Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

Looking back on it, she supposed it had begun when Ron disgustingly started to wonder (at dinner, no less) how exactly Hagrid's dad had managed to "do it" (Ron had giggled gleefully as he said that) with Hagrid's mum. Consider, Ron had continued, how (he tore happily at his chicken wing) had he managed not to get eaten by his lover? And even more importantly, how impressive must his equipment have been in order to do the job properly!

At the time, of course, she had whacked both Ron and Harry (who was not fooling anyone by hiding under the table, snorting with laughter) and told them to grow up.

That night, however, she began to wonder herself.

What would it be like to make love to a giant? What position must Hagrid's parents have used? Ron, she conceded, had made a good point by calling Hagrid's dad's equipment into question - either it was giant sized or they had used a position which enabled deeper penetration. Her mind momentarily flicked back to the lurid diagrams in last month's Cosmopolitan, which she had (alas) left at home.

After a troubled night's sleep, interrupted by vivid dreams all centring on Hagid's conception (Hermione steadily refused to admit to herself just how turned on she had become - after all, it was more than a little pervy), she dressed quickly and shovelled down her toast as fast as possible.

"It'll be the library, then?" asked Ron, watching with some admiration at the speed at which she was consuming her food.

Hermione tried to look as dignified as she could - not very, considering she had just burnt her tongue with scorching hot coffee, before seizing her bag and zooming off.

"Barking, that one," Ron commented, complacently loading his plate with scrambled eggs.

Once in the library and past the suspicious glare of Madam Pince, Hermione scanned the shelves for books regarding giants and their procreation.

"Sticky Business - How To Avoid Giant Sperm, no, All You Ever Wanted to Know About Giant Hair, no, Giant Wars With A Twist - How Muggles, Wizards and Giants Bred In The Nineteenth Century - oooh ..."

Hermione selected the latter and flicked through it, her eyes growing wide. Hugging it protectively to her chest she checked it out - Madam Pince shooting her a strange look as she did so - and hurried across the castle to Arithmancy, almost bent double by the weight of her over-loaded bag.

That evening it was disconcertingly quiet in the Gryffindor common room. Ron, having completely forgotten about his fascination with Hagrid's parents' love life, was moodily writing a dream diary by the fire, whilst Harry was serving a detention with Umbridge. The lively first and second years had long since retired to their dormitories, Ginny was playing with Crookshanks, and although Hermione wasn't about to complain at the lack of Fred and George, she harboured a few suspicions at what exactly they were doing, wherever they were doing it.

Finishing her potions essay, she tidied away her parchment and quill, and reached for her newest book.

Fifteen minutes later, she was avidly reading about the problems the International Confederation of Wizards had faced whilst dealing with a number of giants who had enjoyed pillaging and eating the local towns and their people. Some of the giants had, according to the book, taken things even further, and had -

"Hermione, what on earth are you reading?"

Hermione dropped her book in surprise at Ron's voice. Gathering her dignity about her, she lifted her chin and replied unconcernedly: "Just a bit of light reading," whilst feeling her cheeks reddening. She hurriedly ducked below the table to collect her book.

"Hermione. Are you reading giant porn?" Ron sounded delighted.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, sliding the book back into her bag and resuming her seat, avoiding eye contact with Ron.

"I'm not being ridiculous, you're reading giant porn! I thought things like that didn't interest you, eh?" Ron beamed at her, cackling gleefully. Ginny had looked between the two with a sigh before heading to bed.

Soon the entire common room was empty, bar Hermione and Ron.

"You like porn!"

"I do not."

"You like porn!"

"I do not."

"You like giant porn!"

"I do not!"

"It's not a bad thing, Hermione, honest..."

"I DO NOT!"

"...in fact, I think it's really interesting..."

"SHUT UP!" she yelled in a shrill voice. Ron complied, turning back to the fire with a huge grin on his face.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione walked sharply upstairs with a muted "humph," returning a few moments later with a bowl containing Murtlap Essence. Ron looked rather stupidly at her as she placed it on the table.

"What in the name of Merlin's balls is that?"

"Murtlap Essence," she replied, sending him a withering glance.

"Oh," said Ron, looking no more illuminated.

Hermione sighed exaggeratedly.

"It'll help Harry's hand once he gets back from his detention with Umbridge."

"Ahhh ..." said Ron, nodding sagely. "Right. Nothing to do with giant porn, then."

Hermione studiously ignored him, and busied herself with putting out more hats for the house-elves.

After that evening Hermione found that despite her increasingly busy schedule (she just had to master vanishing complex mammals, it was so interesting, and goodness, wasn't Professor Vector pushing them harder this year?) she still found herself concentrating on, as Ron had so simplistically termed it, "giant porn". Most nights, safely ensconced by the curtains surrounding her bed, she would refer to the book (which she had charmed so that its cover resembled Hogwarts: A History - strangely no one ever seemed to want to look at her actual copy of that) and marvel over its contents. Honestly, who would have thought that the giants were that civil and, well, mature when it came to sex? More mature than Ron, at any rate, Hermione thought with a snort. They even had rituals, which the book likened to wizard and Muggle dating, only you were more likely to get eaten by a giant if you fancied their sister, reflected Hermione, shaking her head at the thought of Ron's reaction to the news that Ginny was going out with Michael Corner. She read on, enjoying first hand accounts from wizards and witches who had made love to giants more recently, eyes growing wide as she continued.

"It was the best experience of my life," one witch enthused, whilst another sourly stated, "It was like being rammed by a knobbly tree." Wizards recall their experiences somewhat differently: "It was certainly interesting," one mused. "She was very dominant," whilst another confided, "I suppose I felt a bit inadequate. I imagine I was the smallest she'd ever had."

Hermione was hooked.

However, once DA meetings began to take shape as a weekly occurrence, she had even less spare time. The amount of homework she was receiving somehow seemed to increase from its already hectic level. Sadly, Hermione placed the book caringly in her trunk, vowing to return to it as soon as she could.

Unfortunately for Hermione, she soon almost entirely forgot the contents of the book and her fascination. It was nearly Christmas when she remembered, with a guilty start as she listened to Hagrid tell his tale of the giants, whilst the snow gently swirled outside the window.

"Honestly, they're complete nutters, Hagrid and Dumbledore. Going after giants, I mean. As though those monsters can think long enough to stop themselves tearing everything they meet into shreds!" Ron said in an undertone the next morning at breakfast, leaning across the table in order to speak to Harry and Hermione.

Harry looked uncomfortable, whilst Hermione flushed angrily.

"Don't be such a, such a, oh, Ron! Stop being such an idiot! Giants don't think indeed, giants don't have feelings ..." Hermione hissed. "Of course they have feelings! Look at Hagrid's mum, she must have managed to control her brutality for a while ..."

"Either that, or Hagrid's dad was into really kinky stuff," Harry grinned. Ron, caught between thoughts of food, Quidditch and giants copulating, choked on his scrambled eggs. Fred and George, seated either side of him, took great pleasure in pounding on Ron's back, whilst Hermione jabbed Harry with her fork.

"Shut up, Harry," she snapped, as he tried to slide down the bench away from her. "And stop making a scene!" She placed her fork demurely on the tabletop as Harry warily resumed his original position. "Hagrid's mum carried him to full term, didn't she? She gave birth to him, didn't she?"

"Yeah, and then buggered back off to the mountains to do a spot of pillaging," Ron muttered sourly, shooting Fred and George scowls.

"The point is, she gave up a child who by Giant standards was a runt. It was part of her culture, a bit like giving birth to a Squib. It must have been really difficult for her and Hagrid's dad ..."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. "Are you ok, Hermione?" Harry asked gently.

"Is this that book you were reading?" Ron said, frowning at her. Hermione felt her cheeks growing hot and allowed her bushy hair to fall into her face, muffling her response.

"What was that?" Ron asked, sending Harry a look that plainly said 'I told you'.

"I said," said Hermione, staring determinedly at her coffee, "That what I read is my business, and for your information I happen to feel that giants do have a right to vote and so on, and that has nothing to do with their sexual habits."

Harry shrugged at Ron and returned to his toast.

Ron, however, was not to be silenced. "This giant thing," he said, looking at Hermione suspiciously. "It's not going to be like SPEW, is it? No bloody badges?"

"It's not SPEW, it's the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare," she replied absentmindedly, a far away look in her eyes.

"Suppose it'll be SPUG, will it?" Ron continued, looking gloomy. "The Society for the Protection of Ugly Giants." He and Harry exchanged knowing looks.

"It's BFG," Hermione replied, beaming proudly.

"What?" asked Harry, looking confused. "You mean the Big Friendly Giant?"

Ron glanced between them, brows furrowed.

"It's a Muggle book," Hermione explained to him. "And no, it's the Ballots For Giants!"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"You'd better not make any badges, though, Hermione," Harry said, eyes fixed on the head table.

"Why not?" Hermione said. Harry turned and faced them both, an ugly scowl on his face.

"You know what that Umbridge cow will do if she catches you trying to recruit students to an illegal club, which supports species she hates," Harry shook his head angrily. "Though I suppose that's one reason to support you, Hermione," he continued with a grin. "She might get eaten by a giant one of these days. Maybe Hagrid's uncle or something'll come back for a visit ..."

Hermione had sniffed at him and finished her breakfast in silence, trying not to think of the look on Hagrid's large, friendly face when she had asked him about his mother, and the twinkle in his eyes when he had talked about the surprises he'd been saving for their fifth year in Care of Magical Creatures. Swallowing her large mouthful of coffee quickly, she stood, and marched back to the Tower to get her scarf and cloak. She couldn't let Hagrid be fired by that hag, she just couldn't.

Soon after this, Occlumency and a snake attack thrust all thoughts of giants from their minds. Their own illegal club was discovered, Dumbledore was wanted as a criminal, to be taken to Azkaban, and their lives were thrown into deeper worry than they could have imagined that morning.

It was the end of May when Harry and Hermione sat next to each other in the Quidditch stands, wearing matching melancholy looks and BFG badges tucked underneath their Gryffindor rosettes. It's not going well, Hermione thought gloomily to herself, much like the rest of their lives; Dumbledore gone, Hagrid facing the sack, Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban, and even worse, OWLs looming in the near future. She groaned with the rest of Gryffindor as Slytherin scored, and Malfoy led them in their beastly song:

'Weasley cannot save a thing

He cannot block a single ring ...'

"Hermione ..." a hoarse voice spoke in her ear. She turned, as did Harry, and was left utterly speechless by the sight that greeted her. Hagrid, up close, looked terrible. She vaguely recognised that Harry and Hagrid were talking; she could only stare, horrified, at the blood softly splashing over his beard, the depressed look in his eyes.

"Course," she heard Harry say. "Course we'll come."

They were moving, squeezing past Gryffindors who sent them harsh looks for the disturbance. They soon left the Quidditch stands behind, and hurried off in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. It was here that Hermione found her voice.

"What is it, Hagrid?" she asked, concern and worry showing clearly in her tone.

"Yeh - yeh'll see in a mo," Hagrid muttered. He looked over his giant shoulder as a roar rose from the stands. "Hey - did someone jus' score?"

"It'll be Ravenclaw," Harry said, and both fifth years sighed heavily.

Once they reached the cabin, Hermione turned towards the door, wondering erratically whether Hagrid was finally going to let them sort out his wounds, and explain what had been causing them. Fear and bemusement gripped her, as instead Hagrid reached for his cross-bow and headed off towards the Forbidden Forest.

"We're goin' in here," he said, looking back to face them.

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she told herself sternly it had been a dream, and was thankful that there had been no sexual element. Then she talked to Harry, and wanted to cry all over again.

Over breakfast, Ron chatted away enthusiastically about Quidditch, and neither Harry nor Hermione could bring themselves to ruin his success. They simply sent each other gloomy looks, which Ron didn't notice. Indeed, when Hermione whacked her head off the wall in the Gryffindor common room repeatedly he only sent Harry a mildly concerned look before turning back to Dean and Seamus, who were delightedly attempting to re-enact Ron's final, heroic save by balancing on the arms of the sofas and throwing Trevor at each other.

"We have to tell him," Harry muttered to Hermione as Trevor whizzed past his ear, emitting a rather strangled croak.

"No we don't," Hermione muttered back.

"Yes we do." Harry sent her a bemused look.

"Listen, I think it was some sort of joint dream, so no, we don't have to tell anyone."

Harry sighed and rested his head against the stone wall. Hermione felt like crying.

"We'll tell him later," she said, her voice muffled slightly. Harry nodded, closing his eyes.

"But, but how could he keep a giant in the forest?" Ron hissed, the colour leaving his cheeks. "Is he mental?"

Harry and Hermione nodded miserably.

"He's lost it. He's barking. We should call St. Mungo's." Ron shook his head in amazement.

"I wish we could call Sirius," Harry murmured, his voice pained.

"I wish we could call Dumbledore," Hermione said in a small voice.

But Ron was shaking his head again. "Look," he said. "Hagrid's hung on this long, maybe he'll last until the end of term."

Harry nodded, looking hopeful. "Then we won't have to do near Grawp at all."

Hermione's only problem was that she was quite sure she did want to go near Grawp. She buried her head in her hands, unhappily wondering why it always happened to her, Harry and Ron.

Over the next few weeks Hermione was glad to note that Ron and Harry were avoiding her in the evenings when they should have been revising; she had begun to mutter under her breath about giant sex without realising. It was only when Parvati kindly asked if she wanted to see Madam Pomfrey that she realised, and decided that keeping away from people was the easiest way to avoid the problem.

It was only a week into June when she borrowed Harry's Cloak and hurried across the dew covered grass, by passing Hagrid's hut and heading into the forest. She followed her ears, and found Grawp ten minutes later, sitting morosely on a rock, staring into space and occasionally snapping at random birds.

"Grawp?" It came out as a miserable squeak.

Grawp's massive head turned towards her, his neck cracking ominously.

Overcome by fear, she began to talk, about anything, everything. She told him about her worries regarding Harry and Sirius, how she was certain Sirius and Lupin were more than mates, how she hated Umbridge, how she needed to do well in her OWLs to be taken seriously as a witch, how she couldn't get giant sex off her mind. Throughout he was silent, except for the snapping.

"Well," she said uneasily, once she had run out of things to say. "I'll, er, go now. Bye, Grawp."

She turned to leave, but a voice stopped her.

"Bye," the voice shook. "Hermy."

She smiled at him, before breaking out into a run. "Goodness," she muttered under her breath as she ran. "He knows me!"

It was the next Wednesday that everything went horribly wrong.

Then, the afternoon after that, it got irreversibly worse.

Hermione woke, feeling very light headed. Squinting against the bright light, she gurgled rather unpleasantly before someone placed a straw between her chapped lips and urged her to drink. Once the black dots cleared, she recognised Professor Snape sitting beside her. His face was impassive, but somehow paler than usual, and she noticed a slight stiffness in his movements.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly.

She attempted to sit up, but squeaked miserably as pain shot through her chest.

Snape motioned for her to be still. "You were hit by a particularly nasty curse. It is one of Dolohov's favourites."

The memory slowly drifted back to Hermione.

"The, the prophecy ...?" her voice sounded strange, raw.

"Smashed," Snape replied.

"Harry? And Ron, and ..."

"Potter is fine. Miserable, grieving, but fine. Miss Weasley suffered a broken ankle, but Madam Pomfrey mended it instantly. Miss Lovegood received quite a bump on the head, yet it seems to have made no difference to her overall mental state. Mr. Longbottom's nose was mended by Madam Pomfrey in seconds. Mr. Weasley," Snape paused, eying Hermione. "Mr. Weasley has not yet regained consciousness."

Hermione wanted to cry.

Instead, she said "Why is Harry grieving?"

Snape's expression was stony. "Black is dead."

Hermione felt tears sliding down her face. Snape turned away, his shoulders hunched. "I will call Madam Pomfrey," he said, his voice smooth. "She will be able to help you."

Hermione did not watch as he stalked away from her bed, and so did not see him pause by the door, his eyes blank, his mouth clenched as though he was in pain.

Harry visited the next day. He had not said much, but had read to her, the book hiding his face. She was grateful; the pain in her chest prevented her from bending to hold a book, and she was painfully aware that they would both dissolve into tears if Sirius' demise was mentioned.

A week later, Ron was awake, Harry was talking, and Hermione, though still confined to the hospital wing, could move without passing out. She was reading Luna's copy of the Quibbler when Hagrid's large face appeared round the door. Beaming, she beckoned him closer, motioning for him to keep his voice down; Ron was snoring loudly in the next bed.

Hagrid moved closer, wringing his hands unhappily.

"I'm glad yer alrigh'," he muttered. "You an' Ron both."

They chatted tensely for a few minutes before Hagrid's head moved up so that he was looking Hermione squarely in the eye.

"I can't do it wi' yeh, Hermione."

"Do what, Hagrid?" asked Hermione, brow furrowed.

"Do ... eh." Hagrid looked very uncomfortable. "I talked to Grawp - he's doin' loads better, an' all, an' he told me yeh talked, an' ..." Hagrid trailed off. "An'... well, I can' do it wi' yeh. Savvy?" He looked at her hopefully.

Hermione was silent.

"Herm -"

"I'm sorry, Hagrid." Her voice was very quiet. "I, I didn't mean, I didn't want. I just, oh. I'm sorry."

"S'alrigh'. I know ... yer not stupid. I expected it."

"I was just curious," Hermione muttered miserably. "I didn't mean to offend, or suggest ..."

"It's fine." Hagrid smiled at her affectionately. "Maybe I'll tell yeh ... once yer older, eh?"

One of his big hands patted her shoulder. "I'm glad yeh went to see Grawpy. Means a lot."

"It was nothing," she said, smiling back at him.

"Still. I'm grateful." He paused. "Best let yeh get a bit o' sleep."

"Bye, Hagrid."

"Night, Hermione."