Chapter 2
Refusing to Believe
Leaky Cauldron
Current Day
In the darkness of the pub, a tall form sits in the farthest corner of the room. The form is well known to many there, some closer than others, some from their time at school or some from rumors or the Daily Prophet. The form picks up the tankard of drink and swigs it down in one gulp, finishing off the ale held within the confines of the glass. Tom the bartender looks over warily at his friend of many years. Getting another refill he walks over to the table, "Hagrid," he says quietly, "this is the last one you can have tonight, I have the room upstairs ready for you," Tom says to the giant of a man.
Everyone knows why he is here; everyone knows why he is drinking more than he has ever drunk before. His young friend and the hope of the Wizarding World, has just been pronounced dead by the Ministry of Magic. Tom knows Hagrid had a special spot in his heart just for Harry, just as Tom knows Harry had a special spot in his heart for the giant. Harry was one of the very few people who loved Hagrid for who he is and not what he is or isn't. "Come on," Tom says as Hagrid polishes off the last drink, "off to bed with yeah," Tom says with a sadness he has never known before.
Tom was around during the last time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in power. It was devastation beyond belief, there was no where to turn to for hope. This time there was. Until now that is. This hope, the destiny of all Wizards, Witches, Fairies, and all of the magical community rested heavily on the shoulders of one small boy. Tom realized many years ago that placing such a burden on young Harry Potter was cruel and unfair. However, Tom himself found hope in the boy. A hope now lost. A hope so lost they haven't even been able to locate his body, or parts of it.
Hagrid grunts in disapproval, "A'other drink 'om," he says in request.
"Hagrid, you know Harry wouldn't want you to do this to yourself just because he died," Tom reminds his friend and faithful costumer.
"Harry, 'n't dead," Hagrid shouts loudly as he stands up nearly throwing the table and its contents across the room, "you 'ear me, 'arry ain't dead," he thunders as he walks briskly out of the Pub and into the chilly night air of London. "He ain't," Hagrid says over and over as he walks endlessly and unknowingly down the dark streets of England. "He ain't dead an' I'll pro'e it," he finally declares as he stops in his tracks. For the first time in over a month Hagrid smiles, he has a plan. For a moment he reflects on the many time Harry, Ron and Hermione had come to him with their odd far fetched ideas on what was happening. He loved to see the three of them working so closely together, he loved being visited by them, but most of all he loved them with all his heart. They are the few people who loved him for who he is, not what he did or didn't do, they loved him for who he is not what kind of blood he has or what others accused him of. They believed in him as their friend.
Increasing his speed and the length of his massive steps, he starts to laugh and cry at the same time. "I'm comin' 'arry," he calls loudly into the rainy night sky. "I'm comin', just you 'ait for me 'arry, I'll find y'" he roars out his promise.