Detention

Everyone knew Argus Filch was horrible. Whenever Miles Bletchley opened his mouth to complain about their awful school caretaker, his peers were quick to nod and moan in agreement. But Miles felt that no one truly hated the caretaker the way he did. And Filch seemed to reserve extra special hatred for him.

"Well, well, well, Bletchley," Filch would sneer whenever he caught him doing anything, anything that could possibly be construed as prohibited in any way.

Today it was for spilling ink on a clean carpet. Miles tried to explain that it hadn't been him; it had been Adrian Pucey. They had been arguing. Pucey was saying (while waving around an ink bottle he was carrying and making himself look even more stupid than he already was) that, even if they lost to Ravenclaw in the coming Quidditch match, they had a clear shot at the Cup this year. Miles tried to explain to him how the system worked, but Pucey seemed unable to maintain a grasp on basic addition. Miles had just accused Pucey of optimism when the stupid ink bottle slipped from Pucey's fingers, and smashed on the stone floor, at the very edge of the carpet.

"Shit," Pucey muttered and turned toward the stairs, clearly bent on getting away before they were caught and points were docked. Unfortunately, Filch was there before they managed to get away.

Filch's eyes widened slightly for a second. "Detention, Bletchley," he said, leering slightly.

A protestation of the unfairness left Miles' mouth. "Sir, it was Pucey. I never even touched it. He was the one waving that stupid ink bottle around."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bletchley," Pucey interjected. "You're the one standing by the mess."

"Shut up, the both of you," Filch said irritably. "Come on, Bletchley."

Resigned to his detention, Miles followed Filch down the corridor, but not without mouthing, "Arsehole," in Pucey's direction. His housemate only snickered.

Once they arrived in Filch's office, Filch began to fill out a detention form, a process Miles was rather familiar with.

"Right," Filch said, looking rather pleased with himself, "that'll be fifteen points from Slytherin and detention in the Trophy Room at eight o'clock tonight."

***

Argus Filch felt his anticipation increase as the day went on. Miles Bletchley had detention tonight. He told himself to calm down. He couldn't try anything on the boy for fear of losing his job, but he could watch him. Oh, he could watch him. Filch knew that there was something wrong with being in love with a Seventh Year Slytherin Quidditch player, but it wasn't something he could help. And the boy [i]was[/i] legally an adult, so if, in some wonderful turn of events, something happened, it wasn't as if it was illegal.

Filch made a rare appearance at the Staff Table in the Great Hall during the meal that evening. He watched the Bletchley boy, while pretending to be focused on his food. He ignored the glances and stares he got from other members of both the staff and the students.

Mrs. Norris was very confused by Filch's attitude when she accompanied him to a broom closet for trophy-cleaning supplies.

"Don't you worry, my pet," he said to her. "Everything is going to be just fine. We'll have a fine night."

He was nearly quivering with excitement when he arrived at the Trophy Room at quarter to eight to wait.

***

Miles dragged himself unwillingly to the Trophy Room. Detentions were not only boring and generally unpleasant, but also awkward. It was strange to sit there, cleaning, while Filch just stood around watching him.

When he turned up, at exactly eight o'clock, Filch and his cat were already waiting.

"Bletchley," Filch said simply, handing him the cleaning supplies and pointing at an open case. Miles got to work. He knew the drill.

Miles had been working for over an hour. He had gotten through nearly three glass cases, when he came across an award with a strange, rusty-looking bit on it. He scrubbed at it, hard, for what seemed like another hour.

"What's taking so long with that?" Filch asked grumpily from behind him. Miles jumped. He had almost forgotten Filch was there.

"I don't know," he said. "It's this one spot. It's rusty or something."

Filch came up behind him to examine the award.

"Odd," he grunted. He leaned closer to the award and Miles leaned back a bit, realising that he had never been this close to the caretaker before.

"Don't know what it is, myself," Filch said. He began to straighten up, and Miles relaxed.

But then, Filch leaned in and...kissed him.

Miles went tense, and the first thing he thought was that Filch did not smell at all bad, quite the opposite to what one would have thought. And then he realised that this was the first time anyone had kissed him. He thought of pulling away, but, the odd thing was, it felt kind of nice. So he relaxed slightly, and kissed the caretaker back.

Filch pulled away suddenly, looking (as far as Miles could tell in the dim torchlight of the Trophy Room) absolutely horrified.

Neither of them said a word for a long time.

Miles tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled squeak. He swallowed and tried again.

"I'll just finish polishing, shall I?" he said.

Filch nodded dumbly and returned to his position by the door.

So Miles continued cleaning. He cleaned better than he ever had in his life.

"Right, that's it," Filch said after a long time. "Detention's over. You may return to your dormitory."

Miles nodded, retuned the cleaning supplies to Filch, and was about to leave, when he decided to speak.

"Mr. Filch?" he said tentatively.

"Yes?" snapped the caretaker.

Miles was unsure of what to say for a moment, but then forced himself to speak. "Why-why did you...?" He was unable to say the words, "kiss me."

"Sorry," said Filch. "Suppose I'll go hand in my resignation to Dumbledore now."

"Why?" Miles asked, startled.

"Against the rules."

"I won't tell."

Miles had never kissed anyone before. There had never seemed to be any time, between Quidditch, school, and his family. There had never been any girls he would have been able to stand being seen with. Boys had never even occurred to him as an option. But now...

"I've never been with anyone before," he said.

"Nor I," Filch muttered.

Miles leaned in and kissed the caretaker. The only sound was the slightly jealous mewling of Mrs. Norris at their feet.

***

Slytherin lost miserably to Ravenclaw at the match. They were almost certainly out of the running for the Cup now. Slytherins found themselves jinxing Ravenclaws (and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors) at every turn.

Miles was on his way to Transfiguration when a line of Ravenclaws filed past him. Argus Filch was mopping the floor a little way down the corridor.

Miles pointed his wand at Terry Boot. "Tarantellegra," he said, watching Boot dance about as Filch came hurrying down the hall.

"Bletchley," he said. "Magic in the corridors, eh? Detention."

It was all either of them could do to keep from smiling.