Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. I am in no way profiting off of this work.

Don't Go

Filch often read in the library at night—well, if often was once a month, or so. But those nights that he did were so anticipated by him, so treasured, that they counted more than the other days did, and he remembered them more willfully, so they felt more numerous, though they were quite scarce, really. It didn't help that he'd been doing it for years.

Today he was reading Hogwarts; A History. Well, rereading, to be fair. It didn't matter, though, it was just as fascinating the second time.

"Argus? Is that you?" Filch looked up immediately, his eyes wide with chock. Slowly, color bled into his face, until he was quite as red as was possible. Borderline purple, really. And why shouldn't he be embarrassed? He'd been caught. After years of sneaking about, he'd finally been caught. It was embarrassing, and horrible, and if he had taken a moment to think he might have realized that this was exactly how students felt around him every day. But he didn't have a moment, because the figure was coming towards him. She was carrying a lantern, much like the one beside him.

"What are you doing up at this hour? Any sane wizard would be asleep.." the word stung. Wizard. He wasn't a wizard. Sometimes he felt so pathetic he wondered if he even deserved to be called a man, skulking around the hallways punishing children he was secretly, deeply envious of.

"Just reading, Irma," he muttered, trying to read her face to see if she was going to tell him off for not doing his rounds as he should have been. Or, at least, sleeping. Irma was known to get rather possessive when it came to her library and her books... though they weren't really hers.

As he tried to read her expression, he noticed, not for the first time, just how beautiful the witch really was. He had dark hair and wide, dark dark eyes, and lips that were effortlessly red. But she wasn't vain. She never wore make-up—he only knew this because Rolanda Hooch had commented on it at a meeting, one day, when Irma had decided to wear a little eye shadow. 'My, you're wearing make-up today, Irma? I thought you were against it,' she'd said. Hardly tactfully, either. But she hadn't meant to be tactful, Rolanda had never gotten along with Irma...

"Just reading? At this hour? You should be asleep, Argus," she murmured scornfully, he was about to argue when she added, in a slightly softer tone, "You know, I worry about you, sometimes. Staying up so late to patrol. It's a wonder you don't tall asleep during the day, with what little sleep you get. It really isn't healthy."

Filch sighed in defeat and stood up, rising out of his chair. "Sorry, Irma, I didn't mean for you to worry." He closed the book and turned to go, meaning to return the book to its exact place on the shelves.

"Don't go," she said softly. He was going to protest, but felt her hand wrap around his.

"Alright," he murmured in defeat.

In the following months, Filch found that he was neglecting his night-patroling duties more than he had in past years. He also realized that 'Don't go' meant, 'I love you.'

~x~