O Hagrid Where Art Thou

The end of fourth year brought with it the news of Voldemort’s reappearance in the wizarding world as well as a sort of dull foggy atmosphere that threw the entire castle into a melancholic depression. Many a day would find young Harry Potter unable to rouse himself from bed; he would stay in the grand four poster until his small bladder would force him to sprint for the lavatory around four or five in the afternoon, then retreat for the furthest chair in the common room, where he would sit brooding until nightfall allowed him the solace of sleep.

Hermione and Ron, growing increasingly anxious about their friend’s state of mind, suggested a visit to Hagrid’s hut on the last afternoon of term. It took a fair bit of convincing, but soon the three were trudging out to the miserable little shack on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, looking forward to spending time watching their oafish friend clumsily attempt to entertain his young guests.

Arriving at the rough oaken door of the half-giant’s abode, they were startled to hear violent noises emanating from within. Hermione pressed her ear to the wood, listening intently, a crease forming on her intelligent brow. “It sounds like something is going on in there,” she said in a worried tone. Turning back to the door, she began pounding on it in earnest. “Hagrid? Hagrid! Are you okay?”

“He’s probably just talking to himself,” Ron said, laughing. “I can see him in there now, bumbling about, trying to put a pot on the fire, struggling-“ He stopped and his mirth died instantly as a sharp cry of unmistakable pain cut through the air.

Harry listened closely. He could hear a steady moaning and a rhythmic pounding noise. His mind instantly conjured a vision of a masked Death Eater smashing Hagrid’s large head repeatedly into the hard floor of the hut. Panicked, Harry drew his wand from its sheath and without even consulting his friends blasted the door of the shack out of the way.

When the debris from Harry’s shoddy spellwork finally settled, a horrifying sight met their eyes. Hagrid was nude from the waist down, and was standing behind a wizard on all fours- Tom, the barman from the Three Broomsticks! For a few seconds, all was silent. The two groups stared at each other for a full five seconds when the somber moment was broken by a large guffaw.

Ron made a half-assed attempt to turn the snigger into a coughing fit, but the damage was already done. Tom the barman stood up and ran past them, leaving his trousers in a heap on the floor. The trio watched as he sprinted to the edge of the school grounds, stopping only to hastily transfigure a squirrel into a loin-cloth to cover his still raging erection. He then disappeared with the familiar crack of apparition.

Hagrid meanwhile, stood stock-still, not even attempting to cover up his flagging boner, which was covered in a frothy mix of anal lube and fecal matter. Hermione coughed, but not even this sharp action would lift him from his trance. The undeniable stench of gay sex hung in the air, and Harry tried to be as tactful as possible in lifting up the collar of his shirt and covering his nose with it.

As usual, Ron was incapable of exercising the tiniest degree of tact or subtlety. “Put some pants on Hagrid, we’ve come for a visit,” he said, pointedly looking away from Hagrid’s exposed genitals. The situation was rife with an atmosphere of highly charged awkwardness and Ron chose to ignore it and step into the hut without further conversation. Plopping down in Hagrid’s comfiest armchair, he sat jumped up quickly with a yell of disgust, for he had settled onto a large chocolate cake.

“Oh, Ronald, you’ve ruined Hagrid’s lovely cake!” Hermione snipped with a cry of despair. Harry could tell she was relieved that the situation had taken a turn for the better, and grasped at the opportunity to salvage a semi-normal experience out of the ordeal.

Ron promptly threw up on the floor in front of him. “What the fuck was that for, Hagrid?” he asked in a low voice, his words heavy with disdain and nausea.

“Scat play,” Hagrid replied sadly, still in a sort of trance with his pants very much off.

Harry looked closer at the cake and saw that it was indeed made of someone’s closely packed shit. “Maybe we’ll come back later,” he suggested, looking for a way to leave as quickly as possible.

Hagrid suddenly strode to the large wardrobe and began rummaging through it. When he turned around he had a large shotgun in hand.

Harry and Hermione, recognizing the very real danger, hit the floor, while Ron, who had never seen a gun, remained oblivious. Hagrid cocked the shotty and raised it slowly to his temple, but before the action was complete the weapon discharged with a bang, hitting Ron in the shoulder. He sank to the ground, unconscious from shock.

Tossing the gun aside with an angry roar, Hagrid picked up his pink umbrella from the coat rack. “G’bye, cruel world!” he slurred drunkenly.

“Hagrid, no!” Harry and Hermione screamed simultaneously. But it was too late.

“Avada Kedavra!” Hagrid screamed, pointing the umbrella at his head. Harry held Hermione close as the flash of green light enveloped their man-beast friend.


A/N: I hope you all like it! I promise, it will get much better very soon! Just wait til Hagrid's ghost returns to the castle! NSA sex will abound. (Spoiler alert!) Please review, even if to tell me how twisted it is.