Squib Doors
a Harry Potter fan-fic
by Ozma
a sequel to “The Squib and The Death Eaters”
Chapter 7: Squib’s Magic
Everything in this story really belongs to J. K. Rowling.

“Show me, Argus. If you please.”

The Headmaster’s voice was kind. He looked and sounded unusually tired. No wonder. He’d been
up all night, as he’s been too often lately. First, he’d had a long and fruitless meeting with the Minister of
Magic. The Minister still stubbornly refused to believe that the Dark Lord had returned, despite all the
evidence Dumbledore could present to the contrary.

(Minerva had said, angrily, that the Minister’s head was permanently stuck in the ground, like an
ostrich. Hagrid had growled, under his breath, that the Minister’s head was permanently stuck
somewhere quite different. Privately, I agreed with Hagrid. Usually I would have said that one must show
proper respect for the position, if not for the wizard who holds it, but the Minister’s stubborn blindness
continued to defy all belief.)

Albus Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts Castle, his school and safe haven for young witches
and wizards, to find that the Castle had been invaded from within.

After a furious battle, the professors, aided by the ghosts, had destroyed a monstrous, magic-
eating vine creature who’d been lurking underground beneath the dungeons, under the dirt floor of a
little-used storeroom.

The battle, the creature’s death throes, and the subsequent, still continuing, exhumation of the
vanquished monster and its endless creepers, roots, vines and tendrils, had left much of the dungeons in a
shambles. Two students had nearly lost their lives. Several professors had been burned by the vines’ touch,
though thankfully, none very seriously.

Albus Dumbledore had not been to bed yet. It didn’t look as if he would have a chance to take a
rest any time soon.

The Trophy Room of the Castle was a shambles too, though not nearly as bad as the dungeons
were. At least someone had cleaned up the floor, where poor Ginny and Neville had been sick. But the
place still stank of decay, the air was hazy with smoke and there were ashes everywhere.

“B-but, Headmaster...” I stammered in response to his request, “I don’t know if I can do it
again.”

Dumbledore looked at me, disappointment in his eyes. I flinched and stared at the floor.

I blamed myself for what had happened at the Castle last night. I did not know if I could do what
Dumbledore wanted me to do. I didn’t know if I really wanted to succeed. Part of what I’d been able to do
had terrified me.

But I put my bandaged hands against the filthy trophy room wall. I had to try. I owed him that
much.

Please... I thought, quivering inside. Is Anything there?

Silence.

The Headmaster hadn’t blamed me for any of it. He hadn’t shouted at me or sacked me. He
hadn’t punished me any way.

I kept trying.

Severus Snape stood a little apart from Dumbledore and me, in the shadows. The exhaustion
evident in his pale, strained face and in every line of his thin, black clad body, made me cringe in
sympathy.

Professor Snape can be quite ...territorial about the dungeons. He doesn’t simply teach classes
there, his rooms and his office are down there as well. I’d heard that his rooms had escaped serious
damage. His classroom and office had been nearly destroyed. (I felt dreadfully guilty, because my own
office had barely been touched.)

But the dungeons of Hogwarts held something even more precious to Severus. Thankfully, the
long, creeping vines of the creature had not even come close to the underground dormitories of Slytherin
House.

Severus had taken no chances with his Slytherins. The first one of the professors to notice
something amiss, he’d alerted the others, even as he’d been busy evacuating the children of his house up
to the safety of the Great Hall to sleep for the night.

I’d overheard other professors saying that Severus had fought the creature like a demon-crazed
warlock. The battle had cost him dearly. Severus was still trying to recover from the Cruciatus Curse. The
long, strife-filled night he’d just had was affecting him, visibly, even more than Dumbledore. His face was
nearly as white as one of the ghosts. His eyes were hollow and had bruised-looking shadows under them.

The Headmaster had asked Snape to fetch me from the hospital wing. Severus had swept into the
ward, trailing his black robes and his customary aura of menace. The expression on his pale face when he
looked at me had been so cold that Ginny and Neville had clearly been afraid for me. Even ill and tired,
Severus could be terrifying.

“Headmaster Dumbledore wishes to see him. In the Trophy Room. Now.” Snape had said to
Poppy, not even acknowledging me or the children.

He hadn’t needed to drag me out of there by my ear. I felt so guilty and wretched that I stood up
immediately to follow him.

“Oooh... Filch is in *tro-ub-le!*” Peeves had said in a soft sing-song voice. The poltergeist had
been in the hospital wing, soaking his damaged foot in a pail of water. He’d been the only one of the
ghosts to suffer an injury.

His wound was the only one that I’d stopped feeling badly about.

Mrs. Norris had been asleep on Ginny’s lap. But, as soon as Snape entered, she’d been awake
and alert. She sprang to the floor and followed us from the room.

She stood at my feet now, offering me moral support.

Her support was very badly needed. I slumped, resting my forehead and forearms against the
trophy room wall. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. I can’t do it. Forgive me. I’m so tired...”

My last comment had been in a barely audible whisper. I knew that I had no right to complain
about my exhaustion in front of either Dumbledore or Snape. Terrible as my night had been, each of theirs
had been far worse. But I simply could not match their endurance! Poppy had healed my ribs, treated my
bruises and put salve on the rash I’d gotten from touching the vines, but I still ached from head to foot.

I told myself to stop whining. I looked at Dumbledore. “I’m sorry, Headmaster,” I repeated. “Let
me fetch my things and make a start at cleaning up in here. It’s the least I can...”

There was a sudden change in the air. A tingle of magic ran down my spine. Something
inhuman, ancient and incredibly powerful, was stirring.

That Something had taken notice of me. Far more notice of me than It ever had before.

“Headmaster...!?” I tried to say. But the word came out as a cry of pain and fear.

Dumbledore who was behind me, reached out to hold me up. Without his support I would have
crumpled to the floor. My heart was racing. I was covered with sweat.

I was helpless in the grip of Something vast, and far more terrifying than the vine-creature. It
could crush me, shatter me to pieces, if It were ever to favor me with more than this small fraction of Its
Awareness.

“No...” I wailed. “Headmaster.... help me! Make It stop...!”

Dumbledore moved, wrapping his left arm around me. He moved his right arm under mine, wand
in hand.

“No more...” I cried. “Please... It hurts...!”

“It will be all right, Argus...” he said, quietly. “Do not be afraid. You know the Castle better than
anyone. Better even than I do. Every nook and cranny... every twist and turn, every secret path... your
place is here. It’s time you touched the Castle’s heart.”

His voice was soothing. I felt his power protecting me, shielding me. I could breathe again.

“Is there something you wish to say?” The Headmaster murmured. “While you have Its
attention?”

“Yes...” I whispered. My left hand still touched the wall. I knew my thoughts would be heard.
Still trembling and frightened, my heart beating like a rabbit’s in a snare, I nevertheless meant every
silent word.

Thank you. For keeping everyone within Your Walls safe last night.

Thank you for the life of Ginny Weasley. For the life of Neville Longbottom. For the life of Mrs.
Norris.

For my life...

Without words, the Castle answered me.

I felt suddenly filled with light. Too much light for me to hold, it spilled out all around me, into
Dumbledore and Snape.

I did not know what they were feeling. But for me, it was a highly uncomfortable blend of pain
and joy.

I wept.

Behind me, I heard Severus gasp. He sounded like child, full of awe and wonder, younger than
Neville and Ginny.

Much more of this and my heart would burst! My hand slipped from the wall.

Gently, Dumbledore moved my hand back. “One thing more...” he reminded me.

Wordlessly, I framed a request.

And the wall in front of me changed.

Four tapestries appeared, all in a row. I had never seen them together before. Side by side, it was
easier to see the differences in their faint colors, so faded with age that they were barely even there.

The tapestry that had saved Ginny, Neville, Mrs. Norris and me last night, the one that always
brought me to the Trophy Room, was patterned in traces of red and gold.

The second one, always obliging enough to let me out near my office in the dungeons, bore
equally faint traces of green and silver.

Next was the faded blue and copper one that would take me near the Library.

Last was the tattered black and yellow one that always took me up to the Owlery.

Then the Castle’s Awareness was suddenly gone, as if someone had blown out a candle.

The four tapestries remained.

“Thank you, Argus,” Dumbledore said, smiling. He looked as tired as before, but the blue eyes
behind the half-moon glasses were shining. “Excellent! Well done.”

I was shuddering helplessly, my legs too weak to hold me, The Headmaster helped me slide to the
floor at his feet. I felt broken and battered, like something that had been washed up on a beach after a
terrible storm.

Mrs. Norris came to me and I clutched her tightly, a drowning man grabbing a rope.

“Please, Headmaster...” I begged, softly, tears still trickling down my face, “never, ever ask me
to do that again.”

“Don’t worry, Argus. I won’t.” Dumbledore assured me. “Too much of that would not be healthy.
Whenever the Castle decides to notice me I find it quite unsettling. I’m glad that it only usually happens
once a decade or so.”

We both saw a shudder pass through Severus. It seemed that he agreed with us.

“Filch...?”

It was Peeves.

The poltergeist sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. He’d just flown in through the wall. He
looked down at me, huddled and weeping on the floor, Mrs. Norris fussing over me like a mother cat, and
the Headmaster and Professor Snape looming over me.

Since last night, the poltergeist, furious at being hurt, and blaming me for his injury, had been
saying to everyone in the Castle that the Headmaster ought to have me beaten. Maybe he’d even come
down to the trophy room to plead his case before the Headmaster again and insist that I should be
punished.

To my dismay, I realized that my cries had probably been audible from the corridor. Wretched
Peeves had obviously overheard, and had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Not even Peeves had really expected Dumbledore to do as he’d asked. But, there was Snape
standing over me, looking malevolent, and the Headmaster beside him, looking grave. Peeves’ eyes grew
rounder than I’d ever seen them get.

“As you can see, Peeves, Filch has answered, in full, for his role in last night’s events,” Snape
said, sneering up at the poltergeist. “And I am still not in a particularly good mood. Would you like some
of what he’s just gotten?”

Shocked and disbelieving, I could only sit there, with my mouth open.. My disbelief increased
when Peeves’ sharp little face acquired a guilty look.

“You all right, then, Old Filch?” Peeves asked me, nervously.

“He will be fine,” Dumbledore said quietly, before I could produce any coherent sounds. “All
things considered, I feel that Mr. Filch’s actions last evening were really quite brave. Now that the small
question of his culpability has been dealt with to my satisfaction, I believe that we can consider the
subject permanently closed.”

Peeves looked from Dumbledore to Snape, then down at me. He gulped. Without another word,
he turned around and flew back out through the wall.

Humiliated, I sputtered, “Headmaster! Professor! Why, in Merlin’s Name, did the two of you do
that?”

Dumbledore’s tired blue eyes twinkled. “But, Argus, everything that Severus and I said to Peeves
was true.”

“B-but you said...! You told him that that the question of my guilt was settled. And that the
subject was closed! Permanently.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Dumbledore said.

“Does that mean that neither of you blame me for any of this?” I asked, hesitantly.

Severus and the Headmaster exchanged a glance.

“He’s thicker than a troll, Albus!” Snape complained.

Dumbledore chuckled, while Snape scowled at me.

“Filch,” Severus said, “Listen carefully, for I am only going to say this once. We do not blame
you. That vine-creature was clearly meant to grow, secretly, under the Castle until it became too large and
powerful for us to fight. If you, Mr. Longbottom and Miss Weasley had not awakened it prematurely, that
is likely to have happened.”

“Because of the three of you, that thing did not have a chance to grow too close to the Slytherin
dormitories, which I suspect, would have been its first target.” Snape looked at me, and there was no
mistaking the gratitude in his weary eyes.

“As for our little prank on the poltergeist...” he continued, “do you think that we wanted to listen
to that wretched creature milking his injury for all it’s worth until next Christmas? We do not wish you to
feel responsible for things that are not your fault. On the other hand, a little misplaced guilt will do Peeves
a world of good.”

Snape’s dark eyes met the Headmaster’s again for a moment. Even though both men were
exhausted, tense and under pressures I couldn’t begin to understand, they grinned at each other.

Snape’s smile was a brief showing of his teeth, like the flash of a knife.

Dumbledore grinned back like a small boy.

“Peeves teases everyone else in the Castle, Argus.” The Headmaster said, mildly. “Do you think
he deserves to have all the fun?”

“With all due respect, Headmaster, I think it’s unfair of the two of you to tease the poltergeist at
my expense! I think that the pair of you are plainly over-tired and as giddy as house elves under the
influence of too much cooking sherry. You should both get yourselves to your beds as soon as possible.
Sirs.”

“Soon, Argus,” Dumbledore promised. “First we would like to learn a bit about these Doors of
yours.”

Dumbledore and Snape examined the tapestries for a while. I sat on the floor and caught my
breath. Mrs. Norris sat in my lap and purred. Slowly, I calmed down.

I realized that the Headmaster had called my name.

Both of them were looking at me, gravely.

“Each of these tapestries was created by one of the four Founders.” Dumbledore told me. “That
much is obvious. Over the centuries many wizards and witches have bemoaned the fact that the Castle’s
defenses do not allow them to Apparate and Disapparate inside the Castle, or anywhere on its grounds. It
seems that the Founders were no different. Each of the Hogwarts Four had a wandering door of their
own.”

He sat on the dirty floor beside me, while Snape continued to examine the tapestries thoughtfully.

“But, why would the Founders have put anti-wizard spells on their Doors?” I asked. “It doesn’t
make sense!”

“Each of the tapestries was keyed only to the witch or wizard who created it,” Severus said. “And
the spells you are referring to were simply meant to prevent them from being used by any other witch or
wizard.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt. I could use the Founders’ Doors only because I
wasn’t a proper wizard. “I see.”

“No, you do not,” Dumbledore said, earnestly. He sighed. “Argus. Listen to me. You know that
Squibs are quite unusual. They... you... are not the same as Muggles. But, you are not like other wizards
either.”

“I’m not a wizard at all.” I said, automatically.

Snape hissed in frustration. “I’ve had more than enough of your endless self pity, Filch! Just be
silent and listen! In the mixture of Wizard and Muggle, magic and mundane, Squibs are rare trace
elements. You can not create spells, but you can affect them. And magic often reacts to you in ways that
are unpredictable.”

I heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. “Are you telling me I *am* a wizard?”

Snape snarled under his breath, muttered “...thicker than a TROLL!” and turned his back on me,
furiously.

Dumbledore was more patient. “Argus, you are as much a wizard as I am.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“If you weren’t a wizard then you would be incapable of using the Doors at all,” The Headmaster
said. “You have just enough magic to use them. If you had any more they would be as closed to you as
they are to every other witch and wizard in this Castle. When the Founders made the Doors, and warded
them against other wizards and witches, they did not take Squibs into account when they were casting
their spells. Many spells simply do not take Squibs into account.”

“Magic has strict rules,” Snape said, over his shoulder. “But, apparently, Squibs are living
loopholes.”

This was really going to take a while to sink in.

Dumbledore continued, gently. “The magical tools created by powerful witches and wizards can
acquire a life of their own, as we all know. The Tapestries have been ...lonely. I believe that they are quite
pleased that someone is finding them useful again.”

“You may not be aware of this, but you have already achieved some small degree of control over
them,” he continued. “With more training I believe you may be able to learn how to summon them at will
and use them to take you anywhere inside the Castle. Or maybe even outside, within its boundaries.”

Cuddling Mrs. Norris, I hobbled to my feet, to stare at the Founders’ Doors.

Dumbledore smiled. “They are yours now, Argus. They’ve all been keyed to you for some time.
No one else in the Castle can use them.” He sounded pleased for me. And as young and eager as a first
year with a brand new wand.

Squib Doors, then...?

Mine?

Professor Snape sounded considerably less enthusiastic.

“He’s in terrible danger, Albus.” Snape said, stiffly. “And the Castle may be in danger from him.
Surely you realize that. The fewer people who know about this, the safer we will all be. If the Death Eaters
were to discover what he can do... if they should get their hands on him again, the results could be
devastating.”

I shuddered. He didn’t have to spell anything out. I would not be able to fight a Dark Wizard’s
Imperius Curse, a curse that might turn me into an assassin. A killer that could not be stopped by the
Castle’s protective spells against Apparating and Disapparating. Would I now be able to bypass any
portrait? Any password? Any ward within the Castle? The implications staggered me.

Severus sounded angry with himself. “I am sorry, Albus. I should have been able to predict this!
If a Dark spell could allow its caster to Apparate within the Castle, using a borrowed Squib-skin, I should
have surmised that a Squib, who comes by his skin honestly, might be capable of accomplishing the same
type of feat.”

Dumbledore smiled, wryly. “Severus. I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully. You
could not have predicted this. To the best of my knowledge, the study of Squib-magic is a lost art.”

“Nearly everyone in the modern Wizarding world would consider ‘Squib magic’ a contradiction
in terms,” Severus agreed. He frowned, obviously thinking once more of the ancient Dark scroll that had
once belonged to Lucius Malfoy. He’d often worried that the scroll wasn’t the only one of it’s kind.

“Perhaps, for his own safety, Filch shouldn’t explore the possibilities offered by those tapestries
any further...” Severus said.

I would have taken offense. But I heard real regret in Snape’s voice. He knew exactly what that
would have cost me, and he would have grieved at the necessity.

“Knowledge and training are his best protection, Severus. He can train in secret. No one will
know about the Doors, beyond those who know already. The danger makes it even more important that he
should be trained.” Dumbledore said.

“What about the children? Miss Weasley and Mr. Longbottom?” Severus asked.

“After I sent you to fetch Argus, Minerva went to see the children. She undoubtedly has already
told them that the Tapestries must remain a secret, for the sake of Argus’s safety.”

The Headmaster turned to me and smiled. “She knew, even before she’d spoken with them, that
the children would be quite willing to keep the secret for your sake, Argus. It seems that they have become
fond of you.”

“Ginny and Neville are good children,” I said, embarrassed. “Perfectly well behaved.” I glowered
at Snape, daring him to say something derogatory about Neville. But he said nothing. He looked as if he
were trying not to smile. Then he yawned and swayed on his feet.

Both Professor and Headmaster looked ready to fall asleep right where they were.

“Severus, I believe that you and I should turn in, at least for an hour or two. Your rooms are still
mostly intact, aren’t they? Yes? Good. Argus, I don’t suppose you’d care to offer us the use of one of
your shortcuts?” Dumbledore sounded curious and wistful.

Then he shook his head, regretfully. “No. Considering how ill it made the children, I suppose it’s
best if we just take the long way. And, Argus, please get some sleep yourself before you start cleaning.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” I said, obediently.

After the Headmaster and Professor Snape left the Trophy Room, Mrs. Norris and I remained,
staring at the Doors.

“Well, my sweet, let’s choose a shortcut, shall we?” I said.

Still not sure about how much control I could exert over the exit point, I chose the Ravenclaw
tapestry, because my rooms are closer to the Library than they are to the Dungeons or the Owlery.

“My bedroom, please...?” I said, as I stepped through it. I expected to end up just outside the
Library, as I always did when I used this Door.

But it was my own room that I emerged into.

“Oh, my,” I said to Mrs. Norris, who came through the Door behind me. “I think we can get used
to this, with very little difficulty indeed...!”

My cat purred, rubbed up against my ankles, and leaped lightly up onto the bed.

“Thank you...” I said to the Squib Door. “Er... you don’t have to hang about here, if you have
other places you’d rather be...?”

The tapestry stayed put.

“Suit yourself then.” I said, and collapsed onto the bed next to my cat, too tired to bother with
getting undressed.

******

I remain who I have always been; the nasty old Squib caretaker of Hogwarts Castle, surrounded
by Witches and Wizards. All my life I have felt helpless, powerless and useless. Fit only to clean floors,
and walls and toilets. I am a petty tyrant about the few things I can actually control. I detest children and I
live to make the students’ lives here miserable. The world outside Hogwarts frightens me terribly, and the
world inside Hogwarts has been slipping out from under me lately.

But, I wonder. Can any of these things ...change?

Can a Castle made of stone and the dreams of Wizards and Witches have a heart?

Ginny and Neville care what happens to me. That’s all right. I care very deeply about what
happens to them, too.

Mrs. Norris has learned to let me out of her sight again.

Professor Snape and the Headmaster pulled a successful prank on Peeves.

(All right, it was at my expense, but you can’t have everything.)

Albus Dumbledore himself told me that I’m a Wizard.

The Squib Doors are mine to use.

Anything is possible.

THE END

Author’s Notes:

“Filch is as much a wizard as I am.” This a quote from Dumbledore, in Andolyn’s wonderful story
“Muggle.” Dumbledore says this to Ari, the story’s delightful heroine. I borrowed it, because I thought
Filch would enjoy hearing that from The Headmaster too.

Alchemine: Thank you! I had fun writing McGonagall in Avenging Lioness mode! Filch would have been
happiest in Hufflepuff, I think. Hufflepuffs are brave, it’s just not their most distinguishing characteristic.
(I tend to think of the Hufflepuffs as being sort of like the Badger Lords in the “Redwall” series. Gentle
and patient with those they love, able to take their ease during times of peace, but when they’re roused to
anger... they’re brave and relentlessly fierce!)

Lataradk: Thank you!! The vines were able to use the Tapestry because they hitched a ride with Filch.
Like Ginny and Neville, they couldn’t have gotten through on their own.

Jazzofborg: Thank you!! Yes, Snape definitely knows what goes on in his dungeons. His children sleep
down there.

It was fun, seeing Peeves get his. So I couldn’t resist adding a dash of emotional damage to the
poltergeist’s physical injury!

I hope J.K. Rowling will someday address how Squibs deal with anti-Muggle spells. She hasn’t yet, so I
gave it my best guess.

Barty was a very sneaky little creep indeed. He didn’t expect to bring down the whole Castle with the
vine-monster, but he was aiming for heavy casualties among the young Slytherins. He wanted to strike at
the “faithless” Death Eaters who’d escaped Azkaban, through their children. I am not sure if Voldemort
would have approved...

RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you!! Thank you!! Snape definitely agrees with you about Argus’s self pity. I
loved your comparison between Argus, Remus and Sirius and how they all blame themselves for things
they couldn’t help. ;-D Imagine how horrified all three of them would be at the comparison!

Elspeth: Thank you!! My take on Peeves and Filch is that they honestly can’t stand each other, but each
one would feel quite lost without the other. Until Filch nearly died, Peeves never thought about the fact
that the caretaker isn’t immortal. Peeves loves to torment Filch, but seeing the squib harmed by others will
make the poltergeist uncomfortable. As for Filch, if Peeves ever left the Castle, he wouldn’t know what to
do with himself.

Lyansidde: Thank you!! I wish I could forget my day job. Writing stories all day would be such fun!

11