The next day, Filch was found dead in his office.
Not in the morning, but by a student who had been punished by Filch days ago and was scheduled to accompany him that evening to the Forbidden Forest for detention. That very evening, the student went to find Filch—only to discover his corpse.
The death was gruesome.
The student immediately vomited on the spot.
Wasn't the school supposed to be safe now? Safe, my arse!
The student screamed and ran out, alerting everyone.
The students of Hogwarts had been through quite a lot, so they weren't so easily startled by just anything.
Even though Filch's skeletal remains made for a disgusting sight, many students actually felt quite delighted.
"Merlin's beard, I don't know why, but after seeing this scene, I suddenly feel like going back to the Great Hall and stuffing my face!"
"Apollo, are you a bloody psychopath?"
"Wait a minute—weren't you the one who screamed earlier?"
The student grinned sheepishly and scratched his head. "Yeah, I freaked out at first, but then I thought—this is great news! Why should I be scared?"
"So not only am I going back to eat everything I puked up, I'm having two bottles of Butterbeer to celebrate!"
"Uh… go ahead then." The students around him were left speechless.
There really wasn't much reason to mourn Filch. He had a near 100% disapproval rating among students. To reach that level, you had to be practically inhuman.
Filch's office was filthy and chaotic. When students heard he'd kicked the bucket, each of them gave a satisfied look—as if they'd just received their most-wanted Christmas gift—and moved on.
On the way out, they each spat on the floor.
Tsk tsk, old Filch sure didn't go peacefully. Let's all spit before we leave.
The professors, as always, were the last to arrive.
Dumbledore had expected another major incident, but was surprised to find no crowd of students gathered at the door.
That… wasn't right. Didn't students love to rubberneck? Any minor thing usually became the talk of the school.
But today, no one seemed curious.
Disappointed, Dumbledore swallowed the words he had prepared: "All students, return to your dormitories under the supervision of your House Prefects."
Upon inspecting the scene of Filch's death, Dumbledore's face tightened. There were traces of dark magic.
But more than that, the cruel and torturous method—it reminded him of Voldemort.
Having battled Voldemort for decades, Dumbledore was all too familiar with his ways.
He tried a soul-summoning spell and failed. That meant Filch's soul had been completely destroyed.
"What's this… statue dust?" Dumbledore noticed something else.
After checking the Hospital Wing, his suspicion was confirmed: Mrs. Norris's petrified form was missing.
Madam Pomfrey was alarmed.
"Dumbledore, I've failed in my duties. You're not going to fire me, are you? And that old bastard Filch will definitely haunt me like a mad dog!"
Dumbledore tried to reassure her. "It's alright. First, just focus on reviving the students. Filch… won't be coming after you. He's dead."
"Madam Pomfrey, are you… smiling?"
She quickly wiped the grin off her face. "No, no! I've worked with Filch for years. Why would I be happy? He had outstanding character, strong magical prowess, was kind, tall, and handsome… I'm devastated by the loss."
"Alright, alright, that's enough. You've got work to do," said Dumbledore.
As he stepped out of the infirmary, he saw Harry walking toward him with a wounded cat in his arms.
"Good day, Professor," Harry greeted.
Dumbledore asked, "What happened to your pet?"
"It had gone missing for a while. Turned up in the Forbidden Forest, badly injured by some unknown creature. Madam Pomfrey looked her over this morning—it's nothing serious. A few treatments and she'll be fine."
"I see." Dumbledore looked closely at the cat in Harry's arms. The feline was alert and wary, back arched, fur bristling, and growling nervously.
Harry gently stroked her back until she calmed and curled up in his arms.
Harry walked into the infirmary.
Dumbledore watched his retreating figure, deep in thought.
"Potter, the Headmaster wants to see you in his office," said Professor McGonagall.
"Oh, okay."
A little later, she recited the password and brought Harry up the spiral staircase and into Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore sat behind his large desk and said, "Minerva, I'd like to have a private word with Harry."
She glanced at both of them. Their expressions were remarkably alike—calm, unreadable.
"Oh, of course. I'll take my leave."
Dumbledore nodded.
The purple lenses of his glasses glinted in the light.
"Now, Harry… I want to assure you that this is meant to be a light conversation. There's no need to feel nervous…" Dumbledore hesitated, unsure how to begin.
"Filch was killed by me, that's right. Because he dared to take revenge on my cat," Harry said flatly.
Dumbledore fell silent.
Wait, what? That's not how this was supposed to go. I only suspected you—I wanted to probe a little. You were supposed to deny it, then I'd laugh and let it go as a mystery.
But you just came right out and admitted it… What am I supposed to do now? I thought you were fated to be Voldemort's natural nemesis!
Even Voldemort wouldn't have killed someone at your age!
Could it be… you're an even more terrifying Dark Lord than Voldemort himself? That's why you'll destroy him?
"Dumbledore, I think there's a lot this school needs to reform. Filch was just one example. I don't mind having someone to enforce rules—but we don't need someone who takes pleasure in tormenting students."
"And look at that ancient rules list on the bulletin board—it hasn't been updated in centuries. The whole place is rotting."
"Even Muggles understand the importance of innovation. Yet these arrogant wizards—how are they any different from those hundreds of years ago? Oh wait, there is a difference—they steal Muggle inventions and pretend to look down on them. Honestly, the wizarding world is doomed."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Er, aren't we talking about Filch?"
"Yeah, I killed him. So what? Say something."
"I'll be blunt, Dumbledore—you'd better not think about tossing me in prison, because I could wipe the floor with you."
Harry spun his wand between his fingers, and a surge of powerful magic burst from his body.
A gust of wind blew through the office, leaving it in chaos.
Dumbledore's long white beard was blown over his face.
He stared at Harry in horror—this level of magical power… was even stronger than his own.
"No matter what, Filch was still a life," Dumbledore said at last.
"Not all lives are equal. He hurt my poor cat out of spite and jealousy. Doesn't that make him the true villain? Honestly, the world's better off without scum like him."
"Also, did you know that despite working here for decades, Filch was actually a servant of Voldemort?"
"What?!"
Dumbledore was stunned by that accusation.
"Yeah. Hogwarts used to be a bastion of resistance against Voldemort. Who would've thought that overlooked, unremarkable Filch was one of his spies? Think about how many secrets he overheard and passed along—how many brave witches and wizards died because of that?"
Dumbledore stammered, "That's just speculation, isn't it? He didn't even have the Dark Mark!"
"Nope. He told me himself last night."
"You wouldn't believe the noise he made when I was torturing him—worse than a slaughtered pig."
"Then he started begging and ranting. He called out to the Dark Lord by name, swearing he would rise again and avenge his loyal servant. I laughed, of course—Voldemort wouldn't waste time on a Squib like him."
"Filch got furious. He claimed he was Voldemort's most trusted follower, that the Dark Mark was only given to control Death Eaters, but he was too loyal to require one. He said he infiltrated the enemy and made great contributions. He also said he kept all of Voldemort's letters as his most precious treasure. I found the letters in a hidden cabinet."
"I only read one before I couldn't take it anymore—just endless groveling and worship. Stuff like, 'When you conquer Hogwarts, please let this lowly servant kiss your boots…'"
"The letters are still in his office if you want to check them out," Harry added casually.
Dumbledore dashed off like the wind.
Not long after, he returned—his face ashen, looking years older.
"Harry… you've done a great deed," Dumbledore said solemnly.
"So should the Ministry give me a medal? Or maybe five hundred Galleons would be better?"
Dumbledore: "…"
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⚡🪄 THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER
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