Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Thank God You're Here: Big D

Filch's Worst Nightmare

by bigdonadiet 0 reviews

A collection of very short one-shots based on challenges from the “Thank God You’re Here” thread at Dark Lord Potter. TGYH is an improv game for fanfic authors that tests their ability to wo...

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor - Characters: George - Warnings: [!!] - Published: 2008-03-22 - Updated: 2008-03-22 - 936 words


Thank God You’re Here: Filch’s Worst Nightmare

by Big D

Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.

AN: This one’s not my personal favorite, but some of you might like it. The challenge here was to write a fic featuring the line: “I’ve often found that it’s the hell raisers who make the best teachers. They've already been on the other side and tend to take an almost sadistic glee in slapping down the young upstarts before they can cause any real trouble.”

Part of the idea behind “Thank God You’re Here” is to produce the fic that you’ve been challenged to do within a specified time limit and word count. Sometimes that kind of pressure makes diamonds, other times it makes shit.

I’m pretty sure this one is closer to the latter.

Big D


Argus tried to pitch his voice respectfully as he followed in the Headmistress’s wake. “It’s just not a good idea,” he whined, failing miserably. “The boy will have the school turned upside down inside of a week!”

“Nonsense, Mister Filch,” McGonagall replied. “Mister Weasley has calmed significantly since the end of the war. He has even begun dressing more appropriately to his station. He’ll make a fine Potions Master.”

“The little brat failed every Potions exam he ever sat! I should know, I had to clean up after most of them!”

McGonagall stopped and sighed. “Mister Filch... I can fully understand your... reservations concerning George Weasley’s return to Hogwarts, but what would you have me do? Professor Slughorn’s unfortunate death has left us in a dreadful bind, and George was the only one who would even consider taking the job on such short notice.”

Filch could feel his stomach dropping down to his toes, and desperately fired off the last bullet in his gun. “What about the Potter brat,” he suggested distastefully. “He may have broken every rule in the book, but at least he never stuck a swamp in an upstairs corridor!”

McGonagall frowned. “As you are well aware, Mister Potter has taken a year off to, as he rather loathsomely put it: ‘bag as many witches as will drop their knickers for me’.” She tried to smile and put a happy spin on it for him. “Besides, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I’ve often found that it’s the hell raisers who make the best teachers. They've already been on the other side and tend to take an almost sadistic glee in slapping down the young upstarts before they can cause any real trouble. You should enjoy that.”

Filch muttered something under his breath about senile old bitches... er, witches, then gulped and paled as he saw who was approaching them.

“Good afternoon, Headmistress McGonagall,” George Weasley said politely, then nodded respectfully at Filch. “Argus.”

“Mister Filch,” he snapped at the red-headed boy.

George held up a placating hand. “My apologies. Mister Filch, if you insist.”

Filch eyed him dubiously, but had to admit that McGonagall was right about him dressing in a more dignified manner. Gone was the garish, iridescent dragon skin suit and ridiculous purple shirt, replaced by an almost somber, high-necked, plain black robe, clearly hand tailored to his long frame, but otherwise unremarkable. The boy’s formerly chin-length red hair had been neatly trimmed and tamed into something that would pass unremarked in the hallways of the Ministry of Magic itself. The only thing that stuck out about him was the missing ear on the left side of his head, and even that lent him a worldly, almost noble aspect.

Perhaps the senile old bitch was right. Maybe losing a brother and a body part had settled the boy down a little.

“Headmistress,” Weasley said, holding up a thick file of papers, “I was wondering if you could answer a question about these class schedules. I seem to be teaching both the fifth and seventh years at nine o’clock on Monday morning.”

McGonagall frowned. “Oh, dear. Someone must have made a mistake. Let’s go to my office and check the copy there.” She glanced reproachfully at Filch. “And George? Please feel free to call me Minerva when we are away from the students. No need to be so formal.”

Weasley favored her with a polite nod. “Thank you, Minerva. It’s a little difficult to get used to, but I’ll try.” He gestured towards her office and fell into step beside her as they walked away.

Filch sneered at their backs as they left, then felt his eyes narrow as they reached the end of the hall and Weasley said something quietly to McGonagall. She nodded and went on without him, and for a moment, he simply stood there watching her go.

Suddenly, his head jerked towards Filch, a maniacal smile splitting his face from ear to ear. He grabbed the collar of his robes and jerked them open in a grand gesture, displaying a full-body clown suit, all done in shifting neon colors. At his neck was a wildly spinning bow tie, and strapped to his groin was... Filch gaped... a vibrant green dildo, shaped like a serpent with its jaws open wide. Filch’s head nodded dumbly, transfixed as George Weasley thrust his pelvis rhythmically, the snake’s head bouncing up and down wildly.

“Hey, Argus,” Weasley said gleefully. “Seen your cat lately?” He then let out a deep laugh, Dark Lord style, and scampered away.

Filch stared in horror for several seconds, then came to his senses.

“Fuck that... I quit!”

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