Filch could hardly process what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes to make sure this wasn't some hallucination. Once he confirmed the boy in front of him was real, his eyes bulged like copper bells, his face full of disbelief—then a surge of anger rushed straight to his head.
His face flushed bright red, veins stood out on his forehead, and he roared:
"Harry Potter! You again! How dare you use such dangerous magic inside the school—and sneaking around under a Disillusionment Charm, no less! Do you have any idea how many school rules you're breaking?"
He ranted as he swung his cane wildly, trying to vent the fear and fury boiling inside him.
As for how Harry could cast the Disillusionment Charm at all, or even warp the space around them, he didn't question it.
Why not?
This was Harry Potter—the savior.
What couldn't the savior do?
Just yesterday he'd read in the Daily Prophet that Harry Potter had invented two legendary potion recipes. Both were being bought up continuously by the Ministry to equip Aurors in their fight against Dark wizards.
With those potion formulas in mind, everything he'd just seen now felt almost reasonable.
Harry didn't reply right away. Instead, he lifted his index finger to his lips.
"Shhh."
Filch opened his mouth to keep swearing at him, but his eyes landed on Harry—and his pupils shrank sharply, as if a jolt of electricity had shot through him.
Harry stood bathed in moonlight. It traced his thin frame in a clean halo, wrapping him in a pale glow.
His slightly furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips overlapped, just for a moment, with an expression Filch remembered from the war—the Dark Lord's elegance and sharp handsomeness, the same air of mystery and power.
A formless terror flooded him in an instant. His mouth worked soundlessly; no sound would come out.
Seeing this, Harry smiled in satisfaction and let his magic spill out, pressing down on Filch's soul.
Against the weak, that kind of soul-pressure worked very well.
Based on this principle, he might even be able to develop wide-area soul magic in the future.
Harry gazed at Filch, his eyes seeming to look straight through flesh and bone into the man's soul.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a meaningful smile.
"Mr. Filch, I've recently discovered that you've been secretly taking the Kwikspell correspondence course," he said. "Looks like you're a Squib."
Filch's status as a Squib was a wound that never healed. It had made him miserable and insecure for as long as he could remember, and it had even poisoned his relationship with his parents.
He was furious, but faced with a Harry this mysterious, he didn't dare lose his temper. His face turned even redder as he snapped:
"Don't talk nonsense, boy. Stop making things up and mind your own business!"
Harry's smile softened.
"No, Mr. Filch. Being a Squib isn't something shameful. It just means your magic is blocked and can't flow properly—that's why you can't cast spells.
You're not like a Muggle; you still have magic in your body. If we can fix that blockage, you might be able to use magic after all.
And as it happens, I can solve that problem for you—and even increase your innate magical talent on top of that."
Filch's eyes flew open. His hands started to shake, and his voice trembled with excitement.
"R-really? Are you telling the truth?"
"Of course," Harry said confidently. "I've created a new form of magic that lets me lend my power to others. All you need to do is pay a small price, and you can throw away the label of Squib and become a real wizard."
Even with his heart pounding in his chest, Filch hadn't completely lost his mind.
When the word "lend" lodged in his ear, his heart skipped a beat. Stories of devils in old tales flashed through his mind—demons offering power in exchange for a price.
And this boy had chosen to bring it up in the dead of night, under a Disillusionment Charm, with no witnesses around. That alone was suspicious.
Then he heard there would be a "price" to pay, and alarm bells began to ring in his head. He wanted to shout and report all of this to someone—anyone.
But his hunger to wield magic made him hesitate. After wrestling with himself, he finally asked, very carefully, "What kind of price?"
As he spoke, he tried to picture what sort of payment he could live with. Would he be willing to trade his soul, if that was what it took to cast spells?
The answer was—yes.
His desire to do magic had been carved into his very soul. It was a piece of himself he'd been missing since the day he was born.
For that, he'd give up anything.
Well… anything but Mrs. Norris.
Harry had been watching him closely. Seeing Filch like this, he knew the deal was done.
He spoke lightly.
"A few Galleons, and a little flexibility with school rules. Those are generous terms, don't you think?"
"That's all?" Filch blurted, overjoyed.
He'd expected a terrible price, but this sounded almost laughably mild.
He'd already poured a small fortune into various correspondence courses in the hope of learning magic. If this truly let him cast spells, he'd gladly spend every last Galleon he had.
Compared to money, turning a blind eye to Harry breaking school rules was actually the steeper cost for him.
He had always been grateful to Dumbledore for hiring a Squib like him as Hogwarts caretaker and giving him such a comfortable position.
To repay that kindness, he'd spent decades working hard, refusing to let even a single misbehaving student slip through his fingers.
Filch hesitated for a few seconds—but in the end, he still agreed to Harry's terms.
He simply couldn't resist the lure of spellcasting.
"I agree!"
From that moment on, Filch became a true borrower—and Harry gained all the freedom he'd ever need. He'd even be able to use Filch's knowledge of the castle to gain access to countless hidden passages.
Filch already had magic in his body, so even without any payment at all, Harry wouldn't be losing out on this deal. With payment on top of that, he was making out like a bandit.
Judging from the slow but steady growth of magic inside him, Harry estimated that if he could find ten magically capable borrowers, the rate at which his controllable magic increased would at least double.
...
At dawn, the first ray of sunlight brushed across the ancient towers of Hogwarts, tracing them with a thin edge of gold.
In the growing light, the outline of the castle sharpened, its Gothic lines steeped in mystery and solemnity.
The towers thrust up toward the sky, mingling with wisps of morning mist, blurring the boundary between reality and magic.
Out on the Black Lake, the water glittered, the rippling surface mirroring the castle and sky in a hazy, dreamlike reflection.
As the sun climbed higher, the quiet inside the castle was broken by the rising chatter and laughter of students. A new day at Hogwarts had officially begun.
Ron yawned and said wistfully, "The weekend went by way too fast. I wish there was magic to slow time down."
Harry's lips curled in a mischievous smile.
"Time magic does exist. The Department of Mysteries apparently researches it, but they treat it as top-secret. The only bit of time magic that's publicly known is the Time-Turner."
Ron's eyes lit up. "Is there any way to get a Time-Turner?"
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