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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon after HBP >> To Make Pride by Charmed_S

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
To Make Pride

The shattered china of the mug went unnoticed as he stood, crouched over a drawer in the dresser, staring intently into the picture in his gargantuan hands. Two people were waving energetically from the picture, squinting as the evening sunlight struggled out and into their eyes over the tree canopy. The fat, juicy apples swayed lazily in the breeze, sometimes bumping right into the older man’s head, causing him to twist from his seat on his son’s broad shoulder, and pluck that particular apple from it’s branch, biting into it happily.

Who wouldn’t be happy? His beloved son had been accepted to Hogwarts! Smiling down at his son, the elderly man’s beetle black eyes twinkled blissfully. His son returned the older man’s gaze with the same set of eyes, beaming at his father, his eyes already misty from the promise of Hogwarts ahead. He was going to Hogwarts! So many days it had been too, he had been so afraid they were going to decline his acceptance. But no, there was magic running through his veins, and he was going to Hogwarts in just several days!

Standing a good eight feet tall, Rubeus Hagrid looked at his father, perched on his right shoulder. I made him proud, he was whispering to himself, still waving from the picture, my father is proud of me.

Yes, I made him proud, sighed Rubeus Hagrid to himself, gazing into the picture to his young self. His hands shook and a fat tear glided down his swollen eye. I made him proud, until the day he died.

Rubeus Hagrid had started to believe, the day his father got gravely ill. Cirrhosis, the Healers had said. No cure in the Muggle world, and no cure in the Wizarding world. We can try transfiguring the dying liver, they had said, but they had failed. It hadn’t worked. No cure, no cure, kept echoing in Hagrid’s head. The illness had eaten away on his father’s small, weak body. He had grown feeble and even more fragile as Rubeus grew stronger, taller. How was it fair?

Shrinking into naught but a small lump in his white, disinfected sheets, Edward Hagrid had died unhurriedly, bit by bit. The life left his body, his hair hung around his shrunken, thin face like wisps of smoke. The pungent, lingering smell, the one that you can only detect in a hospital still emanated in Rubeus’s cabin, reeking only to his nose.

Life had flashed past his father’s eyes, the rush resonating in his ears, as the organs collapsed one by one. He had died, until life only dwelled in Edward Hagrid’s eyes. Glittering and shimmering, only his eyes were alive; the rest had faded into gray. Rubeus was lost in his father’s eyes; he tried to seem strong. But even his big frame looked small. His life had come crashing down; he escaped from his father’s ward every now and then to cry and bawl like a little child. Sinking to his knees, Rubeus Hagrid had learnt how not to stop himself, how to let the tears fall.

And he had learnt to believe. He had started to believe in heaven and in hell. He had started to believe that there was something waiting for his father. He had started to believe that everything would be all right, because there was someone out there, watching over his dad. Because what do you have left but hope?

You start to believe. You start to believe, because you have to believe; there is no other choice. You have to convince yourself that they are leaving for better – not for emptiness.
If you can’t be sure your loved ones are leaving for a better place – how can you let go? How can you bear life, knowing that there is nothing waiting for you in the end? You must believe that there is something, a reward for who you were, who you are and who you have become; for the choices you have made in life. How can you bear the agony of today, if you know your tomorrow is nothing – but merely today again? That there isn’t an end – only emptiness? And how can you live with winter, if you know spring is near?

You can’t. You have to believe. To convince yourself that there is heaven, that there is another journey. That there are people just there, right beyond that veil.

He had held tight, to that tiny star of light. To the belief, and the hope that they were not alone. Rubeus had walked towards it, towards that tunnel of harsh, blinding light, reaching for the ultimate brightness. He was ready; he knew there was something waiting for his father out there. That his father would die happy. His father was proud; he had made his father proud.

“Make me proud, Rubeus,” he had whispered, “you are not just another normal boy, son. You are much better, you will accomplish much greater.” Rubeus had shed fat tears that ran down his chubby, rosy cheeks. He had muttered assurances, rubbed his father’s limp, lifeless hand. “Promise me, son,” Edward had murmured, “promise me, that you will never treat yourself, or let others treat you, inhumane. You are as everyone is, son, you are equal with every other man.” Looking up in his father’s eyes, Rubeus had seen the last light fade away in his father’s eyes as it glided silently down his face, breaking the light.

“You are a wizard, Rubeus,” he had muttered softly, his voice breaking, but proud, and it too, leaving his body, “Make me proud.”

He had made his father proud hadn’t he? Hagrid’s hands shook, and he grasped the picture more tightly. His father’s warm, smiling eyes metamorphosed into another man’s hollow, detached ones.

The man towered over Hagrid’s crouching figure, his impersonal, void black eyes boring into Hagrid’s silhouette. He was tall with graying hair, as bare of color as a starless night. With a disgusted expression on his face, he stood in front, blocking the rest from Hagrid’ view.

“It is the decision of the Improper Use of Magic Office and the Board of Governors based on the Decree for the Control and Management of Dangerous Beasts, 1789, Paragraph B, that Rubeus Edward Hagrid, shall face expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” wheezed a gravely voice from the back, speaking over Hagrid’s continuous sobs.

No, no!” Hagrid was shedding heavy tears, splattering the mud like rain, “Aragog never killed no one! Yeh can’t, it wasn’ him!” His whole body was shaking, the ground reverberated with his violent weeps, and his tears splattered the floor, crawling through the grass like insects. “I’m not different, I’m not ashamed,” he croaked to himself, his voice husky and breaking, “No, no, please no, I’m a wizard…”

Dumbledore shifted from his place from next to Armando Dippet, and walked towards Hagrid.

“And his wand to be demolished by the appointed proctor, Gregory Walden…” continued the man with a steady, uninterested voice not even sparing a glance to Hagrid or Dumbledore.

“No, no, yeh can’ do this,”

“…As witnessed below. You sign here Headmaster,”

As Armando Dippet took the offered quill, Hagrid couldn’t control himself anymore. Letting out a howl like a wounded animal, he dropped on all fours hugging his wand closely. Pale-faced and trembling Hagrid refused to give up his wand. No, I’m your equal, he though, I am a wizard.

The tall man with empty eyes closed in on him, pointing his wand at Hagrid’s quivering body. With a flick of the man’s wand and an annoyed muttering of an incantation, Hagrid felt the thin, smooth handle of his own wand slip forcefully from his sweaty fingers. He made to follow it, his faithful companion, but his blundering hands only caught thin air as the wand zoomed towards the detached man.

Hagrid wasn’t aware of his own screams or pleads anymore; his mind had blocked all noise and sense. Nothing made sense anymore. The magic coursing through his veins seemed to be permanently sucked out, searing Hagrid’s being with pain. His eyes were blurred as he followed the wand’s progress in the air, so graceful, and watched it land on the man’s outstretched, skeletal, insipid hand. The wand seemed to shiver just as Hagrid was, trembling on the man’s palm.

Hagrid was shaking his shaggy head as he watched the man grab his wand from both ends. No, it can’t end this way. Taking a firm hold, the man nodded curtly to another standing behind him. I’m a wizard, no, I’m magic, no don’t do this, please! For the first time, the man looked right into Hagrid’s eyes, his black ones piercing through his skull. Please, no, dad, I tried, dad… His eyes… his eyes were empty as void holes, dark as the pith black continuity of endless tunnels… I tried dad, he didn’t do anything, promise. With half a sneer the man pushed both ends of the thin lengthy wand ferociously, savoring the taste of every moment. No, dad I promise, he was my friend dad, not a murder. Aragog was my friend, dad. The wand snapped cleanly in half, a few small splints flying up and swiveling in the gray sky, falling on the mud at Hagrid’s feet in slow motion.

I tried dad, I tried to make you proud.

Hagrid’s tear glazed eyes watched the progress of a few splinters fall mournfully on the floor, torn from the apple tree as a branch snapped cleanly into two from the ferocious wind. The little, old man caught the airborne branch and plucked the fat juicy apple off it, offering it to his round faced son. Lifting his gaze upwards to his father who was perched on his right shoulder, a young Hagrid accepted the apple. Him and his father turned and continued to wave happily out of the picture and into an older Rubeus Hagrid’s tear filled beetle black eyes.

The small frame fell on the floor with crash; the shattered glass ignored at his feet. Teardrops glided down his cheek and into a mangled beard as Hagrid gazed at a hundred Giants march towards Hogwarts to face He Who Must Not Be Named, for the final battle.

No father, I didn’t fail. I made you proud.


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