ϟ 136) Fang
passed away a few months after the war ended. Harry and Hermione got together
and scoured nine pet shops before coming across a young shaggy black
Newfoundland. “That’s Pumpkin,” the shopkeeper told them. “Poor thing’s bin
sittin’ there fer a year. She’s so big, see, don’t get many wantin’ ta try an’
handle a beast like tha’.” Harry handed over eighteen galleons, and an hour
later he and Hermione found themselves being smothered by one of Hagrid’s
bone-crushing hugs, Pumpkin curled up nearby on Fang’s old blankets.
No one looks like Fang - dark and still and dangerous, like he’s daring you to set him off. But I’d seen him rocking Angel when she’d hurt herself; I’d seen him smile in his sleep; I’d seen the deep, dark light in his eyes as he leaned over me… I blinked several times and chugged the rest of my Sprite.
“Instead, Fang wound a strand of Max’s tangled hair around his fingers, breathing it in, saying good-bye. But it didn’t smell like Max anymore. It, like everything else in this world, smelled like ash.”
“If you’ve ever loved someone like I did, if they made you crazy and happy and exasperated and elated and if you wanted to hold them and shake them and sometimes kick them and if, after all that, they were like part of your family and part of your soul… Imagine seeing that feather. Imagine what that felt like.”
“I was horrified by my decision, but I knew that even if Fang were a zombie, I would want him, and I would take care of him and protect him for the rest of my life.”
“I turn to the love of my life. My first love, and my last love. The love I accepted a dear friend’s sacrifice for.”