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“How long?” Argus Filch asked.
The muggle doctor sighed, then removed her reading glasses and gently looked him in the eye; a gesture that apparently was meant to soften her upcoming words.
“Weeks. Two, maybe three. Six to eight with aggressive treatments, which I can’t recommend since the difference is small in terms of time but remarkable in terms of life quality. The choice is however yours and no one else's, Mr Filch.”
“No treatments”, Filch said. “I’m done with them.”
“Is there anyone you’d like us to call?” The doctor asked. “When one receives this kind of news, it’s never good to be alone.”
“There’s no one”, Filch said quietly.
“Are you sure?” The doctor tried. “In times like these, even people we’re estranged from may surprise us…”
“I said there’s no one”, Filch said firmly.
The doctor nodded reluctantly. She then reached her drawer to give him a bunch of papers.
“There are some numbers you can call”, she said. “Professionals. Religious and non religious alike.”
“I’m not interested”, Filch said
“Mr Filch, you’re dying”, the doctor said bluntly. “No one is equipped to handle that alone. You really should talk to someone.”
“Thank you, doctor. Goodbye", Filch said. Then he stood up and left.
Weeks. Two, maybe three. Filch shivered as he made his way to King’s Cross. Being a squib, he had always known he was prone to muggle diseases. What he had not expected was how helpless the wizarding world would be in the face of pancreas cancer. Madam Pomfrey had been utterly confused with his symptoms and sent him to St Mungo’s, where he had been treated with all kinds of spells and potions without success. It wasn't until a muggle-born nurse had suggested he see a non-magical doctor that he had finally found out what was wrong with him.
“They call it cancer. Surely you can hex this away?” Filch had asked Madam Pomfrey, who had shaken her head with tears in her eyes.
“This doesn’t happen to us witches and wizards”, she said. “The muggle doctors are best equipped to help you. But don’t worry. I hear they’re quite skilled with the illnesses of their kind. You’ll be back terrifying the first-graders in no time!”
For once, Madam Pomfrey had been wrong.
Filch stepped out of the train and took his time to walk back to Hogwarts. It may have seemed to students and other teachers that he had always been miserable there, but that wasn’t entirely true. Yes, he had been bitter, surrounded by magic that was forever out of his reach. But still, inside the walls of that castle, he had always felt a certain peace and safety, a sense of belonging he felt nowhere else.
He could have left and blended into the muggle society, like many squibs did. But he hadn’t wanted that. Being a caretaker of Hogwarts had always been his greatest pride. Granted, he couldn’t perform spells, but he was always in awe of magic and having it shine and sparkle all around him was something he secretly treasured. He was adamant there was no one in Hogwarts who loved magic more than him.
Argus Filch may not have been a wizard, but he had a heart of one. And that was something no one could take from him.
Filch coughed as he stepped inside. Apart from Madam Pomfrey, no one at Hogwarts knew of his illness, and he had decided to keep it that way as long as possible. But now his time was running out, and it wasn’t fair to keep his condition from the headmistress any longer.
A group of students was sitting in the hallway as he walked towards the headmistress’s office.
“What are you doing here, loitering like that?” He hissed. “Go study or I’ll make you study cleaning the ogre snot from the cellar floor, without magic!”
The students quickly got up and left.
“What’s his problem?” Filch heard one of them say.
“No clue. He should get himself a wife, maybe then he wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass. And I mean someone who’s not a cat”, another said, making his friends giggle.
“There’s no witch ugly enough to be so desperate she’d marry him ”, a girl said, and the group burst into resounding laughter.
Filch sighed. The students making fun of him and him tormenting the students was, these days, more of a game they played than real rivalry. Getting disciplined by old Filch was a rite of passage for newcomers, and he wasn’t going to ruin that for them by becoming nice all of the sudden. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts everyone knew they were, in the end, on the same side. Defending the school had earned Filch something he hadn’t had before - respect. And even when the students mercilessly roasted him, he could sense that respect bubbling under.
This time, though, they had touched a sensitive spot. Filch was on the finish line of his life, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had missed out on something important by never getting himself a companion. But the truth was, someone already had a chokehold on his heart. And when that someone was a shining, sparkling star that Filch was orbiting like a lone asteroid, pulled eternally into her gravity but never getting any closer; well, it was really hard to look elsewhere.
Filch knocked on the door of the headmistress’s office.
“Come on in, Argus”, Minerva McGonagall said.
Filch stepped in and closed the door.
“What is it?” McGonagall asked. “I know summer break is coming up and the students are getting impatient, but try to deal with them for a little longer, okay?”
“This is not about the students, ma’am”, Filch said.
“What is it about, then?” McGonagall asked.
“The thing is… I’m… not well”, Filch said.
McGonagall stopped reading the parchment she had before her and put down her quill.
“It’s… that bad?” She asked.
“Wait, you knew?”
“Argus”, McGonagall said tenderly. “In all these years you’ve never taken a day off. And then suddenly, you’re taking several every week. Either you have a girlfriend or you’re seeing a doctor, and at our age, well, I figured the latter is more likely.”
Filch smiled awkwardly.
“Sadly, you’re correct, ma’am.”
“So… is there anything I can do for you?” McGonagall asked.
“The truth is, ma’am”, Filch said, “it’s over. I have just weeks. I wanted to let you know so you have time to find me a replacement. I’m deeply sorry to inform you with such a short notice, but I only learned this myself this morning.”
Minerva McGonagall bit her lower lip and briefly looked away as Filch’s words sunk in.
“I see”, she said calmly, but her eyes looked foggy as if coated by tears she didn’t allow to fall.
“That’s all, ma’am”, Filch said and turned away.
“Wait”, McGonagall said. “Who’s taking care of your… funeral?”
“No one”, Filch said. “But that’s okay. My only wish is to continue in my job as long as I’m able to.”
“That’s not okay in the slightest, Argus”, McGonagall said. “You’ve served Hogwarts your whole life. You deserve a decent funeral, and I’ll make sure you’ll get one.”
“You’re too kind, ma’am”, Filch said. “Thank you.”
McGonagall’s brows furrowed and she looked like she had more to say, but then she just nodded, allowing Filch to be on his way.
-
The next day Filch patrolled outside, giving angry looks to any student who’d dare to make too much noise. He let his gaze wander. There was the Forbidden Forest and there was the Quidditch Pitch, and somewhere beyond all that was Hogsmeade. This was the most beautiful place in the world. This was home.
Filch felt a little sad that as a squib, he couldn’t become a ghost once he died. He thought ghost-ness would have suited him. That way he could have continued tormenting the students for all eternity. He chuckled at the thought.
He was startled by McGonagall, who was suddenly by his side, quietly like a cat she sometimes transformed into.
“Ma’am”, Filch greeted.
“Argus”, McGonagall sighed. “I think it’s time you call me Minerva. We’ve known each other long enough.”
“But ma’am…”
“I insist.”
“Fine. Minerva… what brings you here?”
“When I lost Dumbledore, it all happened too fast. There was so much going on. Many things were left unsaid. This time, I want to make sure I won’t feel that way”, McGonagall said.
“Surely you don’t… compare me to great Dumbledore?” Filch said incredulously.
“Old friends are old friends”, McGonagall said and smiled warmly. “A headmaster or a caretaker, in the face of death we’re all the same.”
Things left unsaid . Filch surely had them. But what was the purpose of saying them now? It was too late. Not that there ever had been a chance. A chance for what, exactly? It was a fever dream, too unlikely to even be entertained during the waking hours. And yet…
Filch remembered the moment he had first seen McGonagall march to the Great Hall, lighting it up brighter than a thousand candles ever could. Her majestic posture, her strict but fair leadership, her brilliance, her power… but most of all, her tenderness underneath it all, the way she loved this place, these children, the way she had fought for them through the toughest of times, never wavering, never straying from her values.
But how could Filch ever tell her how he felt? She was perhaps the most powerful witch alive, the headmistress of Hogwarts, successor of Albus Dumbledore, the strongest, most beautiful… She was perfect. And he was a mere caretaker, an old, miserable creature. A squib. To even think about it was an insult to her.
How could he ever tell her that she was the reason he was so fond of cats, that he gave them the love he could never give her? How could he tell her that in his dreams, just before waking up, he would hold her in his arms and say: You can be weak, for once. I’m here, and I’d die for you .
Things left unsaid. They would stay that way.
“You’re quiet,” McGonagall said. “A knut for your thoughts?”
“I was just thinking… how grateful I am”, Filch said. “I know many people would say that I wasted my life, bitterly staying here despite being a squib… but I don’t feel that way. I think that even though I can’t do magic, my life here was magical. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Well said, Argus”, McGonagall said.
McGonagall looked pensive. Then she said:
“Argus, there’s something… could we meet here tonight, after the students have gone to bed?”
Filch looked at her, confused.
“Of course, ma’am… I mean, Minerva. But why?”
“I want to show you something. You’ll see then.”
Filch nodded slowly. A faint smile briefly visited McGonagall’s lips before she left. Filch thought she looked joyful in a cunning, very un-McConagall kind of way.
-
Filch made an extra effort to scare all the first graders into their dormitories as quickly as possible. Then he lay on his bed, nervous like a teenage boy who had been asked out by the most popular girl in the school. Finally the darkness fell, and Filch sneaked out to the spot he was supposed to meet McGonagall.
She stood there in a dark blue robe, beautiful and magnificent like the night sky. The sight took away Filch’s breath.
“So… what are we here for?” He asked shyly.
“Listen, Argus… you know that squibs, they’re not exactly like muggles?” McGonagall said.
“What do you mean?” Filch asked.
“The squibs have some magic in them. It just doesn’t show up the way it should. But squibs are not completely un-magical, for example, unlike muggles they can see Dementors.”
Filch nodded. That he knew. He shivered as he remembered the era when Dementors had patrolled in Hogwarts.
“Where are you going with this?” He asked.
McGonagall pulled something from her pocket. It was a wand. For a moment Filch thought she was going to put a spell on him, but then he noticed that this wasn’t her own wand. Instead, she was offering it to him.
“I don’t understand”, he said, more confused than ever.
“Long ago I read about something called Magicae Finalis . When a squib’s life is nearing the end, especially if they’ve lived a long life, they may briefly acquire the ability to do magic. Nothing very powerful of course, a spell or two, but still… magic.”
Filch’s eyes widened.
“I’ve never heard of that”, he said.
“It’s not a well known phenomenon. Many squibs eventually leave the wizarding world and join the muggle society, which is understandable. In their final moments, it’s unlikely to occur to them to attempt to do spells. Most squibs have long given up on magic by then. But you, Argus… you’ve lived a long life, surrounded by magic. I wanted to ask you if you were willing to give Magicae Finalis a try? I don’t think this has ever been done in Hogwarts, so I’m intrigued.”
Filch didn’t know what to say. He had, indeed, given up on that dream long ago. This couldn’t be true, and yet, if McGonagall said it was, then it had to be.
“That would be… incredible”, Filch said. “But how do I… I don’t even know where to begin?”
“I’ll guide you”, McGonagall said.
Hands shaking, Filch took the wand from McGonagall. It felt slightly warm in his hand, and a couple of dim sparkles flew from the tip of it like fireflies.
“It likes you”, McGonagall said warmly. “Unfortunately I can’t let you keep it though, the law is the law. Only wizards can carry wands, so I’m afraid this will be a one-time thing.”
“I understand”, Filch said. “So what do I… what do I do now?”
“Point it up, like this”, McGonagall said and set an example with her own wand.
Filch copied her movements. It brought back memories from his childhood, when he had stolen his brother’s wand and desperately attempted to make it do something, anything that would count as magic.
But now he felt different. He felt… capable.
“Say Lumos ”, McGonagall whispered.
“ Lumos ”, Filch said cautiously.
Nothing happened.
“It’s not working”, Filch said, not even disappointed as this was what he had expected.
“Try again”, McGonagall said. “Very few wizards can do it on their first try. You need to mean what you say. Have more confidence. Be one with the wand. Again.”
“ Lumos !” Filch said, this time louder.
Nothing happened.
“I appreciate you were willing to try this with me, Minerva”, Filch said. “But I’m a squib, I’ve always been and I always will be, for whatever time I have left. I can’t do it.”
“Don’t you dare give up like that, Argus”, McGonagall said with authority that made Filch immediately straighten up. “I’m a teacher, so your failure is my failure. And tell me, Argus, am I a failure to you?”
“Of course not!” Filch exclaimed. “You’re the opposite of that.”
“Then try again!”
Filch closed his eyes. He focused, with every cell of his body. He squeezed the wand in his hand, felt its warmth. Magic , he said to himself. I’ll do magic .
“ Lumos !” He shouted from the top of his lungs.
Suddenly, the tip of the wand began to shine. A bright, magical light formed a beam that illuminated the yard. Filch almost dropped the wand, and his heart began racing.
“I can’t believe it”, Filch said, feeling a lump in his throat.
“I told you”, McGonagall said, smirking.
“This was the most… the most wonderful… I can’t believe it…”
Filch couldn’t help it. He burst into tears.
“There, there”, McGonagall said and patted his shoulder.
“I don’t know how to thank you”, Filch said. “This is a dream come true, the most wonderful dream. I can leave this world happy now. I mean, I would have anyway… but this made my life complete. All I ever wanted was to do magic, even just once. And you made that possible.”
“No”, McGonagall said. “You did.”
Filch wiped his tears onto his sleeve and took a deep breath. He felt different now. Stronger. More courageous. Reckless, even.
“Minerva”, he said. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you, but I never knew how. I thought I would take this to my grave. But I see now, it’s never too late.”
“Go ahead then”, McGonagall said, eyes twinkling.
“The thing is… I love you, Minerva. I always have. I know you don’t feel the same way, and I’d never expect you to. But I want you to know, you’re the most miraculous thing I’ve ever encountered in my long life. And I don’t just mean your magic, I mean your… your heart, Minerva. Your spirit, your laughter… I love you. I love all of you.”
There they were, the words. Out in the open. They lingered in the air along with the magical light that Filch, a squib, had conjured against all odds. He felt weightless as if he, too, was made of pure light. McGonagall smiled with tears in her eyes that she this time didn’t care to hide.
“You’re a good man, Argus”, she said. “A sweet man. To be loved by you… it’s a great honor.”
Filch nodded bravely as more tears ran down his wrinkled face.
“Thank you, Minerva”, he said. “For everything.”
As he walked back to his office, he felt like an actor in a theater, with curtains closing behind him after a masterful final scene, the sound of furious applause still echoing in his ears.
-
Minerva McGonagall put her wand and the wand she had borrowed from Ollivander side by side on her bedside table. She remembered the conversation she had had earlier that day with the wandmaker.
“It needs to look like he’s doing the spell himself”, she had told Ollivander. “He can’t know it’s me.”
“Trust me, ma’am”, Ollivander had said. “This spell will temporarily connect your wand and his. The wand will act exactly as if the person holding it was doing the spells. You don’t even have to say the words. All you have to do is surreptitiously wave your own wand a tiny bit, and this wand will pick up on that.”
“Thank you Mr Ollivander. That’s perfect”, McGonagall had said.
“If I may ask, ma’am… why do you want to make someone believe they’re doing spells when they’re not?” Ollivander had asked.
“Let’s just say it’s a gift”, McGonagall had said. “A gift for an old friend. I trust this will stay between us.”
“Of course”, Ollivander had said. “My lips are sealed, ma’am.”
McGonagall lay down on her bed and smiled. She owed the wandmaker one.
“Good night, Argus”, she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”