The echo of footsteps on stone floors reverberated through the deserted corridors of Hogwarts as Argus Filch shuffled along, his old mop in hand. The enchanted torches flickered dimly, casting shadows that danced mockingly on the walls. Filch muttered under his breath, his bitter thoughts mirroring the sullen look on his face.
“Useless… bloody useless… squib, that’s what they think of me…”
Filch stopped for a moment, leaning heavily on his mop handle as his weary eyes wandered over the grand hallways. Years ago, he had felt a sense of purpose, even pride, in his work at the school. Sure, he wasn’t a wizard, but Hogwarts had been his domain, his sanctuary in its own way. He had been the one to keep order, to enforce the rules, to make sure these magical brats didn’t get away with too much mischief.
But now, everything was changing.
The new security measures the Ministry had implemented—enchanted protections, magical detectors, surveillance tools far beyond anything a squib could understand—left Filch feeling even more useless than before. The very castle he had once ruled with an iron fist seemed to be slipping away from him.
“Don’t need ol’ Filch anymore, do they?” he muttered darkly. “Got their spells and wards to do the work now. Bloody magic, always bloody magic.”
Filch scowled at the thought. He hated magic, hated that it had never come to him. All his life, he had watched witches and wizards with their wands and their power, while he, Argus Filch, had to make do with brooms and mops. And now, even those meager duties were being taken from him. The school no longer needed him to keep an eye on the students—there were magical detectors for that. It no longer needed him to chase after rule-breakers—enchanted wards would catch them before he could even get close.
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“They’ll forget about me soon enough,” he muttered bitterly, his voice low and rough. “Just like they forget about all squibs. We don’t matter, do we?”
He thought back to the few times he had dared to speak up about the new security measures, only to be brushed aside by the headmasters and Ministry officials. They had their priorities, and a squib’s concerns were nowhere on that list. They spoke in terms of protection, safety, and efficiency, but all Filch saw was a future where he no longer had a place.
Filch resumed his mopping, though the action felt pointless now. Hogwarts would always be Hogwarts, a place of ancient magic and wonder, but it no longer felt like his Hogwarts. The castle was growing more and more out of his reach, out of his control, and the bitterness in his chest swelled with every enchanted door that opened without him.
Mrs. Norris, his only true companion, padded silently at his side. She was the one constant in his life, the only creature who seemed to understand his frustrations. Filch bent down and scratched behind her ears, muttering softly, “At least you’re still here with me. Don’t need magic for that, do we?”
Mrs. Norris purred in response, her yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light. But even her presence couldn’t soothe the growing resentment in Filch’s heart.
As he stood there in the empty hallway, a cold realization crept over him. He was being left behind. The world was moving on, and he, Argus Filch, the squib caretaker, was being forgotten.
“Maybe one day they’ll see,” he murmured to himself, his voice a bitter whisper. “Maybe one day they’ll realize what it’s like to be on the outside looking in. Maybe then they’ll remember old Filch.”
But deep down, he knew they wouldn’t. The magical world didn’t care about people like him, and it never would. And that knowledge, more than anything, was what gnawed at him as he trudged back to his lonely office, Mrs. Norris at his heels.