So, almost all the professors came to William's house. Who exactly wasn't invited?
Alright, just kidding. Actually, Filch was invited by Dumbledore too, but he chose to decline. The man couldn't quite explain why, but after much deliberation, he decided to stay alone in the empty castle—
During this Christmas break, Hogwarts Castle fell into an unprecedented silence. No longer did students run through the corridors, the long tables in the Great Hall were empty, and only the slight metallic clinks of moving armor and the occasional snores of ghosts broke the silence.
But Argus Filch had long been accustomed to this. At the moment, he was walking through the dim underground corridors.
The man slouched, but his face carried a peculiar excitement, and in his somewhat trembling right hand, a willow wand tip was providing a flickering glow.
Willow Wood, Unicorn Hair, Thirteen Inches—Filch was as familiar with the parameters of his new wand as the back of his hand. A week ago, he obtained this wand he had dreamed of for most of his life, and since then, he had tried to use magic for almost everything.
Just like now, he raised his wand, pointing it at a sticky stain in the corner of the classroom, left by some mischievous prankster.
"Sco…urgify."
He shouted loudly and somewhat stammeringly, while his wrist clumsily twitched.
Then a weak white light shot from the wand tip, landing on the stain.
The stain seemed to shift slightly, and half of it vanished, but the other half still stubbornly remained.
In the past, Filch would have been extremely irritated by such stubborn stains, cursing with the vilest words those—"gifted but unappreciative little brats who only loaf around, causing trouble in the castle."
After all, they were born with the abilities Filch dreamed of, yet only used it to wreak havoc, brawl, throw dung bombs in corridors, or grease the staircases. They had no idea that magic was such a sacred gift!
Filch licked his chapped lips, raised his wand again, and recited the spell with more focus and fluency.
This time, the light was a little brighter, and consequently, after three or four charms, the remaining stain completely disappeared.
And so, a huge sense of satisfaction surged in Filch's heart.
The man gazed obsessively at the willow wand in his hand, his withered fingers gently stroking the wand's body.
It had been a week—a week since the Muggle Studies professor conducted that "experiment" on him, and he had been able to use these simple spells consistently and conveniently: Levitating Spells, Scouring Charm, Lighting Spell...
Filch could guarantee that he practiced more diligently than any first-year student, even though each casting left him mentally exhausted. He nevertheless found it as sweet as honey.
"Tsk tsk tsk, look at this hardworking unfortunate soul."
Suddenly, a sharp, oily voice came from the chandelier above, "Christmas, yet he's all alone in the castle, so pitiful~~"
Filch looked up to see Peeves dangling upside down like a fat bat, using a quill, stolen from who knows where, to tease Mrs. Loris. But the sleek, gray cat appeared to have lost her usual animosity towards Peeves, lazily lying there and occasionally batting a paw at the quill.
"Get lost, Peeves!"
Filch instinctively shouted, but there was less anger and more...confidence?
After all, he was a man with a wand now!
"Oh ho ho! Temper rising, Squib—oh, forgive me, former Squib, sir!"
Peeves laughed mockingly, and with a salute, flipped and landed lightly on the ground, "You're working so hard, Peeves almost feels bad to cause trouble." Of course not—Peeves just had the feeling this guy was expecting him to do something so he could use his magic—
What lunatic roams the castle on Christmas night looking for corners to magically clean?
This made Peeves very unhappy; he couldn't let Filch have his way. Thus, unusually, he restrained himself, not pulling any stunts the entire holiday.
In the past, those few taunts from Peeves would have been enough to make Filch chase him throughout the castle in fury. But now, Filch merely gave him a look of disgust and continued waving his wand, casting Lumos to look for the next dirty spot.
He realized that when he was completely immersed in the wonders of magic, even Peeves seemed a tad less irritating—only a little bit, though.
Having tidied up the nearby underground classrooms, Filch swaggered along, starting his patrol on his familiar route, while Peeves, not causing trouble, floated not too far behind, singing an off-key bizarre tune.
When they reached a particularly dark corridor near the Slytherin Dungeon, Filch's steps suddenly halted.
"..."
He stood in silence, ears attentive, his murky eyes warily peering into the darkness at the end of the corridor... Wait, where was this? He had been at Hogwarts Castle for over twenty years, but had never seen this corridor—was it because he now had magic?
Filch was suddenly excited, having long heard about many places in the castle only accessible to those with magic power.
For the first time, the old man's mind was filled with...adventure.
A burst of Gryffindor foolishness surged in his heart, and he started stepping towards the darkness.
"Stop! Stop! Don't go there!"
Behind him, Peeves, who had been humming a tune, suddenly screamed, a fear in his voice that Filch had never heard before. It flew swiftly in front of Filch, its translucent body almost blocking the entire corridor.
Filch, startled by this sudden scene, frowned in displeasure, "Get lost, Peeves! I want to see—"
"No! You mustn't go!"
Peeves' voice was trembling, his usually mocking face now full of fear. He pointed at the darkness and shrieked, "That's the devil's nest! It's the place where even Master Peeves doesn't dare to provoke, the most terrifying demon in the world resides there! Go back! Please go back! You fool, I'm saving you!"
Filch was stunned.
He'd never seen Peeves so scared; even facing the Bloody Baron, Peeves would only be a bit restrained, but never terrified like this.
Filch swallowed, looked at the darkness ahead...
It seemed even more enticing...