Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/43152.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Argus_Filch/Luna_Lovegood
  Character:
      Argus_Filch, Luna_Lovegood
  Additional Tags:
      Parody, Blackmail, Bribery, Literary_Reference
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-02-23 Words: 3020
****** The Ravenclaw Girl ******
by Delphi
Summary
     A retelling of the Pergamon anecdote from Petronius' Satyricon set
     during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Mr. Filch attempts
     to have his way with a young student, only to have the tables turned
     on him.
Notes
     Written for the 2006 Squib Secrets exchange on the Squibbed community
     (LJ).
When Argus Filch first came to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to
take over the position of Caretaker, he found it a most pleasant change in
circumstance, on first account because his lodgings—if not his duties—were
comfortable and respectable, and on second account because of the veritable
wealth of beautiful young bodies that filled his every waking moment.
He could not decide whether it was a blessing or a curse that no matter how
much older he grew, the girls remained the same age, from the slim-hipped first
years, nigh indistinguishable from the boys, to full-blooded young women
sitting their OWLs and NEWTs. And, of course, those he liked the best, the ones
just in between in the sweet first bloom of youth.
Out of necessity, Argus had honed the following method to prevent the staff
from ever suspecting which direction his gaze was prone to wandering: besides
expressing his general disgust at the hygiene and habits of the student body,
whenever the conversation in the staff room turned to the topic of lechery
towards youth, he would grumble so indignantly and resort to such salty and
derisive language that he came to be regarded, particularly by sharp-eyed
Professor McGonagall, as a staunch defender of the virtue of young girls. Thus
no eyebrows were ever raised when he lingered outside the girls' changing room
with mop and bucket, nor when he let himself into the common rooms on his
nightly patrols on the pretence of looking out for canoodling couples.
Caution curtailed his activities to mere voyeurism, or perhaps the barest touch
that might be passed off as an accidental stumble. That is, until he made the
acquaintance of one Luna Lovegood.
She was an odd little creature, not quite all there, but what parts of her were
more than excused it. A lovely blonde, fair and delicate, a wisp of a thing who
flitted through the school with an absent smile on her pretty peach lips—a
smile more than once turned his way when she cornered him in the corridors,
asking if he had seen the Lethifold hiding in the fourth floor boys' toilet or
cheerfully noting that the banisters were very shiny today.
She had kissed him once, in her first year, straining up on her tiptoes for the
softest brush against his cheek. "The portraits say very nice things about
you," she'd cheerfully chirped before skipping along on her way.
Understandably, that occurrence still happened to be fresh in his mind a year
later, during the beastly business with Sirius Black and Dementors creeping
around his castle unseen. The Christmas holiday had come with its usual
sickening cheer, and Argus was beginning it locked in his office with Mrs.
Norris when a tentative tap came at his door. He hurled it open, a snarl on his
lips, only to find the little Lovegood girl standing at his doorstep with a
forlorn expression, dressed in a white lace nightdress that fell to her
deliciously bare feet.
He narrowed his eyes, peering up and down the empty corridor in search of any
conspirators or spies. "What do you want, girlie?"
The girl looked up at him with wide, pale eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Filch. Can
you come to my bedroom, please?"
For a moment after the startling request, all Argus could hear was a faint
buzzing in his ears. He opened his mouth. He sputtered. He looked out into the
corridor again, finding it once again empty. "Wha—wha—what?"
The girl did not so much as blink, and Argus found himself staring in
bafflement as her straight, white teeth pressed into her lower lip. "Everyone
else has gone home for Christmas—can you come look under my bed, to make sure
Sirius Black isn't hiding under there?"
Argus regarded her, nonplussed. "I don't think Sirius Black can fit under your
bed, girlie."
She met his gaze with childish patience. "He could have taken a Skelesquish
Potion. Or he could be an Animagus. He could be a mouse, or a rat, or a
dachshund." She crooked a fair brow, a touch reproachful. "Do you mean to say a
dachshund couldn't fit under my bed? It could—I measured."
He snorted despite himself, his eyes admittedly roving in an attempt to glimpse
whatever could be glimpsed beneath the neckline of her nightdress. "Professor
Flitwick too busy, so you come and bother old Filch?"
The girl appeared to find this silly, as though the answer should be obvious.
"Professor Flitwick would bring the Dementors in to look. I don't like them."
The poor thing shivered.
Argus glanced back at his cup of tea cooling on the desk and then to the girl's
toes curling against the cold floor. He sighed, digging out his Beater's bat
from the cupboard. "Only just quick."
Young Luna put her hand in his and smiled brightly as she led him up to the
empty second year dormitory of Ravenclaw Tower and dangerous privacy. Once
there, she leapt onto the middle bed and knelt up to watch as he made a close
inspection of every corner. He opened cupboards and checked the latches on the
windows, his joints popping as he stooped to peer under every bed before
proclaiming it safe.
The girl wriggled under the covers, giving him a glimpse of bare leg. "Will you
stay until I fall asleep?"
He would. He came to sit at the edge of the bed, watching as she curled up, her
hair spread across the white pillow. She smiled sweetly at him before closing
her eyes.
"God," he muttered when her breath had evened out, uncomfortably flushed.
He caught the flutter of eyelashes and gave a guilty start, very nearly leaping
to his feet to take his leave before his thoughts could descend any further,
but the hour and the quiet had planted the seed of a wicked idea into his head.
She was a silly girl, prone to flights of fancy. If she thought she heard
something she hadn't, who would believe it?
"God..." He carefully wet his lips. "God, if you let me kiss her without her
knowing, I—I'll buy her a whole sackful o' Honeydukes' best."
The quick catch of her breath certainly wasn't imagined, but she made no sign
of stirring. His heart beating quickly, Argus leaned down and gently pressed
his mouth to hers, stealing a fleeting kiss and then one that lingered, the tip
of his tongue tracing the petal-soft curve of her lips.
Shortly after, he ducked into an empty classroom on the route back to his
apartments, locking the door behind him, and opened the straining placket of
his trousers. He jerked himself off with desperate strokes, spilling his seed
into a manky old handkerchief, the girl's sweet image fresh in his mind and his
lips still warm.
When the next morning came, he kept his vow and braved even the Dementors at
the gate, setting out for Honeydukes in the early light with a full purse on
his belt. By the time the girl woke, he was back to his office, and an
overflowing bag of sweets was waiting outside her door.
He might have satisfied himself with that for another year or more, the memory
carefully preserved and cherished, as vivid as the moment itself. However, when
night came, Luna once again came knocking at his door. His knees nearly gave
out the moment he laid eyes upon her, once again in her white nightdress, this
time with her lips stained red and stretched around a fat cherry-pop on a
stick.
Out came the bat, and with a racing pulse he again followed the girl up the
long and winding stairway to poke around every corner of her room as she gently
bounced on the bed. This time, after pleading for him to stay, she immediately
shut her eyes.
Argus plucked up his daring, quietly murmuring: "God...you let me touch her
without her waking up, and I'll buy her..." He paused, looking around the room,
and suddenly recalled the girl's tenderness with Mrs. Norris. "...I'll buy her
a kitten."
Luna immediately feigned a soft snore.
Nearly trembling with excitement, Argus turned down the blankets and gazed
hungrily upon the girl's slim body. His hands began at her ankles, moving
slowly up smooth legs, drawing the skirt of her nightdress up to her hips,
where he discovered with a hard twitch of his cock that she did not wear any
knickers to sleep.
Teasing himself with anticipation, he let his touch wandered slowly up under
the fabric, over her flat stomach to the budding swell of her breasts. His eyes
squeezed shut in breathless bliss as his hands fit around them. The girl's
breath quickened as he softly kneaded them, brushing his thumbs over her
nipples until they stiffened.
He felt a crop of gooseflesh springing up on her skin as his fingers trailed
back down, pausing at her mound. He swallowed hard as he encountered the scant,
downy hair that covered it, not yet coarse or curling. Her thighs parted at the
faintest touch, and he nearly moaned when he found a hint of wetness.
His fingers slipped between the lips of her cunny, rubbing the soft folds. He
heard her gasp as he found the little bud at the top of it, fondling it until
she squirmed. Below, he discovered to his delight that her maidenhead wasn't
closed, and a finger eased into her tight heat to the knuckle.
Unable to control his ardour and fearing he would burst his buttons, he
hurriedly opened his trousers, stroking himself as he stretched her with a
second finger. He couldn't have been expected to last long, not as the girl's
lashes fluttered and her mouth shaped a soft 'o', her body tightening up around
his fingers as they pressed deep. He came with a grating gasp, his grip moving
wildly around his cock until he'd spilt himself all over the girl's quilt.
He cursed under his breath—as soon as he had his breath back—and scrubbed at
the mess with his handkerchief. His hand eased out from between the girl's
thighs, fingers wet and sticky. He breathed in the salty-sweet scent of her
juices and then licked his fingers clean with a rapturous sigh.
The next day, Argus left the pet shop with a snow-white kitten tucked into his
coat and his purse noticeably lighter.
By the third evening, he was already by the door, scrubbed up clean with a
prophylactic potion and a belt of whisky in his belly, waiting for Luna to come
knocking. He carefully kept his hands to himself as she took the stairs in
front of him, her pert little backside pinned in his line of sight. He made a
hurried search of her room, neither of them making any comment as to the
origins of the kitten sleeping in a basket in the corner. This time, when she
had curled up expectantly in bed, he could not silence the note of smugness in
his voice as he prayed: "God, you let me have my way with her without her
waking, and I'll buy her a..."
He hesitated, his passion so fired that he might have promised her a dragon's
hoard in exchange for what he lusted after.
"...portable astrolabe," the girl suddenly whispered, then obediently snored.
Argus nodded eagerly. "I'll buy her a portable astrolabe—if she don't wake up."
She lay very still as he took down his trousers and climbed under the covers
with her, finding her limp as a doll when he divested her of her nightdress.
His hands roamed hungrily over her naked skin; he kissed her lips, her throat,
her breasts, slurping and suckling at her nipples. Never had the girl had to
strain so to keep up her illusion, breathing hard and quick beneath him as his
hand moved between her thighs, making her wet, making her squirm. His passion
was too inflamed to even enter her, and he found his pleasure between her
thighs, teased with the moist heat of her as he came all over her innocent
skin.
He kissed her goodnight before he left.
Now it happened on the fourth evening that the Lovegood girl did not come down
to his office asking for his services, and Argus strongly suspected that he
knew the cause, for while procuring sweets and kittens was a relatively small
matter, he had quickly discovered that even a small astrolabe was something
difficult and dear to find in Hogsmeade, and besides, he had begun to worry
that such a valuable gift might invite questions from Professor Flitwick or the
girl's daddy dearest.
Still, emboldened by his previous successes, he crept up to Ravenclaw Tower
and, finding the common room deserted, proceeded up the now-beloved stairs to
the second year girls' dormitory. He found the girl in her bed, chewing on a
lock of her hair as she turned a page of that rag, The Quibbler.
She looked up at his entrance, giving him a bright smile as she tucked the
paper away, and strained up eagerly as though to peer behind his back. "Did you
bring my astrolabe?"
Argus fidgeted with his coat. "...what are you on about, girlie?"
To his worsening luck, the girl obviously had enough wits about her today to
see through his answer, and a fetching—but ill-boding —pout appeared, the
resentment of betrayal clear upon her face.
Sensing with unease a door slamming shut, he crossed the room and took his now-
accustomed place at her side and urged her to go to sleep, even going so far as
to fold his hands and once more entreat God to grant him pleasure for pleasure.
The girl was unmoved, however.
"You're a liar, Mr. Filch," she said crisply, and she turned her back on him.
He touched her shoulder pitifully, but she only stiffened. "Go away, Mr. Filch,
or I'll tell Professor Dumbledore."
Had the name she invoked been that of her Head of House, or of her beloved
father, he might not have done what he did next. But this ultimate threat in
the face of his earlier generosity so inflamed his temper that he pounced upon
her with a growl, pinning her wrists down on the bed and holding her still
between his knees. He fought to get his belt off against her struggles and then
looped it in a clumsy knot to bind her hands to the headboard. One hand
proceeded to hike up her nightdress and start in on his trousers as the other
pressed tightly over her mouth, muffling any sound she might have tried to
make.
The swiftness of his arousal swept him up in surprise as he kicked his trousers
off and forced open her legs, rubbing against her until her hot little cunny
grew slick.
She squealed when he pushed inside her, her high moan almost inaudible behind
his hand and his own rough grunt, but he swore it held the indisputable shape
of I'm telling the headmaster! and it spurred him on to take his pleasure as
roughly as he cared to, the tight, wet grip of her making short work of his
restraint: a dozen rough, rutting thrusts. Perhaps two.
It was not until he had climbed off her, chest heaving, his cock hanging spent
and wet, that the gravity of the situation settled firmly upon his shoulder.
With great trepidation, he removed his hand from her mouth, ready to replace it
in a flash should she utter the softest accusation.
However, the girl seemed to have found a certain pleasure in the act, for her
thighs pressed together in search of a wanton wriggle rather than modesty, and
after a pouting protest that some little bint called Marcie Stewart would call
her a liar for boasting about an imminent new astrolabe, she whispered, "Still,
you can do that again if you like. I'm not stingy."
So, despite his heartbeat not yet even having slowed, Argus seized upon the
invitation, his hands making free with her warm young form, rekindling his
passion. He made her cheeks pink with the rub of his five o'clock scruff,
pinched and nibbled her nipples red, and cleaned up the mess he made between
her thighs, giving her a wicked thrill. The hot, salty taste of her and her
sweet, kitten-like mews renewed his vigour in record time, and soon he once
again had her ankles around his ears as he drove into her—with rather more
huffing and puffing—the both of them gasping until he shuddered and hitched and
came.
He slumped down on top of her, face between her budding breasts as he fought to
catch his breath, but the little nymphet was not to be satisfied with merely
one repetition. He had barely regained his proper vision when a small, shapely
foot nudged him in the ribs.
"That's...that's not it, is it?" she asked, so prettily that he could not
refuse her.
So, a touch wearily, he returned himself to his efforts, earning himself a dry
tongue and stiff jaw for an hour of her sweet little noises before resting his
head on her thigh and closing his eyes.
He was awoken with a pinch not five minutes later. He squinted up at the girl,
who apparently hadn't had the slightest trouble slipping her wrists free from
his belt. She was sitting up, her nightdress done away with entirely, and he
hissed as she un-gently toyed with his flaccid cock, which at the moment felt
limp and nearly bruised with overexertion.
"Again, please," she ordered simply, causing him to roll off the bed with a
groan, wheezing as he searched for his trousers despite her pleading protests.
He shook his head in defeat, certain that somewhere in the heavens—or in the
Headmaster's Tower—some higher power was enjoying a good laugh at his expense.
"Go to sleep, girlie..." he managed to rasp, reclaiming his belt and limping
bowlegged for the door and much-needed rest, "...or I'll tell Professor
Dumbledore!"
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!