Title – Pumpkins
Author – Feather
Rating – G-PG
Genre – General/Philosophy
Category – Harry Potter
Author's notes – Sometimes people show remarkable depth when they have been taken at face-value all of their life, showing extraordinary perceptiveness and keenness to their surroundings. I've never found Hagrid stupid, as some people have, so I wove my perceptions of him, and of Ron, into a little piece that is as much a Harry Potter vignette as a philosophical ranting. I seem to be doing a lot of those lately ^^*.
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Snow was poised on the clouds' edges, balanced finely as if bordering a knife blade, and the air was too heavy, too thick, with the anticipation. The world was bathed in an eerie gray light, and whispers of shadow fringed the rough winter wind. Ron tightened his cloak as he paced the Hogwarts grounds, an unseen, yet still present, demon haunting his steps and thoughts: the anticipation of everything. A sudden, more forceful, wind stirred his cloak, and great breaths of air seeped through his thick, fraying winter clothes. The world felt too wrong, too caught up in everything, and too alert; Ron quickened his steps, though they faltered as he approached Hagrid's cabin.
Hagrid was growing pumpkins again, a mocking little reminder of how ill at ease everything was. It was really so ironic, now, that Ron would notice a little thing like pumpkins growing. Their size had already swollen to a full-moon shape, so reminiscent of his second year, when Hermione had looked on disapprovingly that Hagrid had used his magic to grow them, when Harry had come with him after the burping-slug incident and Hagrid had roared at him not to hurt the precious beauties. Ron really couldn't remember the last time he had seen Hagrid alone, if he ever had. Hermione and Harry had always been with him, and as Ron lifted his hand, chapped red from the cold, to knock the door, he felt a small chord of nervousness twang in his heart and reverberate throughout his entire body, settling particularly in his stomach.
Ron waited a minute, searching unconsciously for Fang's scratching at the door until he remembered Fang had been killed several months ago, by the same beast that had attacked Harry…shuddering, Ron turned his thoughts away from something such a fresh wound. Thankfully, after a minute, a grinning Hagrid opened the door, looking entirely unfazed at seeing Ron. "'Allo, Ron!" he said, smiling even more broadly. "Step in, step in, the chill 's frightful, eh?"
Gratefully, Ron accepted the offer, basking in the fire's warm glow, taking in the familiar scene of Hagrid's cabin. He couldn't begin to count the number of times he had set foot into this threshold since his first year and the incidents over the course of the last five years had to number in the hundreds at the very least. Once the warmth of the fire and the safety of Hagrid's hut loosened his jaw, Ron still found it very difficult to speak. He studied his hands for a moment, contemplating what to say. They were whipped red and raw from the harsh cold, and though he idly mused that maybe a comment in return of the weather would make things seem normal…seem more right, somehow. However, he felt a careful, scrutinizing look prickle the hairs on the back of his neck, and looking up, he met Hagrid's uncharacteristically thoughtful gaze.
"You came to see me 'bout Harry, didn' you, Ron?" Hagrid remarked quietly and wholly unnessicary. Dumbly, Ron nodded in response, thankful that it was at least out on the table, but not yet wanting to tread such fragile ground. "You'll be wantin' a cup of tea to soothe yer nerves, then."
Ron almost smiled at that comment, remembering his third year. The normal blush in response to Hermione's skeptic words, even at a wisp of memory, tinted his ears: hadn't he, Ron, offered Hagrid a cup of tea in his third year when Hagrid had been upset about Buckbeak? The paradoxes and the anticipation of this day, this entire week of waiting, had taken too much of a toll to leave room for little other than wasting time remembering. Ron silently accepted the warmth of the large mug, of Hagrid's imposing, yet safe, figure, of the knowledge that Hagrid too hated this entire ordeal.
After drinking their drinks in respective silence, Ron felt some of that warmth begin to touch his heart. Biting his lip, yet opening his mouth to speak, he hesitated to say any words. "I-I should have been there, Hagrid," he confessed, the first things he had said in so long, tumbling freely from his mouth. He found it odd, vaguely, to speak, to allow himself to voice the agony and guilt that had been ravaging his nerves.
"Aye, Ron," Hagrid said quietly in response, after a time. "Maybe you should have been, but then 'gain, there are many things I should have done in my lifetime, and I hadn't been present the proper opportunity at the time to do them." Ron knew that these words held a pointed meaning, and couldn't help flinch at them. Hagrid calmly took a sip of tea as Ron sat, helpless, frozen in time and in guilt, knowing he should move but not wanting to take a step foreword, and break out of the mold he had been in for what seemed so long. The silence he had sat in for a week had taken its harsh toll.
"Hagrid…he was just going to the Greenhouse. How could anything have gotten him?" Ron whispered. "And how could I have just let him go on his own, knowing that these were dangerous times?"
"You've just answered yer own question, Ron," Hagrid responded. "How could anything have gotten to him? No one knew, and it was just a dark beast, nothing too unusual. Madame Pomfery said he'll be 'right in the end."
Ron didn't say anything, for a time, wondering for the first time how much Hagrid really knew about the people around him. The man certainly didn't have the largest of intellects, and wasn't intelligent by the world's standards. Yet, Ron thought musingly, he was remarkably wise. Looking up, Ron met Hagrid's eyes, and felt as though Hagrid was raking through his soul, though for wholly kind reasons. How could a man so…simple do that? Ron wondered, again.
"You blame yerself, o' course, Ron, but that's expected." Then, he seemed to drastically change the subject, a knowing smile on his face. "See my pumpkins, Ron?" he asked. "I kept a few growing af'er Halloween." Hagrid took a long sip of tea, letting Ron fidget and place with his mug for a time. "But then again, I'd rather sit on a pumpkin than a velvet stool any day, eh?"
Ron looked up at Hagrid as suddenly as the wind had picked up his cloak, a rush of realization tearing through him. One step away from being completely awe-struck, Ron marveled at this giant man's wisdom. Life is too short to worry about what I should have done, Ron thought, too short to worry about the frills and comfort of velvet, too short for me to wrap myself away from the pain. Even pumpkins, with their bitter rinds, can be baked into something sweet. Ron started to smile inwardly, as he thought of his mother's advice:
"When life gives you lemons, Ron, you just make lemonade. Ronald Weasley, are you listening to me?" Huffing angrily, Mrs. Weasley was a step away from whacking her unresponsive son with the wooden spoon she was brandishing.
"Yes, mum," he said finally, rolling his eyes, not hearing what she had been saying. "Of course, mum."
Hagrid sat a while more, letting Ron digest his words, letting Ron remember. "He'll not die from a wee scratch, besides. Our Harry's stronger than that, Ron." Hagrid smiled knowingly at Ron again, and Ron couldn't but help himself to show a miniscule shaky smile back.
No more words moved between them for the remainder of the duration of Ron's stay, as they sat looking into the fire, thinking, remembering, enjoying the company of the other yet enjoying the opportunity for thought, as well. At last, the sky began to tint a darker gray, and Ron stood up, knowing his visit was over.
"You best be going 'fore the snow starts to fall," Hagrid replied. "I dunno what I'm ever goin' to do with the pumpkins," he mused aloud, more to himself than to Ron. The silence fell again.
"Hagrid, thank-" Ron started, before he was abruptly cut off by Hagrid.
"Just go," Hagrid said, not harshly but world-knowingly, not gently, either, his voice touched by sadness. "If you can continue to help Harry as much as you have, then I, and everyone else, will be the one to thank you."
Ron nodded, and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, wishing he could trap the warmness of the hut and in his heart forever in the fraying weave. Looking through the window, he could see a peek of orange, blushed into a darker red by the weakened light. He almost smiled. Stepping into the cold, blustery night, instantly the warmth fled from his bones, but most all of it remained in his conscience.
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Closing notes - Isn't it funny how little things can invoke the imagination? I was coming home this evening, and passed a little girl selling pumpkins on the side of the road, and my mind started to work. Thank you for reading so very much! I find Hagrid fascinating, but find the lack of fanfics involving him less so, so I can hereby state that I did not try to resemble any other purposely. Once again, thanks! ~ Feather
Disclaimer - I don't claim to own Harry Potter and other related works.