Such a complicated, sad, utterly believable, well-told story. I don't know why there isn't more Filius fic, since almost every story I've read about him -- like this one -- is excellent. Your Filius is a wonderful creation, with all his frailties and weaknesses, his strengths and kindnesses, his justifications, his goodness and not-goodness so entwined. So human and humane. Your style is perfect: every word so in keeping with the way you've characterized Filius. ("Tea-related bustle," "tummy," "nifty," and on and on.)
You make us see the beauty of young Peter, too, and I have no trouble believing your picture of Peter's "friends." Then there's Albus, handling it all with tact and care (and the need for self-preservation. It's quite a gamble -- one thinks of the priest cover-ups. . .) Perhaps most of all, I'm impressed by your deft handling of the teacher/student subject matter, neither excusing nor judging.
Just a few of the lines I like:
managing to look like a piece of wrought iron gone wrong
most popular boys needed a fall-guy to inflate their own egos. Filius had been there himself, once-upon-a-time
Or perhaps it was less of a decision, and more of a dam-breakage.
The silence that followed was thicker and heavier than sleep, or spellwork, or narcotics. It wove into every nook of that snug room, cushioning upholstery, warming cockles of a tired old heart, and padding away sharp good sense. Great paragraph -- perfect imagery, and it makes everything so understandable. As does this excellent line: But somehow in the cocoon of his candlelit room that all seemed impotent You really make us feel what Flitwick felt.
He was formed there now -– like the gargoyles on the gateposts or the portraits that chattered and sauntered through the very fabric of the castle.