When school had just started, the professors handed over mostly theoretical lessons to the new students. Solim was already familiar with much of this material, so he could enjoy a relatively relaxed schedule and spend his time freely.
By this morning, what Solim had been expecting had arrived via owl post. On Fridays, classes only ran in the morning, leaving the afternoons and evenings free. After lunch, Solim decided to use this time to look for someone on campus—Argus Filch.
Filch was the gatekeeper of Hogwarts, a bad-tempered, irritable man whose favorite hobby was antagonizing students. He had a cat, Mrs. Norris, who was almost his entire spiritual sustenance. Like Filch, she roamed the castle corridors all day, and at the slightest sign of mischief from a student, she would alert him immediately.
Filch was a Squib, meaning he came from a wizarding family but could not perform magic. This contributed to his bitter disposition and resentment toward young wizards. Chains and handcuffs hung from the ceiling of his office, polished meticulously, ready for use against students who broke school rules—his favorite pastime.
Solim had one reason for approaching Filch: he, too, was a Squib. Finding Filch while he wasn't already in a disciplinary frenzy was no easy task. Solim wandered the halls, inquiring at seven or eight portraits, until he finally found Filch scrubbing graffiti off a wall.
Filch was very old. He could not use magic and relied on mundane tools like brushes and cleaners to maintain the castle:
"Clean up!" he barked, staring at Solim suspiciously.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Filch," Solim said, putting away his wand.
"Go away, boy!" Filch limped toward him, clutching a long-handled brush. "Don't think you're funny!"
"I don't want to laugh at you, Filch. I just want to talk," Solim replied calmly.
"Get out before I hang you up!" Filch snapped viciously.
Solim smiled. "Don't you wish you could use magic like a wizard? I'll get straight to the point—my sister is a Squib like you, and I want to help her gain magical ability. Fellow Squibs can assist in ways wizards can't."
Filch, still gripping his brush, looked skeptical. Solim continued, "Shall we go to your office for a proper conversation? I have no classes this afternoon or evening. If I want to have fun, I won't have much time—hehe, what do you say?"
Hearing that he was a Squib had made Filch feel as if the world had lost its color. A pure-blood who could not use magic, he was constantly reminded of his inadequacy. He had tried everything, even self-torture, but his magic had never awakened. Eventually, he gave up and accepted a role at Hogwarts as gatekeeper. Filch had never been cared for, never had a friend, in all of his fifty-odd years.
But today, a little wizard was offering him hope. Even if he was merely a test subject, Filch could not ignore this chance. Any possibility, no matter how slim, was worth pursuing. Filch knew that, had he been a wizard, his life could have been entirely different.
"Don't play tricks on me…" Filch muttered as they entered his office, a small, dimly lit room with an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling and the smell of grilled fish lingering. Filing cabinets stored student disciplinary records. From the sparse setting, one could gauge Filch's low status in Hogwarts—the castle had many empty, well-equipped classrooms, yet his own space was cramped and modest.
"Time is precious, Filch," Solim said, holding out the package he had received that morning.
"Before we begin, Mr. Filch," Solim said while unwrapping it, "you must understand that there are two types of Squibs."
Squibs are born into magical families but cannot use magic. Like Muggles, they lack magical ability, yet unlike Muggles, Squibs can see magical creatures, such as Dementors. However, not all Squibs are the same. Some fail to use magic due to insufficient innate magical power—their bodies cannot safely handle the buildup of magical energy, which can be dangerous if released. In these cases, the body subconsciously suppresses magical outbursts.
The first task for Solim was to determine which type Filch belonged to: had he been a Squib due to a lack of power, or had he simply never experienced a magical riot despite abundant power?
"Drink this potion, Mr. Filch," Solim instructed, offering a bottle. "It's a magic reaction potion. It will reveal your latent magical power."
Normally, this potion could not be ingested by wizards. Before coming to Hogwarts, Solim had found a potion master willing to modify it so that it could be safely consumed.
Filch drank silently. In his view, unless Solim intended harm, the potion posed no risk—he had no way to counter a threat even if it did.
"How do you feel?" Solim asked, taking out a notebook and quill.
For two minutes, the two stared at each other in silence.
"No way… There should be some reaction, even if the magic power is small. Could Filch be a Muggle?" Solim muttered in puzzlement.
"Wait… I think I feel something," Filch said suddenly, eyes wide. "My body feels like it's soaked in hot water."
Solim stepped closer and rolled up Filch's sleeves. His skin was flushed and warm to the touch. "Good. Let me know if anything changes," he said, jotting down notes.
Filch paced excitedly, feeling every sensation. It seemed like the beginning of his magical ability. Yet, at Solim's request, he eventually sat on the lone chair in his office.
"Mr. Selwyn, it feels like the temperature has dropped," Filch said, no longer ferocious, but intrigued.
Solim glanced at a large hourglass in the corner. "Thirty minutes is enough to understand the situation," he said, closing his notebook. "Congratulations, Mr. Filch. Your condition is the best-case scenario. In other words, there is a chance you can rid yourself of being a Squib."
Ignoring Filch's excitement, Solim continued, "I will visit again once I have prepared something. Meanwhile, I suggest you exercise—your body must be strengthened to handle the eventual magical riot."
Solim planned to contact his grandfather before taking further action. His grandfather had been idle for six months, living in the basement of Selwyn Castle unless emergencies arose. Once he resumed his duties, contact would be impossible. Solim wanted to consult him while he could.
The request was simple: verify Sierna's condition, and if she was like Filch, attempt to find other Squibs to study potential variations. Solim's grandfather maintained a family collection of reprinted manuscripts—volumes of research, spells, remedies, and studies of magical phenomena.
These books offered rare insight into the treatment of Squibs, though there were few studies. Solim approached the problem rationally, not with a sense of superiority, despite his unique position. His knowledge opened doors that ordinary wizards could only dream of.
Squibs were a social problem in pure-blood wizarding families. A pure-blood family, defined as having five or more generations of magical lineage, had many advantages: early magical development, accumulated wealth, and connections. But Squibs were a recurring issue, along with the so-called "pure-blood curse." Solim did not concern himself with these broader issues.
Predecessors had already studied Squibs. Solim examined these manuscripts for potential solutions before attempting his own methods. Fortunately, he found a detailed manuscript proposing a plan to restore magical ability to Squibs. Though untested, it provided hope.
Most Squibs were born with insufficient mana, a congenital deficiency. Solim had to first confirm whether Sierna fell into this category before planning further steps.
He sent a letter via one of the strongest owls from the tower. From lunch to dinner, the reply arrived. His grandfather had confirmed that Sierna's situation was identical to Filch's. However, locating a third Squib or accessing potion masters would take longer, as many were currently unavailable.
Solim knew what his grandfather's contacts could achieve and that delays were inevitable. Even Hogwarts had a Potions Master, but not one prepared to address Squib anomalies.