For many Muggles, April seventh held a special meaning.
More precisely, the first Sunday after the full moon following the spring equinox each year held a special meaning for many Muggles.
Muggles called this day "Easter." Supposedly, the holiday had been specially established to commemorate a Muggle who had died and come back to life.
To the Argus Filch of the past, he had never understood how a group of Muggles who did not believe in magic could believe that a Muggle could "come back to life."
Could it be that this Muggle's true identity had also been that of a wizard?
In the past, he had only been a Squib.
Though, in his view, he had been luckier than most Squibs, able to work at Hogwarts, able to live alongside magic and wizards;
But every now and then, he had also felt that he was, in truth, the most unfortunate of all Squibs.
When he had first walked into Hogwarts, he had not yet developed rheumatism, and his cheeks had not sagged so badly.
He had thought that by working here, working at the best Magic School in the whole world, one day, he too would learn magic.
Yet a year passed.
Two years passed.
Five years passed.
He was still that Squib who needed to hold a broom and a brush before he could scrub the stains on the floor and the walls clean.
Later, he stopped counting on learning magic.
He pressed all his longing deep into his heart and covered it up with anger and sharp-tongued bitterness, like shoveling earth into a deep pit where a coffin had been placed.
He cursed those students in a vicious voice, wishing he could hang up every student who broke the rules. After it happened again and again, he