You are viewing a story from harrypotterfanfiction.com
He wished that he were perfect, but he were a far cry from perfection. Quintessential men did not look like himself, of that he was fully aware. They were tall and handsome with features that looked chiseled from the gods, with teeth that were so pristine and white that they were blinding. They were the type that seemed to walk out of romance novels solely for the purpose of falling in love with that one girl, and sometimes it was more than a bit surprising as to whom he chose. He usually chose the gorgeous girl with the high cheekbones or the girl that could hold a decent conversation, but every once in a while he would fall for that shy little wallflower that was waiting for an occasion to blossom. They were good with their wands casting all sorts of ostentatious spells and charms, and they never ever happened to be Squibs.
He was not that man.
He wasn’t complicated, enigmatic, mysterious, or all too intelligent. He didn’t have a sense of humor or a charming bone in his body. He was ugly, he was old, he smelled like mothballs, and if he were a woman they would have called him the ‘crazy cat lady’. He was cranky, he was mean, and he was avoided like some sort of disastrous plague. He couldn’t even cast a simple ‘sumoning’ charm and he was woefully ignorant of the knowledge of many jinxes and hexes as he was a Squib. He was never going to be and never had been the type of man an attractive woman fell in love with. Especially not talented witches that had both brains and beauty.
Yet he tried to push this insecurity from his mind. He was already nervous, thinking that he had no chance with her? Well, that would only make it worse. Even he knew that. He wasn’t quite so stupid as the students of Hogwarts made him out to be. He knew he wasn’t too smart, but he wasn’t that much of a fool . . .
There she stood. Tall, beautiful, stoic, with her fine chiseled cheekbones and dark hair. She always insisted upon wearing it up, but he could imagine that she looked so much better with her hair down. Her lips were pulled thinly together and he could tell that this meant she was infuriated about something. What he wouldn’t even begin to deduce. It could have been a myriad of things that had gotten on her nerves. She pressed a hand to her forehead, looking wearied and exhausted. Merlin knew that this had been a bad year already, and it had barely even began. He couldn’t begin to ponder what exactly might be on her mind.
“Argus, is that you?” she asked gently. It was half-past midnight, whom else did she think it was? Then again, those stupid brats were out and creeping about when they shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t too terribly surprising that she might be skeptical of whom it was.
“Yes, it’s me,” he muttered, gruffly.
“Good, I was afraid that it was another student up after hours. They never seem to tire of breaking the rules, some of them.”
“Too true,” he agreed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she frowned. “I realize that I must not look my best, but that’s hardly a reason to ogle a coworker, Argus,” she admonished, and his heart skipped a beat. He liked that she would scold him just like she would anyone else. “Argus?”
“I envy your lipstick.”
“I envy your lipstick.”
“I heard that,” she replied, massaging her temples underneath her glasses. “I meant, what on earth is that supposed to mean?” She looked at him sternly with her beautiful chocolate eyes.
For all her logic and pragmatics, she certainly wasn’t having one of her brilliant moments now. Ah well, he would illuminate her since she was seemingly in the dark. “It means that I envy your lipstick, for it’s closer to your lips than I’ve ever been.”
Though, maybe after tonight, that would be an entirely different story? He certainly hoped so.
The silence between them was suffocating like a noxious gas. The tension was so rife in the air, that it could have been cut with a guillotine and it would still remain.
She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t wear lipstick,” she said, finally, after an exceedingly awkward silence. “I must be going now,” she added, disappearing around the corner rather quickly much like himself when he rounded on a student.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him what had just happened. She had quashed his dreams and hopes of them ever being together. Then again, it was no surprise. She was named after some muggle goddess, of course, she would be impossible to obtain. Not only that, but she was far too gorgeous and too intellectual for a simple minded and backward man like him. Yet the heart chose whom one fell for, not the brain, and he would simply be content in admiring her from afar.
He could kid himself and tell himself that she hadn’t left because she wanted to, but rather had to. As Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Professor, and Head of Gryffindor it had to be an extremely busy lifestyle within the walls of Hogwarts. Yet he could feel it in his heart, this wasn’t the case.
She had simply blown him off.
He heard a yowl, and felt Mrs. Norris wrap herself around his ankles, sinuously. “What’s that, Mrs. Norris? A student out of bed. Let’s get them.”
He hobbled after the cat, casting a wistful look behind him, but she was far gone by now. Sighing, he turned his attention away from the objection of his affection and tore off down the hall as quickly as humanly possible. This hooligan, if he caught him, would be suffering a mighty price. His love had rejected him and so his already unusually harsh punishment would be even worse.
Maybe in time, she would reciprocate his feelings. It was the only solace that he had. Now, however, there was business to attend to. That little twit would have to pay for whatever it was that he was doing after hours.
A/N: The line "I envy your lipstick" was given to me by Sameth Saboly. The rest, however, is mine. I would also like to dedicate this to marinahill whom I've deduced likes Filch as a belated birthday gift!