England
Dylan Thomas said, "After the first death, there is no other." Fool that I was, after my mother’s death I thought that meant your heart could only break once.
I had misunderstood. Every death is the first death again, and worse. When Guy died it was as if a wound partially healed was ripped open, tearing the already tormented and sensitized flesh. Guy had felt like a promise to me; now the promise was revealed as a lie. I saw that there is no limit to the pain life can inflict.
We had six hippogriffs in our facility and I had been caring for them with the help of a pair of teenage witches from town. Now, of course, their parents would no longer allow them to come. The work was physically demanding and by working harder than necessary I endeavored to save the little flame of spirit that still burned in me. It was like the healing spell Gelos, performed when severe injuries cause dangerous swelling in the nervous system. The spell lowers the body temperature almost to the level of death and holds it there while other healing spells are applied. That is how I worked — from dawn to deep night, falling into an exhausted sleep to rise and work again, hopeless yet driven to preserve myself until something should lift.
Le ministere des betes magiques came and took the hippogriff, Castor, and put him down. Guy had always said that we could not save them all, that some griffs were too damaged and that people’s safety came first. I am ashamed that I did not watch him go or say goodbye.
I ignored the business side of Le sauvetage de hippogriffe for many months, and with the sensational press given to Guy’s death, I expected support to dry up. Just the contrary --- owls of support, many with contributions enclosed, poured in. Wizards and witches were moved by Guy’s death in the service of these beautiful and intelligent creatures.
Perhaps the surcease I hoped for was already on the way, unfelt, for when I went into the office and saw the huge basket of unopened owls, my spirit rose a bit and I began to plan for the future.
It was like coming out of a high fever, the first day when one goes to the mirror and sees oneself changed — pale hollow face, cracked lips, hallucinations still shadowing one’s eyes. I didn’t know myself. In time what I found was this: I no longer wanted dreams. I wanted to live and I wanted useful work. I expected there was a future for me but I would not think on it; I would confine myself to the pleasures and trials of the day and leave hope aside.
I could not continue with the Foundation, but now I cared about its survival. I called a meeting of the Board of Directors and explained that I couldn’t run it. Would anyone like to take over the Foundation, if not the rehabilitation work? Guy’s father wanted the post badly and I wanted him to have it, for Guy’s sake, but as a Muggle he hadn’t any credibility in the wizarding world. It was not the first time he had encountered prejudice in following his son. Luckily a different board member would take the job. I gratefully turned it over to her.
When all this was well begun, I went to my desk and took out a letter I had received the year before. The paper was thick and bore the heading, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" in engraved script.
Dear Mme Desrosiers:
First of all, please allow me to express my admiration for your book. I have had the acquaintance of several hippogriffs in my long life, but never understood them so well as I did after reading Hippogriff Whispering. You and your husband have gone far to increase the store of compassion and understanding in this weary world.
Secondly, I am writing to you as Headmaster of Hogwarts in hopes that you may be able to recommend an able riding instructor to us. Some Hogwarts parents have long pressed me to initiate a riding program and after reading your book I am considering the idea seriously. I would like this program to be based on your Unroped method; I believe this would deepen the students’ understanding of magical creatures in general and hippogriffs in particular, making the endeavor more than a simply athletic one.
This person would work closely with our Care of Magical Creatures professor and would be considered an instructor. Hogwarts offers a generous package of compensation and benefits and I would be happy to arrange a tutorial in pedagogical method for any candidate who is otherwise qualified.
If you are aware of someone who might be interested in a staff position at Hogwarts and is knowledgeable in your approach, would you be so kind as to refer him or her to me? I would be most grateful to discuss the position with anyone you could recommend.
Yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
At the time, a year before, I had written back to the Headmaster, thanking him for his kind words but apologizing that we had not trained anyone in our techniques, nor did we yet have acquaintance with anyone using them. As I sat now with the letter in my lap, I wondered if running to England would save me or only postpone some inevitable hell I had yet to endure. Decisiveness has always been one of my strengths. I dipped my quill and composed an answer.
Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:
I wonder if you might consider me for the position of riding instructor mentioned in your previous letter. My circumstances have changed and I would like to remove myself from the daily operations of Le Sauvetage de Hippogriffe. I have developed a curriculum that I believe would suit your needs and I am eager to try it out.
I am available at your earliest convenience.
Yours truly,
Jehane Desrosiers
That wasn’t strictly true about the curriculum, but I was certain I could cobble one together in an instant, and that the work would evolve between the young people and the hippogriffs, not through a syllabus.
Calling my owl, Sophia, from her cote in the barn with a long whistle, I quickly rolled the scroll before I could waver and attached it to her leg. I gave her a scratch on the head for luck — hers and mine — and sent her off.
She was back in two days, two of the most restful days I had spent since Guy’s death. I have always been better when taking action, and, having initiated something, I could wait in peace.
Dear Mme Desrosiers:
Please allow me to offer my condolences on your loss. Your husband’s death has deprived the world of a great and gentle soul.
I hope that you will find Hogwarts a restful and restorative home as well as an appropriate venue to carry on your and your husband’s work. We are delighted that you will be able to join us and await your arrival as soon as possible. Although the fall term has begun and you will of course need some time to settle in and develop your program, I feel that student and parent interest is great enough that your classes will fill whenever they are offered.
I have instructed Professor Hagrid to contact you separately and make whatever arrangements will be necessary for the care of the animals you will bring with you. I leave it up to you to procure the necessary additional hippogriffs with his assistance.
Yours most fondly,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
Dumbledore’s kind recognition that I needed a home as much as a job opened a wellspring of tears and I put my head down on the desk for a good cry. The blotter got rather wet and snotty and I must have frightened Sophia, for she attempted to pull my head up and got her claws caught in my snarls.
"Hey hey, girl," I said, untangling her and digging in the desk drawer for a treat. "It’s okay." I gave her a piece of Flake bar, a Muggle candy I particularly like, while I wiped my nose. "We’re going to England, Sophia." She regarded me gravely and nibbled her chocolate.
I took Protecteur, my old love, and Serrebrune and Filleambre, and found homes for the others. Most of them just needed loving kindness and were easy to adopt out. The foundation was tucked away, the griffs had been planned for, and it only remained to pack up my house and book house and stables with a real estate agent.
+++++
I sat on the stone floor of our kitchen, packing boxes. Knowing that I would have a suite of rooms at Hogwarts and not an entire house, I was endeavoring to put as much as possible into the charity box, but I was slowed by the need to remember each item, how I associated it with Guy, and to consider how I was discarding my old life with him.
The day was warm, early September, and I had left the doors open to air out the house. Strangely, I found myself remembering my old headmistress, Madame Maxime, and the time she had come to my room after my mother died.
I looked up to find that someone large was indeed standing in the doorway. A resounding knock shook the frame, followed by a quite unnecessary booming, "Knock, knock, there."
"Come in." I stood and dusted off my pants. The man who entered was about twice the normal width and about ten feet tall. As my farmhouse kitchen ceiling was only seven feet, he kneeled. A massive bushy black beard covered the lower half of his face, spreading out over his chest, and above the beard shiny red cheeks compressed in a friendly grin.
"Rubeus Hagrid at your service. Come from Hogwarts to see about them hippogriffs, and anything else you might be needin’ for yer move." So this was the Care of Magical Creatures professor from Hogwarts.
"I’m Jehane D-Desrosiers." I stuttered, flustered by the need to speak English without warning and by his size. I looked around for something he could safely sit on. "May I offer you a — chair? Mr. Hagrid?"
"Pleased ter meet yer," he said, burying my hand in his enormous one. "And please call me Hagrid. Everyone does." He plopped down on the stone flags of the kitchen, legs outstretched.
"Then I hope you will call me Jehane. But surely you didn’t need to come all this way? I’ve hired someone to move my things, and I thought I’d arrange a Portkey for myself and the hippogriffs." Oh dear, I was sounding rather stiff and ungrateful, and I surely didn’t mean that. It must be the English. But Hagrid seemed oblivious.
"Naw, it’s no trouble at all ter stop by," he said. "I thought I’d pop over to Beauxbatons, visit a friend, then take the train here. Consider me yer unofficial welcoming committee. Yeh must have a few questions I can get to before yeh arrive."
"My thanks. It would be helpful for us to talk about care of the hippogriffs. May I offer you a cup of tea?"
"That’d be right kind of yeh. And speakin’ of the hippogriffs —" His eyes sparkled with eagerness. "I’d love teh see them if yeh have the time."
Ah ha -- here was the crux of the matter, and I liked him the more for it. "I’d love to show them off to you," I said.
Hagrid did not seem offended when I served him the whole pot of tea in a mixing bowl, but unconcernedly shoveled sugar into it with the scoop from the bin. I made a second pot for myself and summoned a dozen chocolate croissants from the wizard baker. When they came in the window, I ate one and he had the rest, and we headed down to the stables, pleased and sated.
"Yeh can’t beat the French for a good bit o’ pastry," he said. "I allus look forwart to it."
Protecteur and Serrebrune were standing, neck over neck, under a large tree in the pasture, and flicked their tails lazily at us as we approached. Filleambre came running up to the fence but shied when she got close enough to judge Hagrid’s size. He leaned on the rail and called her with a breathy whistle. She stood at a distance, unsure, her clawed feet dancing as attraction and fear fought each other.
"Maybe if I get in with her —" I hopped the fence and gave her special whistle, three short pips. She came up to me but kept one caramel eye suspiciously on Hagrid.
"Come on, girl," I cooed. "This is our friend Hagrid. Come over here and see." With my hand on her neck, I walked her toward the fence. We stopped a few feet away; I hoped she might go to him on her own.
"D’ye mind if I give ‘er a treat, like?" asked Hagrid.
"No, of course, go ahead."
He reached into his voluminous gray overcoat and withdrew a live mole, which he held up, squirming, by its back legs. Moles are a special delicacy to hippogriffs, as they are tasty — I suppose, as I’ve not tried one -- and hard to get.
"’Ere yeh go, pretty girl. Take a little sommat from yer Uncle Hagrid, now," he cooed.
That considerate gesture seemed to decide her. She snatched the mole from his hand and swallowed it in one convulsive gulp. Hagrid took the opportunity to bow low. Filleambre rewarded him by sinking to her knees and offering her head to be scratched.
"’At’s a girl," he murmured. "Yeh know ol’ Hagrid means yeh no harm, a’righ’?"
Watching him stroke and soothe her so naturally, his eyes filled with admiration, I knew I had at least one friend already at Hogwarts and I felt my attachment to my old life ebb a little more, replaced by eagerness to get on with the new.
We agreed that I would arrange a two-way Portkey for the following week. Hagrid would come to me on a Friday and we would bring the animals over the next day. I gave him a list of supplies needed and after a pleasant dinner in town we apparated to the train station and I saw him off.