Keeper of the Keys

The earth began to tremble slightly. No, it was nothing - then it came again. Phil rose from his sleep, propping himself on his arms and blinking groggily. It was still dark. Stiffly, he got on his feet and crept to the cave's entrance. A figure came slowly towards him, though it was still far away, its head looking down at the ground. It was dragging something heavy looking with one hand, taking its time. "Hullo!"

The person didn't look up. He tried several times to call out to them, but still the figure walked on. And suddenly, he realized that he could already make out the broad forehead and in-set eyes: a giant. Or rather, a giantess.

She was still several yards away. Maybe if he made a run for it? Were giants fast runners? He muffled a little shriek with his moist palm when the giantess threw down her load. It was a deer carcass, parts of it still fresh. She hadn't entered the cave yet, but stood outside, sharpening a crude knife. Phil ran as quickly and quietly as he could to the back of the cave, his pulse thundering in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now he was stuck, definitely. His teeth chattered lightly. He noticed that the fire had gone out, and that it was even colder than he could remember.

She entered. The knife was in her incautious left hand. The jagged blade faced towards him. Clenching his jaw shut, he watched as she stuck the knife in the carcass and twisted it around. Blood stained the caves floor black. She was crouched down and facing towards him, but her head was bent for the moment.

His breath sounded heavy to himself.

He watched from his corner as she dipped one sly finger in the fresh blood and put it on her tongue. She seemed to smile to herself. If it could be called a smile, with those carnivorous, exacting teeth. Then, with the same finger, she rubbed some blood on her lips. They were full, almost swollen lips and the blood made them a stark feature of a face that could not be called beautiful by most people's standards. Phil thought of all the women he had met in his life: slender small ones, big-hipped ones, ones with bad teeth. They were all the same, though, in the end. Anyway, how could it matter? He'd never make it now. Maybe if he waited for her to fall asleep?

She took some more of the blood, this time tracing faint circles on the ridges of her cheekbones. She smudged them with the base of her massive palm. For a moment, Phil was reminded of the first girl he had ever been with. A rough big-boned girl, but she was always kind to him, even if the other boys weren't. Little Phil. Little, itty-bitty Phil. From them, it was always cruel - he'd always been small for his age, despite all of the muscle-enlarging, lengthening exercise regimens he'd been put on by his parents. But when she said it, it was...nice. But the blood turned brown, blending into her dusky, grayish skin.

He clutched his wand tightly. What to use on a giant? Stupefy? No, no that was all wrong, like trying to get darts into a erumpent. Maybe he could try transfiguring her into a chair or something. Damn, he wished he had paid more attention in school. He slumped against the wall of the cave and closed his eyes.

The loose shift she had around her fell, revealing ample, grey breasts. Phil noted that they were possibly the only soft things on her hard, lumbering body. Besides the lips. She paused for a moment to cover herself, but not before casting down an admiring glance. He felt the heat flushing his face. That was silly. Things like her - it - belonged in a bestiary or at least a textbook.

"If only...I could pass unnoticed," Phil thought, looking at her fleeting nakedness. He briefly considered transfiguring himself into something like a mouse or a bug, but that was always messy. He remembered, with a shudder, that time in second year when Douglas Findlay had accidentally turned himself into a toad and the awful, bumpy skin had stayed for a couple months. And then, why hadn't he thought of it before?

He'd pose as a giant. Even though it might not work and she could probably kill him and eat his liver (that was what giants did, right?), the irony of Little Phil pretending to be a giant still made him grin. Then, he looked at his own clothes: underneath his cloak, he wore a dirty white button-up shirt; a leather belt held up his olive-green pants. There were too many buttons, zippers, pockets...it would look strange to a giant. He untied the string of his cloak and undid each button of his top with nervous hands. Then the undershirt. Slowly, he unfastened the leather belt. When he unzipped his trousers, they fell easily around his ankles. He stepped cleanly out of them. He sucked in air apprehensively. The briefs would have to go. They read, "Tuesday," but by now it was hard to tell if they were actually correct. He pulled them off, too. His face was flushing again. He felt around for his wand amidst the small pile of clothing.

"Engorgio! Engorgio!" he whispered furiously. It was working! His limbs extended in all directions; his feet spread all over the floor. Even his voice was lowering. "Engorgio," he said, with a flick of his wrist. Only faster, now. She was coming, she was coming! He dropped his wand into the small pile of clothing. She was coming.