A Giant Miscalculation

Chapter One: A Giant Miscalculation

In the modest, moon-silvered valley, a dark figure stood still against a stark, mostly barren landscape. A breeze, unnaturally soft and warm, tried and failed to stir the edges of a heavy cloak. The lone person rotated in place, apparently searching the skies. But the bright moon overpowered any navigational assistance the stars might have offered. After several moments of worthless inactivity, heavy boots struck off in a south-westerly direction. Halfway across the vale, he...for certainly one so tall and broad must be a he...suddenly turned on his heel. With an earth-shaking crack! he was gone, leaving the desolate place empty again, save a lone stone bothan whose chimney gave off no smoke.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

Now, no one would ever accuse Rubeus Hagrid of being clever. Not even Rubeus Hagrid himself would make such a claim.

Whether that is a good or a bad thing is up for debate, but whichever way the wind blows, there's no denying certain events would not have occurred had a certain wizard not admitted just how not clever he thought a wizard-giant hybrid who spent a great deal of his time in the company of one of the most talented and powerful witches of the British Isles.

That particular wizard no doubt should have realised his error: it doesn't matter so much if one is not quite the cleverest when he has absolutely brilliant friends.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

"He ain't goin' ter come, an' tha's that, so he said!"

"Why ever not?" Minerva McGonagall arched her eyebrows at her guest and tilted her head towards the gleaming oak cupboard hiding some of her most precious possessions.

"If yeh wouldn't mind, Headmistress," he murmured, scratching at his scruffy beard. "Feels bleedin' cold after being' stuck in The Dell a coupla days." He illustrated his words with an exaggerated shiver.

Minerva crossed over to the cupboard and opened one of its doors to retrieve two glasses and an ancient jug of Blishen's Cask Strength single malt. She poured a wee dram for herself before replacing the cork. Casting a reproving eye at the cloak he still wore, she pulled out another bottle and spilt out several fingers of the regular thirty-nine-year-old stuff for Rubeus Hagrid.

"First, he claimed he was skint," the half giant explained as he stood and began shrugging out of several layers of outerwear. He was too busy talking (and increasing the size of the pile of clothing) to catch Minerva's frown at the mountain of wool and fur growing on her little sofa. "I knowed that were a fib, o' course, seein' as I bin keepin' the books an' all, and so I told him. But yeh know what he been like since St Mungo's said he could go home when he ain't had a home ter go ter! He jus' laughed, like, an' asked me could I count past ten and when did I learn."

Minerva sneaked a discreet sip and made sympathetic noises. Hagrid continued his tale of great woe.

"I pr'tended no' ter mind an' jes said the same about the books agin. An' so he starts goin' on about how me and Neville ain't doin' our part an' how could he take the time when Poppy were e'spectin' him ter fill the shelves complete-like? I'll not tell yeh what he said about Miss Luna teachin'!

"I di'n't let on I were cross wi' him 'cause I know he can't help it sometimes." Hagrid sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Oh, but, Headmistress, Neville an' me work hard on our parts! There's times I want ter throttle him, now an' agin, I don't mind tellin' yeh."

Closing the cupboard, Minerva walked over and handed him the fuller glass. "I know the feeling, Rube," she admitted, shoving aside the great heap of discarded clothing and sinking back onto her seat. He swallowed a noisy draught before settling across from her again. "Still, I'm happy you were able to restrain yourself."

Hagrid shifted in his seat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, as ter that..." he said after a swallow too large to give the expensive drink the respect it was due.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

This Is How It Really Happened...

"Minerva were right, yeh know. Yeh need ter be 'round people more. If the ball's too much fer yer outin', yer welcome at me birthday party! I'd be happy to have yeh, an' Minerva thought as tha'd be a good thing fer yeh ter do wi' the ball comin' up an' all."

Hagrid had to bent almost double to follow Severus Snape up the steep staircase. The bothan's humble ground floor looked almost derelict in comparison to the sophisticated and spacious underground laboratory. But Hagrid, hut-dweller he was, barely noticed the lack of amenities, and Snape...who thought any place that was neither a dilapidated terraced house in Cokeworth nor Hogwarts Castle was a vast improvement to his well-being...didn't care.

"I don't care what Minerva thinks," he informed his guest whilst attending to a bubbling cauldron. "I'm not an active member of the staff, so she can't dictate how I spend my time!" Snape extinguished the fire under the cauldron and gave the contents one last stir.

"Sure, if yeh don't mind breakin' her heart." Hagrid shook his head mournfully. "Don' really want ter hurt her, do yeh?"

"Which part of 'I don't care' is beyond your grasp of the English language?" Snape strode across the kitchen and pulled a bowl down from an open-faced cupboard hanging over the sink. He glanced over his shoulder, grinning nastily. "Besides, even if I did want to cater to the whims of an old busy-body who likes to feign unfulfilled mum fantasies, I am effectively destitute until trials are complete for the new headache remedy."

"Tha's a lie, an' you know it!" Hagrid snapped. "Minerva'd'a had kids if she'd wanted. An' I do read the books, 'casionally."

For the first time that evening, he allowed an insult to completely overwhelm his good intentions. At the moment Snape had declared he "didn't care" for the second time, two thoughts had converged to create in Hagrid a brainwave of previously unprecedented proportions. Two memories, really. The first was of a conversation more than seventy years old. The second, though of a far more recent vintage, was one of Minerva's oft-repeated laments.

Fortunately, Snape was back at his worktop, too busy ladling a delicious looking stew from cauldron to bowl to notice the wand tip hiding beneath the fat finger Hagrid pointed in his direction.

"Learnt to count past ten, have you?" Snape took his bowl over to a small rickety table set in a dark corner near the empty fireplace and sat in its single chair. "Congratulations. The next number is eleven...if you weren't quite sure."

When Hagrid turned, the hurt on his broad face likely would have moved a kinder wizard to guilt. Unfortunately, Snape was the only other person in the room.

"Jus' 'cause I ain't got all yer book learnin' don't make me a know-nothin'." He pointed again, his hand shaking.

"Certainly not! There's a great deal of stupidity between 'know-nothing' and 'know-little'." Snape scooped up another small forkful of stew, adopting a thoughtful expression as he chewed and swallowed. "I'd place you somewhere around 'dunderhead', actually. And to think it only took you three quarters of a century to reach that esteemed level."

Hagrid fiddled with his fingers for a protracted moment, then said, "I'll be eighty come Dercember!"

"Four fifths, then. Your maths have improved!"

"Yeh know, Sev'rus," Hagrid said, his deep voice giving away none of his inner turmoil, "me mam's people..."

Snape snorted. "People! Generous use of the word." He forked up more stew.

"Me mam's people," Hagrid repeated, still pointing, "had a sayin' about folks like yeh: Bo moolie manoo, fasooey bo homie."

Snape snorted again, but Hagrid was ready for that.

"It means 'A good woman at hand makes a good man.' P'rhaps yer jus' needs a good woman at hand to set yer ter rights."

~o~ ~o~ ~o~

"Nothin'll come of it, o' course," Hagrid concluded...a bit uncertainly to the mind of Hogwarts' longsuffering headmistress. "I jus' wanted ter give him a piece o' me mind, like."

"Right," was McGonagall's non-committal reply.

"Lef' him a touch unsettled, I s'ppose." He took another nervous swallow of Blishen's.

"I'm sure."

"Ain't like anythin' I done could work on the likes of him, anyway. The man barely has a heart left."

McGonagall noticed his gaze didn't quite meet hers.