The Chicken and The Egg
A/N
AU where Hagrid's father lives past first year. AU where Care Of Magical Creatures begins in Second Year.
Written for the QDLC.
Falmouth Falcons;
CHASER 1.
Position Prompt: Write about someone doing their homework for the subject.
1. (word) hangover
5. (quote) 'I want to see and understand the world outside.' - Eren Jaeger, Attack On Titan.
14. (quote) 'The starting point of all achievement is desire.' - Napoleon Hill
Words: 2719
"Ceci n'est pas une pipe."
—René Magritte.
…
"This is not a pipe."
Somehow, the one, ubiquitous factor in his major life events was his Care of Magical Creatures homework.
Act 01. The Bird and The Cobra.
• • •
The first event was the gentlest, if only because it had occurred in the relative safety of his home. It was an off-hand comment, a statement, and a question. Such things are usually easy to dismiss, but this had not been, because it was the first time his father had lifted the veil of mystery around his mother even a little.
In June, 1943, Hagrid and his father were at home. Someone had lit the fireplace and stuffed it full of logs, so it was warm, to a discomforting degree. The roaring fire had engulfed the logs an hour ago, when Hagrid had finally completed his astronomy homework. Even so, the blaze was ultimately unable to illuminate the ceiling that had been drastically heightened as Hagrid grew.
He was thirteen now, an unlucky age, on the verge of falling into Third Year. At thirteen, Hagrid was already six feet tall. As such, it was a very high ceiling.
"Hagrid." His father puffed a teeny-tiny smoke ring out of a large pipe that was as long as his face.
Hagrid had expected the small smoke ring, not because his father smoked often, but because his father's lungs were tiny and so was the rest if his father's body.
Sometimes, he pitied his father. He was so small. He was so easy to pick on—at least, to Hagrid he was—because by age six, Hagrid would pick him up and put him on top of the dresser whenever he annoyed him. Hagrid would only let him down when he conceded to Hagrid's demands.
"Yer mother returned ter raise our ceilin' yehsterday," his father began, sounding hopeful, yet utterly crushed. His father had been like this ever since Fridwulfa—Hagrid's mother—had shattered his father's tiny heart with her big, clumsy words and hands.
Hagrid didn't know what to think of her. She was a statement, a question, and a mystery like all those homework questions he did not know how to solve.
Hagrid gave his father a bald, sidelong look. He was startled by his father's expression. It seemed to be asking some ineffable question, pleading for Hagrid to say something about Frieda. But what? She was his mother, the closest person to him. He had slept in safety in her warm womb for nine long months; it was she who had protected his existence. Yet, she was also a stranger.
A stranger, and his mother. What could you say about someone so paradoxical and unknown?
Hagrid did not know how to respond to open-ended statements—or questions?—about mothers and such. His mother had never taught him how. So he moved on to the last question of his Care of Magical Creatures homework instead and swallowed his guilt over ignoring his father, who was too weak to stop him.
5. Write an essay on the life of a Giant.
An open-ended statement, and yet, a homework question. He did not know the answer to that either, so he moved on. He would ask Professor Silvanus when he returned to Hogwarts after the summer.
Hagrid rummaged through his worksheets on a whim and found a Charms one.
1. Who invented portraits?
His father interrupted, "Ah, it was René Magritte, if I recall righ'." He said this around his pipe as he leaned down from Hagrid's shoulder. "Grew rather famous fer his paintin' of a pipe."
Tiny, light, and perched on his shoulder, Hagrid's father was like a bird. Surprisingly, Hagrid shared that aspect too. Although he physically did not resemble a bird, he had the naivety and fragility of a baby chick.
All of a sudden, his father brightened. "See this, Hagrid?" Hagrid's father gestured towards his pipe, which was still smoking languorously like a sleeping dragon.
"Yeh, Da," said Hagrid, still feeling guilty.
"This is a pipe."
His father waved his wand and transfigured a piece of parchment into a cartoon painting of a pipe. "This is not a pipe."
"A pictur' o' an object is not an object itself," Hagrid's father continued, smiling broadly, but Hagrid was not convinced.
"Yer mother is like a pictur' o' a pipe." Hagrid's father hopped down from his son's shoulder. "Well, I'm off ter bed. The hangover potion stopped workin'."
Hagrid said his goodbye and proceeded to look for his transfiguration homework.
As Hagrid had suspected, the transfigured piece of parchment turned out to be his Transfiguration homework. Upon realising this, Hagrid began running around in a morose sort of panic, much like a headless chicken would if it could.
The second event was quite an ordinary one. It was not significant by itself. Rather, it was only important because it was the beginning of the seventh and most important event of Hagrid's life.
When Hagrid returned to Platform Nine And Three-Quarters in the September of 1943, he was nervous and frightened and skittish. Perhaps he was afraid of disappointing Professor Dumbledore for having turned his homework into a painting of a pipe. Or perhaps he had simply caught the bout of anxiety that all first years had. For even though he was a third year, he was still as apart from the rest of the school as any firstie. It hurt, but he was used to it.
To calm himself, Hagrid mentally attempted his Care of Magical Creatures homework again. But despite all he did, he could not solve question seven.
Eventually, Hagrid had to give up on it because the clock had ticked eleven and he didn't want to miss his last moments with his father before the start of school. The train gave a few loud toots and Hagrid stopped doing his homework to look out the window at his father who was beaming brighter than the afternoon sun.
"GOODBYE, DA!" Hagrid cried one last time from aboard the train.
"Goodbye, sonny!" Mr Hagrid hollered back tearfully and blew his nose on a napkin. As he did so, the train left. It slithered past the rails, its red, metallic body gleaming like scales.
Mr Hagrid could not help but imagine that the train looked remarkably similar to the red cobra Hagrid had kept; once, before it had eaten his bird.
Act 02. The Egg
• • •
The third event was an egg. It was the hatching of something great and terrible that would do great and terrible things, though Hagrid hadn't known it at that time.
He had been busy doing homework.
In October, Hagrid found an acromantula egg in the forbidden forest. Pleased with his illegal find, he toted it back to the Gryffindor dorms in secret and rolled it under his gargantuan bed.
"Just takin' care o' him fer some research—ter do h—homework. Yeah, I'm doing Care o' Magical Creaturs' homework," Hagrid justified to himself, feeling simultaneously ecstatic and nervous towards the task that awaited him. When he was little, he wanted to become a mother. But after a rather embarrassing conversation with his father on birds and bees, that proved impossible so he decided to become a metaphorical mother hen instead and raise a chicken from an egg. Now, he had the chance to do that—except, with an acromantula which was not nearly as harmless as a chicken.
"Just takin' care o' you fer homework," Hagrid mumbled, patting the egg. Somehow, he'd managed to convince himself of that.
While the egg was nestled in the dark space under the bed where all monsters are wont to hide, it haunted Hagrid's dreams.
First, the pure, soft shell that concealed the spider would tear - just a little. Then a tiny black leg would slip out, then another, and another, until all eight appeared. After that, the white shell would rupture like a boil and the spider would tumble out.
The egg had hatched inside his mind so many times, that it had migrated there in spirit and left no strength in its physical body. Perhaps that was why when the giant egg actually hatched, Hagrid found only the skeletal body of a spider runt in its shell.
He named it Aragog, after the love of his life, Aranna Figg.
The fourth event was when Hagrid met Tom Riddle.
Hagrid first met him while completing a piece of Care of Magical Creatures homework in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was late at night, and everyone but him was asleep.
"Hagrid," Riddle had said politely in front of the antique table Hagrid was using. "Professor Dumbledore would like to know how you've been adapting. You forgot to give your monthly reports."
He wasn't surprised that Riddle knew his name, just a little proud and embarrassed that the next Minister of Magic—or so Dippet had been proclaiming—did. After all, Hagrid's size was rather conspicuous, and due to the wild gossip about it, so was his name.
"Oh—er—"
"You're doing it upside down," Riddle interrupted.
"W-Whut?"
Riddle tapped the piece of parchment with his spidery fingers. "You doing it upside down."
"Hagrid, Hagrid! Let me out! I want to see and understand the world outside!" Aragog called childishly from inside Hagrid's robes.
"What is that?" Riddle asked as his eyes narrowed.
"Homework," Hagrid replied gruffly.
"I thought I heard something," Riddle pressed and pointed his wand at Hagrid's robes. "Accio sentient-creature-in-Hagrid's-robes!"
"NO!"
A spider the size of a dinner plate flew out of Hagrid's robes.
Hagrid paled and glanced at Riddle.
He—Riddle—was standing very still, with a shocked—and maybe a little shocking—gleam in his eye. If Hagrid hadn't known that Tom Riddle was different from all the other Slytherins, he might have said that the strange gleam looked similar to the constant shine in the eyes of .
"Is—Is that an Acromantula?" Tom Riddle gaped, horrified.
"Yeh can't tell anyone!" Hagrid said desperately and lunged for Aragog to hide him from view.
"...Alright," Riddle said with a reluctant tone that was quite contrary to his eager—almost hungry— gaze. Hagrid found it adorable. It reminded him of the red cobra he once had.
"Really? Yeh mean it?"
"Well, it doesn't seem to be doing any harm. As long as you control it, I suppose it'll be fine."
Hagrid sniffled loudly. "T—thank yer Tom, yer a good bloke."
The chamber of secrets has been opened.
The fifth event occurred at midnight, in a second floor bathroom that seemed fated for tears.
Tom Riddle entered it.
He glanced around shrewdly and, suddenly, heard a great, honking sound. It reminded him of those filthy Muggle cars that spewed black gas and brought a sneer on his face.
"Is anyone here?" Tom called with careful concern and schooled his expression.
"Jus' me, Tom," Hagrid said and sobbed again.
"What circumstances had led you to such a distraught state?" Tom inquired, feigning appall. He wondered how none of the other prefects had noticed his absence from bed. He was a very large creature, after all. "And in the girls' bathroom, no less."
If Hagrid had understood the insinuation—that he was either an idiot or a pervert—he didn't comment.
"W-well,"—A trumpet sound erupted as Hagrid blew his nose—"Aragog told me that Aranna w-would neva' like me because I'm a different speeshies."
"You are a little big," Tom admitted. "But I'm certain that Aranna would accept you regardless of how you look."
"She would neva!" Hagrid wailed. "If only I was like yeh."
"What do you mean?"
"Yer clever and popular—a grea' man." Hagrid sobbed. He pulled a large wad of toilet paper and blew his nose which made a noise like that of a giant goose.
"Well—that's nice of you to say, but really, I'm not—"
"Too modest, yeh are!" Hagrid said, disconsolate. "How do yeh get so—so—" Hagrid waved his arms helplessly like a baby bird would with its wings, and accidentally knocked down the door.
There was a loud thump, then the cracking of tiles.
They were silent for a moment.
"I'm not as great as you think I am. Really, I still make mistakes—but...I could give you a few pointers, though?" Tom offered. Perhaps Dumbledore would get off his case once he helped the giant. Earning Hagrid's trust would be useful, too; his large size and vulnerability would make him a good target to frame.
Sometimes, Tom pitied him. He was so terribly large and everyone else was so small. He was so easily picked on, that if he were accused of murder, no one except the old coot would question it.
"S—sure," Hagrid mumbled. "Yer a good bloke."
"Then first, you must learn that the starting point of all achievement is desire," Tom instructed. "To be great, first, you must yearn it. Then, you have to earn it."
Hagrid nodded vigorously.
"Afterwards…." Tom continued.
Act 03. The Spider and the Basilisk
• • •
The sixth event was a split that tore his heart asunder, not unlike the agonising separation from Fridwulfa that his father had suffered.
Hagrid was doing Care of Magical Creatures homework in the Gryffindor common room, when the portrait swung open. Tom Riddle entered, glancing around sharply. There was no one but him and Hagrid around.
"Hagrid," Tom began. His voice was like steel. "Confess to Dippet and hand over Aragog, or I will."
"What are yer saying?" said Hagrid, as his eyes widened. A look of betrayal slackened his face.
"The Acromantula has already killed a student. If you don't, I'm afraid I'll have to turn you in—I don't wish to, of course, but—"
"He wouldn'," Hagrid mumbled. "I won' do it!" he roared, louder.
There was a pause, a stretching and eternal silence like an endless abyss. It said everything when words could not.
The bond between Hagrid and Tom Riddle, if it had ever existed, had been split. It was gone forever. Soon, Aragog would vanish too.
"Very well," Riddle said softly and left the room.
Hagrid's heart gave a painful wrench. He scrambled out the common room, to the broom closet where he was keeping Aragog.
"C'mon, we gotta get you out…" Hagrid mumbled to the Acromantula, who was hiding in a box under his bed. All the while, Hagrid cried tears that stained his uniform an even darker shade of black.
One could guess from Tom Riddle's later occupation of the title Dark Lord and his later attempted occupation of the entire British Wizarding World that he did not take rejection well.
First, the innocent shell that concealed the spider tore—just a little. Then an ugly, black leg slipped out; then another, and another, until all its eight mutilated souls had appeared. After that, the white shell ruptured like a boil and the spider named Voldemort tumbled out.
Hagrid could only stare in horror and despair, as Tom Riddle revealed his true colours.
"Stand aside," Riddle said and drew his wand. That was all the warning he gave.
With a cold, efficient stab of his wand, he cast a spell that threw Hagrid several metres from where he stood. This physical display of betrayal awoke Hagrid, and his face twisted in anguish and anger.
Hagrid had finally understood what his father had said. His mother was like a picture of a pipe: she seemed like mother, but was not. She was made in the image of a mother, but she was not one. In splitting up from his father, she had abandoned and betrayed him.
In much the same way, Tom Riddle seemed like a "good bloke," but he was not.
He too, had betrayed him.
(Meanwhile, Aragog took advantage of the confusion to scuttle away. Hagrid couldn't complete his Care of Magical Creatures homework after all.
The seventh event was the loss of his homework.)
The eighth event: after being tried and expelled, Hagrid never got the chance to do any Care of Magical Creatures homework again.
Act 04. The Cycle
• • •
Like the ouroboros that had chewed upon his tail, the cycle would eventually come full circle.
Tom Riddle, Voldemort, would chew his own tail and die by his own hand.
And Hagrid would finally progress to grading Care of Magical Creatures homework.
But for now, this story will remain a tragedy.