Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 787 Dialogue with the Squib

In the middle of the aisle of Filch’s prize display room, a man hunched over carefully wiping the glass cabinet doors, stiffened slightly upon hearing Loren’s question, bending even lower.

Before him stood neatly arranged crystal display cases, their clear light reflecting the candlelight. Inside were the honors won by past students: shields representing the best players on the Quidditch team, gold cups representing the winners of the annual School Cup, silver cups, badges, framed photographs…

In the dim light, someone was wiping a trophy for a special contribution award, inscribed with: "Gespard Singleton, Hufflepuff, 1970-1977."

The prefect of Hufflepuff's class, he excelled in Potions and Herbalism but was not good at Transfiguration. He earned seven certificates in the NEWT exams and invented the Automatic Stirring Cauldron after graduation. As a result, he was included in the history of magic textbooks during his lifetime and was recently featured in "The Wizard of the Month".

As the administrator, Filch, looked at the name engraved on the base, these thoughts flashed through his mind.

He has been in this castle for nearly thirty years, and has wiped these prizes countless times over those thirty years. He is actually more familiar with the awards these items represent and the names engraved on the bases of the prizes than some of the professors.

In the years leading up to his appointment as Hogwarts warden, he often found himself fantasizing when alone: ​​if he had inherited his parents' magic, if he had received his Hogwarts acceptance letter at age 11, if he had his own wand and studied magic like the other students, would Argus Filch's name have appeared here?

But he was a genuine Squib.

Since the last century, the Ministry of Magic has attached great importance to the issue of Squibs, encouraging them to integrate into Muggle society and live ordinary, happy lives. With the Ministry's help, he also had a respectable job in Muggle society in his youth, going to work every morning and returning in the evening, spending his weekends mowing the lawn, cleaning his house, and occasionally having a drink at the pub…

Easy and enjoyable, with a considerable income and a bright future.

But such a life is bland and boring. The fireplace can only provide warmth, the fountain pen is cold and hard, and everything is conventional. It will not suddenly disappear or suddenly appear, nor will it become a lively and lively word. It will always abide by the so-called scientific laws of Muggles.

Filch found it unbearable.

He knew of such a magnificent and magical world, where fireplaces could lead to villages hundreds of miles away, where writing instruments were soft, warm quills and parchment, where anything could float in the sky, and where, under the influence of summoning and vanishing charms, even a blade of grass could transform into a rampaging bison. But this world refused to let him in…

The mere thought of the world shutting him out felt like his heart was being torn apart by thousands of cats' claws, like being whipped from the ceiling; the pain of unfulfilled desire tormented his soul every moment.

So he wrote to Dumbledore asking for a job to replace Apollon Pringle as the school's administrator.

It's as if stepping into Hogwarts is like entering that magical and magnificent world. Occasionally, as you walk through the corridors, you might pretend to overhear the professors lecturing, and your twisted soul seems to find some solace.

Almost all the Squibs in the magical world made similar choices.

Although Squibs are a minority, they are not few in number; there are dozens in the UK alone. There's Mrs. Figg in the Order of the Phoenix, a rugby player on the Scottish national team, a deliveryman in Diagon Alley, and old Jim at Hogsmeade Bakery...

"..."

Filch remained silent, wiping the trophy himself. His right hand, with its bony knuckles and thin skin, gripped a towel tightly and rubbed it hard against the engraving on the base. His fingers looked pale from the force.

Loren stood on the other side, wiping the surfaces. His movements were neither hurried nor slow, neither perfunctory nor overly serious.

"Being a Squib who can't use magic must be really tough being a custodian at Hogwarts."

Loren's tone was calm, sounding neither concerned nor sarcastic. "No student will seriously check the list of prohibited items updated each semester, because with a little disguise, the administrators simply can't check for contraband. You can't tell whether something sent from Weasley's Wizarding World is perfume or aphrodisiac. When catching students who wander off at night, they'll be fooled by Disillusionment Charms and Invisibility Cloaks, and can only seek help from Mrs. Loris. Openly violating school rules in the hallways, they can simply escape your sight by throwing a few spells to distract you. There are many similar cases."

With his back to Filch, he wiped the display case himself, speaking gently: "Mr. Filch, what kind of belief has sustained you for thirty years as an administrator?"

"You don't understand, you'll never understand," Filch murmured, his voice hoarse. "You're blessed with good fortune, able to master that magic after a childhood of ignorance, and you'll never understand the pain of a Squirrel. Rather than wallowing in the mundane world as Muggles, I'd rather struggle in the magical world."

"Is it because you've seen such a magnificent world that you can't stand the ordinary...?"

Loren didn't argue that he understood that feeling. He continued wiping the display case and calmly asked, "What if you've never touched magic? Born into an ordinary family with ordinary parents, where you have to clean your room yourself and cook food step by step instead of just waving a wand?"

Lady Lorris had somehow taken her seat atop the crystal display case, her posture upright and elegant, her tail circling around the front of her plum blossom feet, her bright eyes fixed on the two of them.

"Having passed through your ignorant childhood, the new things you encountered were electric lights and telephones, and you were amazed to see cars driving on the road. Behind all these amazing things are scientific principles. Although mastering this knowledge requires diligence and effort, and perhaps also a clever mind... it won't affect your rough understanding if you don't have them, but you just won't be able to explore in depth."

Loren paused briefly: "Does this kind of background still cause you pain?"

Filch had stopped wiping the trophy and put it back in the crystal display case. The glass door was half open, and he stared at it, lost in thought, his reflection in the glass.

After a long pause, Filch shook his head: "I don't know."

"..."

Loren didn't press the matter further, and the entire showroom gradually quieted down.

Filch slowly walked to the next display case, opened the door, took out the prize inside, and wiped it. The trophy, with its metallic luster, was a special contribution award issued by the school. It was spotless and brand new, without any dust or scratches, and had just been put in recently.

His gaze unconsciously swept over the name engraved on the base, and he froze on the spot, unable to help but turn to look at Loren.

"Loren Morgan, Gryffindor, 1991–1998"

(End of this chapter)