An Ironic Title

Chapter 7: Choices

I let out a gigantic sob as I sit at me kitchen table, tears streaming down my face, and me bucket-sized tankard in front o' me. It was full o' brandy a few minutes ago. I need some more to make me numb ter what's happenin' around me, but right now I don' feel like it. I doubt that I'll feel like doin' anythin' anymore. Fang lets out a mournful howl, scratching at me leg. He's hungry, I know. Hardly conscious of what I'm doin', I place a plate of my homemade rock cakes in front of him. His tail begins ter wag as he devours them - with a bit o' difficulty, mind you - giving a bark of thanks.

I sigh. I remember when I invited that mischievous trio over many, many times, how they used to eat these, even Harry. Harry. I let out another choked sob.

Knock, knock.

Now who could tha' be? Then, I remember, it's not visitors, it's me.

BOOM! BOOM! It's my knocks (or rather, blows), against tha' rickety front door in the middle o' the sea on that fateful summer's night - July 31^st to be exact. It's my knocks that blow the front door off o' it's hinges and I come inside to tell Harry tha' he's a wizard and ter take 'im away from those ruddy Muggles tha' abused, that dared to abuse Harry James Potter, the savior of the wizarding world. Those ruddy Muggles that didn' even tell 'im that 'e was a wizard! Why, I shoulda' torn them limb from limb, but I showed 'em nonetheless, giving that fat lump of a son of theirs a pig's tail!

Usually, that memory would've evoked at least a small smile from me, but now I find meself focusin' on the former - that I should've torn those ruddy Muggles limb from limb. But then again, the Daily Prophet would have a field day about that, how the half-giant oaf killed Muggles, Rita especially. . . .

Knock, knock.

Oh, yeah, it's just visitors - ah, well, they'll go away after a while, for now, I don' feel like doin' anything, including gettin' up and invitin' guests into me house. For now, I just want ter sit here and mull over me thoughts.

Or perhaps I could've just taken 'im away from those Muggles, not just to buy school supplies, but away fer good, given 'im to another wizarding family. The Weasleys or Lupin, maybe even Professor Dumbledore. No, even better . . . I could've taken 'im away tha' day I found 'im in the ruins of Godric's Hollow an' given 'im ter Sirius Black.

But I didn't and perhaps tha' was the wrong choice.

For with a wizarding guardian, Harry would've been given love an' kindness, the two things tha' he so desperately wanted . . . needed, but was given hardly any over his fifteen years livin' with those blasted Muggles. And, most importantly, he would have been given protection; protection that would've kept him from battling You-Know-Who four times since 'e was a baby, fighting a basilisk, dementors, a Hungarian Horntail, an' Merlin knows what else in all of his encounters - to say the least - throughout his five years at Hogwarts. Maybe with protection, he would've realized tha' he doesn't have ter do everything on 'is own. Maybe then he woulda realized tha' he didn' need to go the road to defeating . . . Voldemort alone, that we would've helped 'im if he'd just asked! I let out another gigantic sob.

Knock, knock.

"Hagrid?"

"Go away!" The knocking ceases. Good, I want ter be alone right now, anyway, without any annoying visitors. This is worse than when Buckbeak was to be executed, for now I know there's no Time-Turner tha' can make Harry alive again. Real smart of Harry and Hermione ter do that and save Sirius along with it. Harry. I wipe me nose with a huge spotted handkerchief, groaning.

He's gone, get used to it, I berate myself. Never again will Harry save the day, never again will he catch another Snitch, never again will he have to defeat a Dark Lord. For Harry completed his mission, a mission tha' I wished I knew of sooner so that I coulda helped him, so tha' we all could've helped 'im.

Yet, in a way, haven't we helped 'im? We didn' give him the protection and mollycoddling (though Molly tried to make up fer all of this loss with her love fer him like a son), to keep him away from all of those incidents he was subjected to, throughout his five years. We gave him a choice of what ter do or not, didn't hold 'im back and say "no, it's too dangerous," Professor Dumbledore, especially. Great man, Dumbledore.

For it was him who allowed Harry ter go with Ron an' Hermione to get the Sorcerer's Stone and the trio learned that together they could accomplish anythin', anything if they set their minds to it - and those minds were stretched quite a bit over the past five years, not just from exams. It was him who helped Harry find out about that whole Chamber of Secrets business (though I must say that I helped a bit by telling 'em to "follow the spiders"). Otherwise, I still might have been in Azkaban, I shudder ter think of that. It was 'im that didn' give Harry protection and allowed him ter figure out about Sirius an' learn a Patronus Charm against those ruddy dementors (though most of the credit goes to Lupin fer that), and finding out that not all o' his family had been destroyed on Halloween because of that ruddy traitor, Peter.

And, most important of all, Harry made a choice ter do all of these things. He coulda' refused to go after the Sorcerer's Stone and let that Quirrell-Voldemort . . . person (if he deserves tha' title), get it. He could've let that basilisk go on Petrifying people and refused to go into the Chamber ter rescue Ginny (though I can understand why 'e did it, now). He coulda' refused to believe in Sirius's innocence and let the dementors take 'im, refusing to fight against 'em for justice in this crazy society we wizards live in right now.

Then, in his past two years - the most dangerous of all of 'em if yeh ask me - when he was in the graveyard with . . . Voldemort, he coulda' given himself up fer lost and refused to fight back - like his father would've. When the Ministry was runnin' Hogwarts, he coulda' sunk back with the masses and told everyone tha' Voldemort never came back and that Dumbledore was an old fool, to protect his own name. Instead, he chose to rebel with a group of other students and made that brilliant DA club.

Even when Professor Dumbledore told 'im the prophecy, he coulda just gone back to those Muggles and sat in 'is room day in and day out, saying "poor me, poor me," an' refused to do anythin' while the carnage of innocents continued. But he didn'. He coulda' joined his parents and Sirius forevermore, without doing anythin' and allow . . . Voldemort to reign and gain more an' more power. But he didn't. He made the right choice and met what was coming toward 'im with open arms. I'm not really an expert on such things, but I s'pose that's what makes 'im the hero of the wizarding world.

Knock, knock.

"Hagrid, we know you're in there! Please let us in Hagrid!"

An' if Harry can make the right choice ter defeat the Darkest wizard that our world has ever seen, then I certainly can stop mopin' and get up ter invite me guests in. Wiping me face on my handkerchief once again and hopin' that I don' look too miserable, I draw my chair back and stand up. Fang, who has finished his rock cakes, begins to wag his tail and runs ter the door, leapin' up on it, scratching and barkin', hoping to jump on the guests and hopin' even more tha' they have some treats.

"Out o' the way, Fang," I mutter, drawing him back gently by the collar. He barks playfully as I open the door ter see Ron an' Hermione standin' there. The two o' them are holding hands and both are slightly flushed. Took 'em long enough, I think with an inward chuckle. Harry would really like that.

And without waiting for a greeting or an answer ter the red marks on Ron's cheeks, I say, "Hello, you two. Yeh want some tea?"