Detention with Filch

In my day, they would have hung you by your toes. Grumbled Filch yet again.

Harry, who was beginning to get used to the caretaker's reprimands, paid no attention and continued to follow him.

It was the tenth time he had been in detention with the caretaker since the incident with Snape. He had tried to apologize, but Snape wouldn't listen. It even had the opposite effect. Snape accused him of trying to flatter him to get special treatment. In desperation, he had tried to tell him privately during a detention that he didn't approve of his father's foolish behavior or his mother's superficiality. But upon hearing his last words, Snape flew into a rage and was even more unpleasant to him in the following classes (to Harry's great surprise, it was possible). Since then, he said nothing in Snape's presence and tried to make himself forgotten. But that didn't work either.

Several times, he had been on the verge of tears in his class. In front of others, he acted proud, but Snape's classes had become his nightmare. Every time he had to attend his classes with Snape, he stressed all day and even had trouble eating the meal just before.

Now, he was torn between cursing his father, because it was his fault that Snape was taking revenge on him, or approving of his father for having targeted such a despicable being. Damn, it wasn't his fault that his father was an idiot!

In fact, he was seriously considering stopping attending potion classes. After all, what could he do to him?

Give him detentions? Considering the number of detentions Snape was already giving him, he would probably have fewer if he skipped. Every time he made a mistake (and he made them regularly given how stressed he was), Snape accused him of doing it on purpose to draw attention to himself and gave him one.

Warn his parents? If Petunia knew, it would be Snape who would get scolded, not him. And it wasn't Vernon who was going to blame him for not learning magic. On the contrary, he would probably be delighted with the initiative and suggest that instead, he take correspondence courses in accounting (or another serious subject).

Expel him? After all the trouble Dumbledore went through to get him to Hogwarts, it would surprise him if the old headmaster dared to do that.

Not give him his diploma? So what? He had enough money to live without working for several lifetimes.

But the janitor interrupted his thoughts by handing him a broom, a bucket, and a cloth.

Tonight, you will clean the trophy room. It might make you lose the desire to be insolent. And no using magic. I'll be working right next door, and I'll see if you try to cheat.

Said the janitor as he began to clean the corridor adjacent to the trophy room that the Weasley twins had covered with dungbombs of their own making three weeks earlier.

These dungbombs had the peculiarity of reappearing half an hour after the janitor cleaned them up. It took the janitor a week to realize the problem, another week to convince a teacher to fix the problem, and yet another to succeed in breaking the curse.

Even if he found them strange, he quite liked the Weasleys. But now that he knew how annoying it could be to clean up, he found this joke cruel for the caretaker. Not that he appreciated Filch, but he hadn't done anything to deserve that. Not to mention he understood why he was so unpleasant to everyone. The students were extremely disdainful towards him, without him understanding why. Even the teachers hadn't hesitated to belittle him despite Harry's presence when, reluctantly, he asked them for help with those dungbombs. Only that greasy bastard Snape seemed to listen to the caretaker with respect (but Harry supposed it was just out of a desire to punish Gryffindors). He too would be cantankerous if he were treated like that all the time.

But Harry's thoughts were diverted by a pain he felt in his wrist from rubbing with that old rag, the awards stored in the trophy room. He began to look for a way to escape this chore. He examined the trophies and his gaze stopped on a name: "Tom Riddle." This name rang a bell. He searched his memory but found nothing. He stopped rubbing and examined the cup. It was written that this Riddle had received an award for exceptional service to the school in 1944. He thought he must be mistaken. He couldn't know him. Apart from McGonagall and Dumbledore, he didn't know anyone that old.

Get back to work, rascal. I can't stand slackers. Roared Filch

I am not lazy. I just have a sore hand.

Ah! Young people your age, you are too pampered, as a result, you can't stand the slightest effort. I am three times your age and because of little careless people like you, every day, I have to clean five rooms like this one. And yet, I endure it.

Why don't you use magic? You're not punished. Asked Harry.

A huge silence followed this question.

Wait, you can't?

Who told you that I am a Squib? Filch shouted, now clearly angry.

What is a squib?