This was written for the QLFC – Season 8, Round 1: Who Are You? – Falmouth Falcons, Keeper – Prompt: The Caregiver (goal of helping others/fear of selfishness)
MC4A Challenges: FPC; Fence; SN; SprBingo; Link; TrBingo; Chim
Individual Challenges: Short Jog; Rian-Russo Inversion; New Fandom Smell; Gryffindor MC; Hufflepuff MC; Metahuman MC; Magical MC (Y); Red Era; Beauty of the Abstract
Representations: Rubeus Hagrid; Pomona Sprout; Caregiver; Outcasts; Bullying; Crying; Gardening; Mooncalf Dung; Same Bingo Card
Bonus Challenges: Machismo; Peddling Pots; Second Verse (Ladylike, Not a Lamp, Persistence Still); Chorus (Pear-Shaped)
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: SN (Rail, Ameliorate)
Spring Bingo Space Address (Prompt): 2B (Fertility)
Trope Bingo Space Address (Prompt): 3C (Applied Phlebotinum)
Chimera: Chrysophylax
Parts (Prompts): Tropes & Themes (Applied Phlebotinum); Actions (Crying/Sobbing); Musical Songs ("God Help the Outcasts" - Hunchback of Notre Dame)
Word Count: 3000
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The title is taken from the song "God Help the Outcasts" from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
A/N: This fic assumes the earlier possible birthdate for Pomona Sprout in 1931, which would put her two years behind Hagrid in school. This fic is set in the fall of 1943.
still i see your face and wonder (were you an outcast too?)
The wheelbarrow lurched violently as its rickety wheel struck some unseen obstacle in the lumpy ground. Hagrid felt the jerk and stopped pushing at once, but he was too late: a sizeable patty of the wheelbarrow's precious cargo slid off with a wet squelch. He let out a mild swear as weeds started sprouting up thick and green right before his eyes where the Mooncalf dung had fallen.
"Yeh couldn' fall jus' once in a spot where there's s'posed ter be summat growin', could yeh now?" he grumbled.
He raised his head and looked back the way he'd come. The path he'd taken was marked clear back to Ogg's hut with small green thickets of grass and weeds in the exact places where his giant feet had trodden. Larger patches of growth were scattered here and there where he'd lost more of his load, not to mention the wide swath of new greenery where the wheelbarrow had struck a stone and turned over on itself, dumping the lot. He'd gotten as much of it back in the wheelbarrow as he could, covering himself head to foot with filth in the process, but he could still see the weeds shooting up from here. Old Man Ogg was going to kill him—once for wasting so much of the costly fertiliser, and again for making extra work for him. Although come to think of it, he'd probably make Hagrid pull all of the weeds by himself first, and then kill him afterwards.
"If the wheelbarrow wasn' so small…" Hagrid muttered, starting it moving again. The old gamekeeper had been in a great hurry this morning to get his squill bulbs fertilised, leaving Hagrid no time to find someone to put an Engorgement Charm on the wheelbarrow as he'd done with several of Ogg's other tools when he'd needed them. Being a Squib, Ogg roundly scorned any suggestion that Hagrid might need magic to do his job when he himself had always got along perfectly well without it, and since Hagrid's own wand had been snapped upon his expulsion last year, there was nothing for it but to use the undersized wheelbarrow.
Hoping to avoid any further disaster, Hagrid swung wide as he rounded the corner of the greenhouse—and it was that which saved her. She was a tiny witch, quite round, and crouched down next to the fanged geraniums on the greenhouse's outer wall, with her curly brown hair tumbling in all directions, she might just as easily have been a shrub. She gave a startled cry as the heavy wheelbarrow missed her by only a few centimetres, as did the patty of dung that landed with a plop when Hagrid jerked to a halt.
"Sorry, sorry! Didn' see yeh there!" He knelt down next to the girl, though he was so large and she so small that it hardly seemed to bring him any nearer to her. "Are yeh okay?"
The girl turned her head away, rubbing at her eyes with grubby hands. When she turned back to look at him, her cheeks were smudged all over with dirt. "Yeah, yeah, I'm all right." She gave a weak smile. "Just fine."
"Didn' hurt yeh, did I? Thought the wheelbarrow missed yeh, but it happened so fas', I couldn' see…"
"No, no." She sniffed and brushed a hand across her cheek again, leaving another smudge. "I was already… I'm not hurt."
Hagrid sat back on his haunches, breathing a sigh of relief. "Good, that's good."
Thoughtfully, he looked the girl over. She didn't seem familiar, but she really was so very small that it wasn't impossible he might have missed her while he was a student at the school. She had a pleasant face, with round cheeks, a dimpled chin, and thick, bushy eyebrows set above huge brown eyes that were red with crying. Hagrid knew better than to ask, but then, he didn't really have to. They didn't particularly care what made you different so long as you were—being small and plump was probably as good (or as bad) a reason as being nearly three metres tall.
The girl squirmed under his inspection, glancing about as though seeking something to distract him. "You're the gamekeeper's assistant, aren't you?" she asked at last. "Hagrid?"
"That's me," he answered uneasily. So she knew of him at any rate. How much was the question. 'Gamekeeper's assistant' was a lot better than 'that bloke who got kicked out last year because they thought he was the Heir of Slytherin and had killed some poor Muggle-born girl', but saying the one didn't mean she wasn't thinking the other. If he was lucky, maybe she'd be a first-year and not have heard the story. Although that was hardly likely unless the Hogwarts grapevine had somehow withered a great deal over the summer.
"'Fraid yer name's slipped me mind," Hagrid added awkwardly.
For some reason, the question made the girl's face crumple into tears again, and she covered her face with her hands.
"Hey, hey," he said softly, trying to soothe her although he had no idea what he'd said wrong. He rubbed his hand briskly in the grass to get off most of the Mooncalf dung and then tried to pat her gently on the back. Instead he sent her sprawling, and she only just managed to catch herself in time to keep from falling face-first into the jaws of the fanged geraniums.
"Oi!"
"Sorry, sorry!" Mortified, Hagrid reached out to help her back up, but she quickly scrambled backwards away from him.
"No, no, I'm fine. Really."
A hot wave of embarrassment washed over him, turning him red all the way to his ears, and this time it was he who buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry, I didn' mean ter do that. I'm such a clumsy oaf, but yeh've got ter believe me, I was jus' tryin' ter help."
But suddenly, to his surprise, the girl was no longer crying. She was laughing. Not an unkind laugh, like the bullies he remembered from school, the ones who had made sure he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt just how much of a clumsy oaf he was. Hers was a merry, infectious sort of laugh. Hagrid peeked out at her, her round face now crinkled up with amusement instead of tears. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, and at last he began to chuckle along with her.
"I'm Pomona," the girl said finally. "Pomona—Sprout." She bit her lip hard as she gave her surname, but the tears did not resurface, though she added bitterly, "Or Pomona Stout, to hear them say it."
Hagrid nodded in sudden understanding. "Ruddy bullies."
Pomona agreed. "All my life. You wouldn't believe how many different people have come up with that one, and every time they think it's so terribly clever."
"Isn' that jus' how it always goes? 'Hagrid the Huge' was what they'd call me. Thought that was genius, they did. Said it was more a proper name for a—for a giant."
"Aren't we just a pair? Big and little, both outcasts."
"An' both covered in dirt, ter boot," Hagrid added, grinning.
Pomona made a face and rubbed at her cheek, though she only succeeded in smudging the dirt around some more. "I was just having a look at the fanged geraniums. It calms me, taking care of plants. Takes my mind off things." She stroked the leaf of one, nimbly avoiding its attempt to nip at her fingers. "They wouldn't be so grumpy if they were better taken care of, you know. It's the poor soil. They'd be tame enough if they'd got all the nutrients they need."
Hagrid slapped his forehead. "Oh, that reminds me. I got ter get this Mooncalf dung down ter the squill beds near the Forest or Old Man Ogg'll have me head."
"Mooncalf dung? Is that what this is?" Pomona asked, looking curiously at the spot beside her where it had fallen. Already the dark brown sludge was nearly obscured by rapidly growing weeds. "We studied about it in Herbology, but I've never seen it before." She fingered a blade of grass that continued to grow even as she held it, then scooped up a handful of the fertiliser and examined it, spreading it around on her palm with one finger. "Remarkable," she muttered to herself. "Absolutely remarkable."
All at once, she picked up some more and began to spread it around one of the fanged geraniums, patting it down and mixing it with the dry, crumbly soil. The geranium initially bristled at her touch, but as it absorbed the fertiliser, its appearance quickly softened and relaxed. Pomona smiled down at the flower. "There, that's better, isn't it?" she crooned to it. "Doesn't that feel so much better?" She stroked its leaf again, and this time Hagrid could have sworn he heard the plant purr.
He watched the whole curious interaction with fascination. "Do yeh—Do yeh wan' some more?" he asked after a moment. "Fer the rest of 'em, I mean. Old Ogg won' be happy with me, but I've already spilled so much that I don' s'pose usin' a little more of it could hurt."
"Are you sure?" Pomona looked up at him, her eyes betraying her eagerness. "Don't offer if you don't mean it. It kills me to see the poor things suffering like this, and this is just what they've been needing."
In answer, Hagrid picked up a huge handful of the Mooncalf dung and brought it over to her. He knelt down and lowered his hands so she could scoop it out a little at a time and work it into the soil. They worked in contented silence, and one by one, the prickly flowers turned soft and healthy. Pomona dimpled a little more with each one.
As he brought over a second handful of Mooncalf dung, she finally broke the silence. "So, you don't seem like the kind of person to set a monster on some innocent girl."
Hagrid nearly dropped his load. "Wh—What?" he spluttered. "Yeh knew? All this time, yeh knew?"
She reached up impatiently, and, not knowing what else to do, Hagrid knelt down so she could get another handful. He felt a little dazed. After spending so long together, laughing together, working so comfortably together, Hagrid had supposed he was safe. But of course that had been too much to hope for.
"Of course," Pomona said nonchalantly. "I was here last year, you know. I know I look like a first-year, but this is actually my second."
"But—But—If yeh know, why aren' yeh scared of me? Why didn' yeh run off the secon' I came 'round the corner?"
A mischievous grin crossed her face. "Well, for one thing, I'm half-blood." Then she stopped working and looked up at him, her features growing more serious. "And for another thing, I never believed it was you for a minute."
Hagrid sat down heavily, unable to do anything but stare at her. It was the first time anyone except Professor Dumbledore had told him that. Even old Ogg wasn't entirely convinced of his innocence.
"You've probably got reason enough to want to hurt someone, I'll give you that," she went on, turning back to her geraniums. "I mean, I wouldn't mind setting a monster on that awful Eileen Prince myself. But poor Myrtle? She was just as much an outcast as us. I can't see you wanting to kill her any more than you would me. I mean, you don't want to kill me, do you, Hagrid?" she asked with a wink.
Hagrid could only stare back at her, dumbfounded. His tongue flapped about uselessly in his mouth, but he couldn't seem to form any intelligible sounds.
"I didn't think so," she continued just as if he had answered her question. "And another thing: I've seen how you are with animals. You used to try and sneak back to the stables where Professor Kettleburn kept all the dangerous ones for Care of Magical Creatures, and you'd treat them like they were adorable little kittens or something. Even when they tried to bite your hand off. I know I never saw you try to set one on somebody."
Hagrid was shaking his head mutely, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Because the thing was… this was exactly what he'd been trying to tell the people who had accused him. Up until now, the only person he'd been able to convince was Professor Dumbledore. He felt… How did he feel? Happy? Relieved? Angry and hurt all over again because if only Headmaster Dippet had believed what this tiny little witch had figured out for herself, he'd still be a student at Hogwarts instead of just the assistant gamekeeper?
"By the way," Pomona added, "what kind of monster were you supposed to have been using?"
Hagrid's mind grabbed onto the question like a lifeline. Aragog. He could talk about Aragog. "Weren' no monster," he answered, his tongue loosening at last. "He was jus' a baby, no bigger'n a shoebox. Acromantula, y'know. Sweet-tempered little thing, Aragog was." He smiled fondly. "An' smart, too. Knew who his mummy was. I fed 'im real well; he didn' have no need ter be goin' after people." He sighed heavily. "Poor little chap."
"They didn't kill him, did they?" she asked with concern.
"No, an' that's the one thing I'm glad about. He got away in time. I still get ter see 'im now an' again. Bring 'im a bit of food. Though he's getting' ter be quite a hunter all on his own now," he added proudly.
"Can I see him?"
Hagrid gritted his teeth nervously and glanced in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. "I'm not s'posed ter tell anyone where he is. Wouldn' be safe for 'im, y'know."
She nodded, though her gaze drifted toward the Forest in the same direction he'd looked. Shouldn'ta looked that way. I should not have looked that way, he thought with chagrin. Though somehow, he couldn't imagine her giving Aragog away.
Pomona started working fertiliser around another fanged geranium. "I'm more interested in plants, but I can understand liking the dangerous ones," she said. "I mean, these little guys are harmless enough when you take good care of them, but what I'd really like to have someday is a Venomous Tentacula. Now there's a fascinating plant for you. Highly venomous, deadly spikes, poisonous secretions, strong enough to strangle you… and yet they can become very loyal to their owners, or so I've heard." She sighed. "Unfortunately, it's a Class C non-tradable substance, so my odds of getting my hands on one aren't looking too great."
"Isn' that a shame?" said Hagrid with feeling. "I've dreamed of having me own dragon ever since I was a lad. I'm sure I could train one up so it's safe to have around, but no, the bloody Warlock's Convention of 1709 says I can't even try."
"RUBEUS HAGRID!"
The shout cut clear across the Hogwarts grounds even without the benefit of an Amplification Charm. With dread, Hagrid peered around the corner of the greenhouse to see grey-haired old Ogg coming towards him at a speed that shouldn't have been possible at his age. His ever-present cane served, as usual, no purpose whatsoever, except to jab angrily at each patch of rampant growth as he passed it.
"Speaking of dragons?" Pomona muttered quietly.
"Tell me about it," he answered. "Here, yeh'd better get goin' before he gets down, or we'll both of us be in trouble."
"Why? I'm in it just as much as you. More, I guess, since I was the one who wanted to fertilise the geraniums."
"No, yeh don' understand," Hagrid said urgently. "That cane isn' fer walkin'. An' he can hit more'n weeds with it."
Pomona's face drained of color. "What about you?"
"Me?" He forced a grin. "Yeh think that little stick o' his could do much damage ter the likes of me?" Actually, if Old Man Ogg had any magic in his withered old body, it was finding ways to make his cane felt when he thought someone deserved it, but of course, it would only be that much worse for tiny Pomona. "Jus' go 'round the other side o' the greenhouse an' wait till he gets past yeh. Then yeh can make a break fer the castle."
She shook her head. "I've got a better idea. Put me in the wheelbarrow and get it down to the squill beds as fast as you can. I'll use my wand to help spread it. We'll be done in no time, and he won't know you wasted time helping me."
Hagrid shook his head. "I can' move the wheelbarrow that fas'. It's too small fer me. That's why I almos' knocked yeh over with it in the firs' place."
Her brow furrowed. "Too small? Well, that's easily mended." She whipped out her want and muttered, "Engorgio!"
The wheelbarrow began to grow rapidly. Soon it was twice its original size, and with the sides now high enough to keep the Mooncalf dung from falling out, Hagrid found he could manoeuvre it much faster than before. With Pomona perched on the edge, heedless of the filth, he took off across the grounds, trying to keep out of Ogg's line of sight.
In the end, they made it, and given that the squill beds were quite well-fertilised by the time Ogg showed up, the old gamekeeper decided to spare his cane, although he did set Hagrid to work pulling the weeds that were erupting uncontrollably across the grounds. As Pomona decided to pitch in, however, the work went rather quickly, and the two spent a pleasant few hours sharing their enthusiasm for the most perilous flora and fauna of the wizarding world.
And so they still do to this day.