started from a sarcastic comment Sirius said,” Potter admitted sheepishly.
Oh, yawn. Perhaps even reports were more interesting than these two.
The boy continued, “Basically, the idea is that we need a big empty space with a few requirements”it has to be warm, which rules out the grounds because the competition’s in December, and it has to be able to be Transfigured for a longer period of time, which rules out the Great Hall because we need to eat there.”
“And that leaves…”
“The dungeons! Most are empty anyway, and we could leave the Potions classrooms and Slytherin common room as they are. See, at first I thought that it wouldn’t work, but then I was reading in Hogwarts, a History how Salazar Slyth””
“You’ve read Hogwarts, a History?” Evans’ voice sounded dubious.
“Course! Most of it’s dull, but there are some cool bits in it that really have helped my friends and me with our… er…”
“Unauthorized excursions?” she supplied dryly.
Argus felt a brief bit of excitement. Was Potter about to admit to all kinds of nefarious doings? Was this detention just one of a series that could result?
“I suppose you could put it that way,” Potter admitted.
Ah, pity. It had been such a golden opportunity.
“Anyway, there’s a bit in there about the architectural design of Hogwarts, and all. And apparently the dungeons used to be one huge room for Salazar Slytherin to keep his pets. Because the castle was originally intended to just be a house for the four friends, you know? But when they turned it into a school and Godric Gryffindor kinda… took control, I guess, he turned it into a huge series of different levels of empty rooms in case the school needed more space or classrooms ever.”
Lily chuckled. “That’s brilliant! It shouldn’t be difficult to temporarily remove the added walls and floors!”
Bloody brilliant? Bloody brats. If Dumbledore hadn’t specifically asked that they be allowed to talk to each other, Argus would’ve liked to lock ‘em in separate broom closets with their own personal chimera.
“Yeah! That’s exactly what I was thinking. And I checked it with Dumbledore, and he was totally willing to do that. Once we get closer to the date we’ll have to help more, though, and figure out how to create a stage and the seats themselves.”
“True, but this was always our biggest obstacle”finding a place to put it.” There was a moment of silence, and Argus half-hoped they’d finally decided to shut up.
You could be doing your reports, he reminded himself glumly.
But then the girl spoke again”“Good job, James. I mean”well, I don’t think I’ve been properly enthusiastic about you being Head Boy. But”you’ve done a good job. A great job. Thank you.”
“No problem. That’s what I’m here for!”
Argus heard a splash and a high-pitched shriek. “Oh”I’ll get you for that!” the Evans girl laughed.
Sounds of a scuffle ensued, with screams, laughs, and splashing water. Argus briefly wondered if Albus would want him to interfere, then realized what he was thinking. Letting that old fool dictate what you do! You’re turning into a softie, his inner voice grumbled. To prove to himself he was not (forgot) indeed soft, Argus stormed out of the classroom and onto a chaotic scene.
The trophies were scattered about, at least those unfortunate enough to have been near the Heads. Potter and Evans were tackling each other and splashing each other with their soapy buckets of water, and it appeared like Evans was prepared to dump hers on the boy’s head.
Argus was briefly reminded of a scene he had not remembered for years”himself, and his first love at nine”Vanessa Simmons, his Muggle next door neighbor”playing in her sprinkler in the scorching sun. It was a happy memory, and a good day.
That had been an entirely different time in Argus’s life, however, and he instantly dismissed the memory as soft and insignificant. He did discipline the young pair, giving them extra detentions together as a result of this botched one, though even a child could have seen the couple was not quite as disappointed at that prospect as they’d been earlier.
He returned to his reports as Potter and Evans cleaned up the mess, still in a surly mood. Finally he got caught up with filling out the forms just as the students were leaving. Yes, he thought with relief. Time for some good old rhyming.
Look, a book!
I took a look at the book.
Mice eat rice and play dice.
So nice!
Filch is zilch, but Filch is…
Why was there no other rhyme? Hilch… gilch… dilch… it was hopeless. “Filch…zilch…” he sighed to himself. He supposed there was nothing to do about the situation, so he may as well”
“Milch.”
The word was spoken clearly from the doorway. Argus glanced up to see the Evans girl, looking at him patiently.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
“Milch. It means… well, I suppose it just describes a creature that nourishes. Er”well, could I have a pass? It’s after curfew.”
Argus grudgingly scrawled out a short note on a bit of parchment and handed it to the girl. She scampered away.
Hmm…
Filch is not zilch.
Milch Filch.
He scowled, but if one knew him well they could see the radiant grin lying dormant beneath the morose mask.
But perhaps only if they knew him very well.