Hagrid's tale

Tribute to the forgotten hero of Harry Potter; Rubeus Hagrid.


1. The post-war depression

Hagrid's beautiful beard was blown by the light breeze, his nostrils tingled by the lingering scent of Voldemort's burnt flesh. It had been an exhausting day; what with the mix up with all the 'oh God Harry's dead' crap, so the valiant groundskeeper was taking a time out, alone in the rubble of the courtyard. He must get back soon; it was nearing five thirty, and Fang would be irritated if Hagrid was not home in time for dinner. 

"'Ello, 'Agrid." He was surprised he hasn't heard Madame Maxime approaching - she was hardly the lightest.

"Hello, Mada- I mean, good evening, Olympe." He must remember to call her Olympe, like she'd asked. Remember to call her Olympe, Olympe, Olympe-

"I 'av something to ask you." What was her name? His mind was reeling from all the thinking he had to do recently, so he turned to face her. She stood about two feet taller than him, and he had to crane his neck to look up at her. From this angle he could admire her beauty all he wanted; as long as they weren't outside between ten and three as the sun was in a very awkward position. 

"Yes, my love?" Hagrid checked the sun - it was inching towards five thirty, and Fang would be getting agitated. He would have confronted her, had she not been down on one knee, her head, from once, below his.

"Marry me, Rubeus." 

"Alright." He felt his cheeks flush pink beneath his massive facial mane. "Well, I must be going. Fang's waiting for his dinner and-"

"Let me come with you." Madame Maxime was now standing beside him, her vast frame belittling him grossly. 

"Alright." He led her across the courtyard and out onto the grounds, chatting as they walked. He could see his tent poised next to the rubble where his house used to stand.

"You are living in zis?" Madame Maxime gestured towards the tent with a horrified look on her face.

"Yes, ma'am- Olympe. My house was burned down."

"No. No no no. You will come with me - to France." Hagrid pondered. He had been at Hogwarts almost his entire life, but it was really Dumbledore who had made this place feel like home. With him gone, was there really anything keeping him here? After all, it wasn't like he couldn't just pop back and visit. He'd keep a full supply of Floo powder and drop by the Burrow. He'd buy an owl to keep in touch. What was he missing?

"Okay then."

"Tonight." Fang began to howl from the depths of the tent, alerting anyone within a twenty mile radius that Hagrid was - regrettably - late for dinner. His stomach growled in irritated agreement. 

"After dinner."

"Okay." They pushed through the flap of the tent, to see a sallow-faced Fang watching them with bloodshot eyes, his food bowl lying empty at his paws.

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