Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and darn
proud of it!
Dedication: To my little brothers. Heh.
Spoilers: OotP…round ‘bout the
middle I should think.
Note: Forget all you know, or think you know, about
A Giant-sized Thank-You! to Tapestry
and to QueenRiley for beta above and beyond the call
of duty and free prizes.
He Ain’t Incoherent, He’s my Brother
Well, quite honestly this had carried on for far too
long. Grawp idly bent a small pine tree
until the tip touched the ground. The
sight of squirrel nests, and several squirrels, dropping to the forest floor
was only mildly amusing at this point.
He huffed in irritation; just where in the world was Hagrid? He’d been gone for absolute days and Grawp
was getting lonely.
“This forest is the pits,” Grawp muttered as he put his chin
on his fist and plucked the pine from the ground, swinging it absently. He wished, again, that he could understand
his brother. ‘Understand’ in any sense
of the word really, but Grawp would have given much to speak English and even
more for Hagrid to speak Czech or Polish or Giant. Of course, their lack of mutual language
skills might have been why he couldn’t reach his brother.
Oh, he’d tried—he was still trying—but the results were less
than spectacular. Grawp had thought to
dissuade Hagrid from brining him to England by appealing to the Mannish side of
him. He’d spoken of the Banská Bystrica
“I’m telling you, if we don’t go back now we’re going to miss the
autumn season. It’s the best, I swear
it; there are fewer crowds, better variety and outdoor concerts mean that when
the people run there is so much open
space to chase them in.”
don’ struggle. Yeh’ll like Hogwarts. Yeh’ll have
Dumbledore’ll like you a lot once yeh’ve got some manners in yeh. An’ nobody’ll pick
on yeh no more.”
He’d invited his brother to see the Jazz Club
at Thirsty Monk. “Wonderful atmosphere,
all the excitement and joy you could ask for, I say. The sound carries extremely well into the
parking lot and we could crush cars together, just you and me! Think
of how well the sounds blend.”
yeh sound sad.
But I’m yer brother and everythin’
is gonna be fine once we’re home. Did I ever tell yeh
abou’ Harry, Grawpy? Yeh’ll like Harry.”
He had even offered to break into
one of the galleries by night to have a private viewing. “Museums, galleries, you name it and we’ll do
it. Think of how much fun breaking the
glass would be, and the way the wood of the doors would splinter…all of that
and that’s before we get to the art, Hagrid.”
“Grawpy! Yeh said my name! Tha’s right! I’m Hagger! Yer own Hagger!”
must not have been a lover of the arts.
Grawp swung the tree in a wide circle and thought of the
woman who had traveled with him and Hagrid for the first bit of their journey
north and wished she would at least come to visit. He was a fair hand at French and he was
certain she’d be willing to translate for him.
If only—oh, if only!—she hadn’t spent all her time conversing with
Hagrid in English! Not until the moment
before she had magic-ed herself away had she spoken what was apparently her
native language and Grawp had placed her accent. Too
late, he thought bitterly as the pointy end of his pine connected with the
sucking end of a Skrewt.
The Skrewt! Grawp
brightened. The little bug was fairly good
company when Hagrid was away and it was entertaining to watch it burn, sting,
or suck blood out of whatever animal was unlucky enough to come across it
unawares. Watching the Skrewt jet flame at the offending tree (and enjoying the
bang that went with it) Grawp couldn’t help but think that the bug was also
good proof of Hagrid’s Giant blood, which was
something he’d begun to doubt. Giants
caused things to explode, smash, or die.
But no, Hagrid didn’t seem to grasp the joy of it all despite Grawp’s level best effort to pound it through his thick
skull. When the sparring hadn’t work,
he’d tried words.
“Look, I understand you have a weak stomach, but Sanach and I have a date to kill Golgomath.
I’m off.” It had been one of his first
attempts at spoken English and it had got him a good punch to the jaw. Promising, but…
“No, Grawpy! Bad! Yeh’re not goin’ back to Golgomath! He’ll
kill yeh, Grawpy.”
He had neither been certain of what he had said nor of what
he’d thought he’d heard Hagrid
say, so he hadn’t bothered with a reply.
Instead he’d turned his back and gone to bed only to wake up to more
rules. Don’t pull up trees, don’t
grab…well really, how else was he supposed to see the people Hagrid had brought?
His brother wasn’t right in the head, as far as Grawp was
concerned. But he was better company
than none and the Skrewt had abandoned him after setting the tree ablaze.
“Bother,” Grawp snorted.
“I’ll just go find the man.” He stood and broke his ankle ropes one at a
time. Hagrid was
going to be angry, but it was all right since there wasn’t really any need to
keep him tied; Grawp had decided ages ago that he wasn’t going to try to return
home just yet. There was a theatre
troupe in London that he wanted to see, doing lovely work if the tittle-tattle
was worth the breath put into it. And, he
knew, that if he
left he would miss Hagrid. “Oh my,” Grawp stopped, surprised. “I think I might even love the water-logged
old coot.” Amused with himself he set
off to find his brother.
“Hagrid?” he called, setting off
toward the heart of the forest, where the Acromantula
community lived. Somebody there, Grawp reasoned, would know where his brother
had gone. Pushing aside a few trees he
stumbled across a slew of humans. Or horses. From far
away it was hard to tell. He leaned
close to the group. “Hagrid?” he
asked. No. Centaurs. But something familiar, and shorter than the
Centaurs, caught his eye.