Just after term began, the professors were mostly giving the young witches and wizards theoretical material. Sorimus was already thoroughly familiar with most of it, so in the current pleasantly easy environment, he had a great deal of time at his own disposal.
And this morning, the thing he had been expecting had finally arrived by owl.
On Fridays, they only had lessons in the morning, which meant both the afternoon and evening were entirely his to use as he pleased.
After lunch, Sorimus began searching the castle grounds for someone.
Argus Filch.
Filch was Hogwarts' caretaker. He was bad-tempered, thoroughly unpleasant, and took particular pleasure in making life difficult for students. He kept a cat called Mrs Norris, who was almost his entire emotional support. Like Filch, she wandered endlessly through the castle corridors. The moment she spotted even the slightest bit of student mischief, Filch would appear at the scene with astonishing speed.
Filch was a Squib, which meant he had been born into a wizarding family but could not use magic. That fact, at least in part, had shaped both his miserable temperament and his resentment toward young witches and wizards. Hanging from the ceiling of his office were polished chains and gleaming manacles, all kept ready in case he was ever given permission to punish rule-breaking students with them.
That, more than anything, was what he loved most.
Sorimus was looking for Filch for one reason only:
He was a Squib.
To be honest, when you had not done anything wrong, Filch was surprisingly hard to find. Sorimus had already wandered around a fair bit without catching sight of either Filch or Mrs Norris. After questioning seven or eight portraits, he finally located Filch, who was scrubbing graffiti off a wall.
Filch was already quite old.
Because he could not use magic, he could only deal with stains using a brush and cleaning solution, instead of doing it the way a wizard would.
"Scourgify."
Filch whipped around at once and stared at Sorimus, clearly convinced this was some new trick meant to mock him.
"Good afternoon, Mr Filch."
Sorimus put away his wand.
"Get out of here, boy!" Filch limped toward him with a long-handled brush in hand. "Don't think you can laugh at me!"
"I have no intention of laughing at you, Filch. I simply want to talk."
"Leave before I hang you up!" Filch snarled viciously.
"Don't you want to use magic the way a wizard does?"
Sorimus smiled.
"I'll be direct. My younger sister is a Squib too. I want to help her gain the ability to use magic. And in that regard, you, as a fellow Squib, can help me."
Sorimus looked at Filch, who had gone very still with the brush in his hand.
"Shall we talk properly in your office instead? I have no classes this afternoon or tonight. If I wanted amusement, I would not have come here to... well. You see my point."
When Filch first learned he was a Squib, it had felt as though the whole world had gone gray.
Born into a pure-blood family, yet a Squib.
All he could do was watch others use magic. He endured his family's disgust, endured the mockery of others. It was not as though Filch had never tried. He had. He had tried every method he could think of. He had even mistreated himself, hoping somehow to force his magic awake. But no matter what he did, his power never surfaced.
Slowly, Filch had given up.
In the end, under arrangements made by his family, he came to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and settled into life as a caretaker. No one had ever cared about Filch. No one had ever paid him any real attention. In more than fifty years of life, he had never once had a friend.
And yet today, a young wizard stood before him offering help.
Even if, to that boy, he was only a test subject, Filch did not want to let the chance slip away. No matter how faint the possibility, he was willing to try. He knew very well that if he had been a wizard, then his life would have been completely different.
"If I find out you're playing me..."
Filch's office was a little room lit by an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, filled with the smell of fried fish. Filing cabinets stood inside it, crammed with records of student misbehavior. Merely looking at the room was enough to tell anyone Filch's status at Hogwarts. There were so many empty classrooms and unused rooms in the castle, many of them far better than this one, yet this shabby little room was all the school had given him.
"Come on, Filch. Time is precious."
Sorimus took out the parcel he had received that morning.
"Before we begin, Mr Filch," Sorimus said as he unwrapped it, "you need to understand that there are two kinds of Squibs."
Those born into wizarding families yet unable to use magic were called Squibs. The similarity between Squibs and Muggles was that neither could cast spells. The difference, however, was that Squibs possessed magic. It was precisely because they had magic that Squibs could see magical creatures like Dementors, creatures invisible to ordinary Muggles.
But not all Squibs were the same.
Some became Squibs because their talent was insufficient. The trace amount of magic in their bodies was too weak to trigger accidental magic, so they never developed the ability to cast.
Others, however, became Squibs for the exact opposite reason.
Their talent was too strong.
A great quantity of magic built up inside their bodies, the resulting magical outburst would cause irreversible damage to a child's body. In those circumstances, the body would instinctively choose not to release the magic at all, in other words, it would suppress the magical outburst entirely.
The first thing Sorimus needed to determine was which type Filch belonged to.
Had he become a Squib because he possessed too little magic?
Or because he had possessed too much magic in childhood and therefore never undergone accidental magic at all?
"Here, drink this potion, Mr Filch. It's a magical reaction potion."
Sorimus explained as he handed it over.
"Drink it, then tell me what you feel."
A magical reaction potion responded to the amount of magical power present in the subject. It was generally used to test how much magic was contained in potion ingredients or alchemical materials. If the magical content was sufficient, then the material was considered suitable for use. Ordinarily, however, witches and wizards could not drink such a potion directly. Long before coming to Hogwarts, Sorimus had asked his grandfather to help him find a Potions master willing to modify it into a form safe for wizard consumption.
Filch did not hesitate for a second.
He drank the magical reaction potion in one go.
In his view, unless the boy had completely lost his mind, no one would use poison on him. And if anything really happened to him, the brat in front of him would not escape the consequences either.
"What do you feel now?"
Sorimus took a notebook and a quill from the pocket hidden beneath his robes.
"If you do not feel anything yet, then wait until you do."