I was a pumpkin-never made it to become a jack-o-lantern, for I was cut down in my youth by a death eater.
No, I’m not joking. I’m not an allegory, symbolically representing the demise of some freedom fighter. I am, quite literally, a pumpkin. I was sitting in the midst of my sibling gourds in an erratically designed yet functional garden encompassed by a wooden fence.
I was big and round, a bit wider than tall. Within the last day or so, the last vestiges of my mottled green had turned to a happy golden orange. I was ready for harvesting although Hagrid had yet to notice. He seemed rather preoccupied as of late, lots of sobbing, particularly around Buckbeak. He’d fed the Hippogriff so many ferrets, I was surprised the animal didn’t balk with a stomach ache.
So, there I was minding my own business when the a death eater comes along and buries his ax deep within me, spilling my guts and seeds onto the damp earth.
I am not complaining. I’m quite proud to be sacrificed for the noble cause of aiding Harry Potter in his journey to the defeat of You-Know-Who. If my death had not occurred who knows how events would have unfolded. Don’t scoff at me. Don’t raise that Snape eyebrow at me. Perhaps I should clarify. If the sound of my death had not occurred, our world might have been a very different place.
The sound of my death was the sound of Buckbeak’s execution, or so the soon-to-be famous Gryffindor trio of troublemakers thought. Gryffindors, by nature, tend to be reckless, running into things with little thought of consequences. This nature of the lionhearted leads us to a series of what ifs that most assuredly would have been most likelys if the sound of my sacrifice hadn’t occurred.
If the trio hadn’t thought the hippogriff had been executed, they would have returned to my pumpkin patch to investigate and run straight into the Minister of Magic himself. He would have, certainly, escorted them straight back to the castle. Sirius Black would have lost the opportunity to drag a certain ginger-haired boy into the roots of the Weeping Willow. Therefore Harry never would have learned the truth. He would have always believed Sirius was trying to murder him. Harry would not have met his godfather. He never would have understood how much Sirus loved him, how much he was willing to sacrifice for Harry’s safety. Harry would not have returned that love and experienced that father-son relationship he had always dreamed of. Finally the time traveling duo would never been able to save two innocent lives.
Two years later, Harry wouldn’t have felt the pain and agony as he watched Padfoot fall through the veil. He wouldn’t have felt as if his heart was ripped into two with the death of his godfather. And You-Know-Who wouldn’t have felt the unbearable pain of Harry’s love when he attempted to possess him that fateful night. The Dark Lord never would have feared the connection between himself and the Chosen One.
I shudder to think what might have happened then.
How the world might have turned out differently. Would Dumbledore have killed Potter than night in an attempt to strike at the Dark Lord? Would Harry have grown up and grown wiser if he hadn’t felt the acute pain of Padfoot’s death? Would he had embraced the meaning of the prophecy when Dumbledore finally revealed it to him? And, two years later, would he truly understand the concept of sacrifice when he was asked to walk to his own death?
Yes, my brief existence counted; it made a difference. The sound of my sacrifice was essential. I am proud of that even if I never got to reach the pinnacle of pumpkin existence and become a jack o’lantern.
A Final Thought: The world is full of what ifs. Every microsecond they branch off like the tributaries of a river, the flow of events in history. Some are monumental and some are never spotted by even an eagle’s eye. But if the simple act of a butterfly’s wings can grant the power to cause a hurricane on the other side of the Earth, surely the sacrifice of a noble pumpkin is worth remembering--even if it’s only for the few moments you took to read my story.
