A Last Visit at St. Mungo's
A short, slender grey-haired witch stepped up to the window of Purge and Dowse, Ltd., and leaned on her cane, taking the pressure off her left leg. The old wounds bothered her more and more these days.
"One of the drawbacks of getting old," she thought, "when the injuries of youth came back to haunt you." She looked at the ugly dummy in the window and smiled slightly; someone had changed the clothing on it since her last visit, but it was still at least 15 years out of date. She looked casually up and down the street, then addressed the dummy.
"I'm here to see Rubeus Hagrid."
The dummy winked at her and beckoned her forward. She stepped through the glass and once again found herself in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, a place she'd found herself in far too many times over the last 10 years or so. Leaning heavily on the cane, she stumped her way to the reception desk, where a young dark-haired witch was reading a book.
"Can I help you?" the young witch asked, setting her book down on the counter. The elder witch glanced at the title; old habits died hard, and she'd been a bookworm all her life. "Bonita and the Great Wizarding War" it said, with a picture of an overly-endowed young witch collapsing in the arms of an excessively handsome and well-muscled young wizard with long flowing dark hair. "At least Rita Skeeter found something to do after the Daily Prophet let her go," she thought.
"I'm here to see Rubeus Hagrid," the elder witch said.
"He's in the Ernie Macmillan Long-Term Care Ward on the 7th floor, ma'am." The young witch, wearing a nametag that said Bonnie, looked at the cane and pointed to her right. "If you'd like to avoid the stairs, you can use one of the fireplaces over there. There's Floo powder in the tin on the wall."
"Thank you. It's a bit hard to deal with stairs these days."
St. Mungo's had expanded quite a bit since the elderly witch had first visited, way back in her teens when the "Great Wizarding War" was still just the Order fighting against Voldemort, and the Ministry denying anything was wrong. She hadn't thought about Ernie in a long time. A bit pompous as a youth, he had spent a number of years as Minister for Magic, and on his death- what, 15 years ago now?- had left a generous endowment to St. Mungo's. She'd always rather liked Ernie; have to remember to write to his widow, Agatha, soon, she thought.
She tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and emerged in another lobby. Yet another young witch, reading yet another trashy Rita Skeeter novel, sat at the reception desk.
"May I help you, ma'am?"
"Yes, I'm looking for Rubeus Hagrid, please."
"Down that hall, all the way to the end on your left," Kathleen (so said her nametag) said, pointing.
"Thank you."
Moving slowly, she passed through a set of doors and walked down the corridor. Doors on both sides were mostly closed, although she glanced into an open one on her right and saw a handsome wizard seated next to a bed containing a very old white-haired witch. He was holding her hand and talking softly; she caught "the grandchildren miss you, Mom," before she passed.
At the very end, she paused and braced herself. This was going to be hard. But she pasted a smile on her face, pushed open the door and entered. A huge but wasted figure lay on a massive bed. His hair was mostly gone, and what little was left was grey, but he still had a massive bushy grey beard. The once powerful body seemed to have shrunk with age; still huge, but no longer bulging with the muscles she remembered. He seemed to be sleeping, so she pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.
How many years has it been now, she thought. I first met him when I was 11, on the trip across the lake, so that's- good Lord, had it really been more than 100 years now? So much time, so many things had happened. Bill's youngest was going to be 3 in a month, and how had she managed to become a great-grandmother? Sometimes the years seemed to just blur together.
She reached out and held Hagrid's hand, her tiny, age-spotted fingers barely able to close over a couple of his fingers. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake up.
So many years, so many memories. Hogwarts. Meeting Harry. Quiddith matches against other houses. "Won-Won" and Lavender. Fred and George's pranks, bless them both, Fred gone 10 years now and George, lost without his other half, dead less than a year later. Marriage, the birth of her children and grandchildren, Ron's years at the Ministry and Harry's teaching years at Hogwarts. She felt tears welling up at the thought of Harry; never fully recovered from the wounds he'd received in the final battle against Voldemort, he'd been gone for nearly 50 years now, but she still missed him so. And Ron, who died just last year; she couldn't believe he was gone either, and a sharp pain lanced through her.
So many gone now. All those who'd fought and defeated Voldemort, and only she and Hagrid were left, and from the looks of the wasted figure in front of her, it would soon be just her.
She started crying, and fished a handkerchief out of her purse. So many years, so many deaths, so many of her young friends who'd never made it past that final battle. She wiped her eyes, and thought of all those who had made it. Dear Neville, always trying so hard to live up to his grandmother's expectations; if it hadn't been for him, Nagini would have lived and kept Voldemort alive. He'd retired as Herbology instructor ten years ago, then lived quietly somewhere in Sussex, tending his garden and enjoying his grandchildren, for another five years before he too was gone.
Hagrid stirred slightly, his arm twitched, and those big black eyes opened.
"Wha' a nice surprise. Didn' expec' to see you here," he croaked.
"You didn't think I'd let you be all alone, did you, Hagrid?" she said, hastily hiding her handkerchief and forcing a smile. "How are you?"
"Well, to be hones', not well, not well at all." That deep voice was a diminished echo of itself. "I don' think I'm goin' to be here much longer. But you musn' worry abou' me. I've had a good long life, an' nothin' to complain abou'. Tell me how you've been. How's the kids?"
The old friends chatted for a while about this and that, Hagrid eager to hear about the children ("And your namesake, Rubeus, is planning to retire in two years and let his son Albus take over") and everything to do with her family. The talked about old friends, about Dumbledore ("grea' man, grea' man"), about hospital food, and Buckbeak, and all the years and all the memories that had passed between them.
After an hour, with Hagrid visibly tiring, she kissed him on the cheek and excused herself, promising to be back soon. He smiled, squeezed her tiny hand in his massive one, and closed his eyes.
She left St. Mungo's and went home, taking the Muggle tube because she was too unsteady to fly anymore and never had liked Apparating. A small flat in central London was her home now, just her and one of Crookshank's many descendants.
Two days later, she received an owl from St. Mungo's. Hagrid had died peacefully in his sleep the night before.
All alone now, all her childhood friends gone, Ginny Weasley Potter wept.