It was as though Hagrid's mind had shut down and his heart had taken over. He was stumbling wildly through the forest, eyes gazing the whole time at the gently glowing light in the top right-hand corner of the castle. Although Grawp and Sirgen were now out of earshot, the memory of their love making was etched into Hagrid's mind. The happiness was undeniable, the sounds of pleasure were so intense ... it was exactly what Hagrid needed in his life, it was exactly what he had always been missing.

True, he had found a lover in Aragog, but there were so many things that Aragog was missing. Hagrid loved when Aragog would talk dirty to him and their extremely passionate sex, but Aragog did not know of the outside world. He had lived in a box as a youth, back in the days when Hogwarts feared any creature that might have escaped from the bowels of the Chamber of Secrets.

So Hagrid had hidden him away, only opening the box every fortnight for Aragog to feed on a rotting corpse from the Hogsmeade cemetery. Yes, Aragog had developed into a very fine and sensual looking spider after devouring a couple of bodies, including several deceased Hogwarts professors and Moaning Myrtle. He had grown tremendously though, and Hagrid had to move him from the tiny confines of the box. In the middle of one chilly February night, Hagrid had put him in a sack and carried him deep within the forest. When Aragog was removed from the sack, it had been in the darkness of the night, no village in sight, no castle ... just the blackness of the woods.

Aragog had known nothing of the world in which Hagrid lived. He knew not of magic, of wizard-kind, of the hidden passageways in Hogwarts, of politics and the Dark Lord, or of Hagrid's favorite suject: Harry Potter. Although Hagrid couldn't deny the sexual pleasure he had grown to love with Aragog, the conversation was so incredibly lacking. Most of the time Hagrid found himself talking into the late hours of the night, having heart-felt and tear-evoking conversations about life-changing events, only to find Aragog passed out beside him (for Aragog was also a chronic alcoholic). In fact, Aragog was the one who got Hagrid started on the booze.

Hagrid could remember one sleepy night when his body was craving sex. He remembered walking out of his hut and meandering into the forest, his body aching for Aragog's. He remembered when he arrived, how he had seen Aragog rubbing three of his legs on a wild thestral, how he had heard the moaning that later haunted him for years. Hagrid had let out a scream, yelling that he had been the one to raise Aragog from infancy and the least he could do was be faithful boyfriend. And Aragog, so tormented by Hagrid's grief, had given him a bottle of Firewhiskey and a few butterbeers, and Hagrid practically forgot the night after that. Yeah, Hagrid could remember actually being turned on by the fact that Aragog and the thestral were hooking up, and had even asked the thestral to come back and join them for a threesome. Hagrid's hormones raged when he was drunk, he was merely a walking, talking sex-addict. When he was drunk he didn't care what was happening or what had happened, he just knew that he needed pleasure...

But Hagrid had matured since Aragog's untimely death; he no longer wanted someone to just have wild drunken sex with, he wanted someone to share his heart and soul with him. And for that he needed someone who was just like him, a boy who had been orphaned, who know what it was like to be an outcast, who had been there for Hagrid every step of the way... a boy who Hagrid had helped to mature from young boy to young adult...

He could remember the day he had first met him...

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

Hagrid could feel a hard lump in the front of his ruby red dress. Yes, his mind casually drifted back to that fateful night. The mist surrounded him, the waves crashed on the jagged cliffs near the hut perched amid the rocks in the icy ocean water. Hagrid had knocked on the door, knocked so hard it crashed to the floor. And what he saw was breathtaking. A beautiful young boy with jet black hair and shocking green eyes, standing in the corner but standing tall, for he was not afraid of Hagrid. Oh yes, the boy did have courage. He had even approached Hagrid, he had asked questions about magic, about being a wizard. It had been Hagrid who was given the honor of telling the Boy-Who-Lived that he was a wizard, a famous wizard, who had survived the killing curse. It had been he who watched Harry Potter's priceless expression as his eyes first focused on the wonders of Diagon Alley, as he saw his pile of gold in the underground labyrinth of Gringotts. Hagrid sighed at the memory, at the mental image of Harry's gorgeous smile as he discovered who he truly was, as he discovered his destiny.

And how he had grown since then! The lump pressed harder against the gown's fabric as thoughts of Harry danced in his mind. He imagined Harry fighting Quirrell for the Sorceror's Stone, he could see him in the Chamber of Secrets, denying Tom Riddle of the opportunity to kill him. He could see Harry and Sirius Black (although this was accompanied by a horrible pang of jealousy), he could imagine Harry fighting Voldemort in the graveyard in Little Hangleton...

Not only was Harry basically royalty in Hagrid's eyes, he was so fine! Hagrid loved to watch Harry in the Quidditch pitch, his muscles flexed as he went in for a dive after the golden snitch. He loved watching his legs clutch desperately onto the broom as he soared in midair, reaching out an arm to make a save. Hagrid loved to pull out his binoculars and salivate and he imagined that his dick was the broom, and Harry was desperate to remain sitting on it...

Hagrid was now at the very edge of the forest, he was walking onto the sweeping grounds in front of the Hogwarts castle.

But suddenly, without a moment's warning, Hagrid flung himself on the ground and began to vomit horribly. Dear god, he needed more liquor. His body needed the taste, he needed the sweet, sweet taste upon his tongue. He clutched at the ground wildly and began to pull his body toward his hut. He could hear Fang's booming barks echoing in the stillness of the night air, the sound feeling like it was ripping at his eardrums. He managed to make it to the watering barrel next to his hut that he said was for the 'hippogriffs,' but in reality it was full of Vodka. Hagrid had figured the since vodka was clear and didn't smell too strongly, that none of the students would recognize it for what it was. And thank god he had thought of it, for his body was aching from the hour-long absence of alcohol.

After taking several long gulps of vodka, Hagrid warily stood and attempted to straighten out his outfit. He looked down at himself, a great lump still towering between his legs. 'Shit' he thought to himself. He wanted to play it cool, he wanted Harry to want him, not just overpower Harry and force him to have sex with him. He cleaned off some of the dirt from his gown and rubbed the vomit off his face and into his wirey beard. He looked at his reflection in the vodka barrel and he felt so proud and womanly. His lipstick, although specked with chunks of puke, was still on ... his purse was still full of the necessary things: lube, a few galleons for a hotel room if he needed it, a condom, and a Playwizard magazine. Perfect!

Oh, Hagrid remembered one last thing. He ran inside and grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey, then headed out into the crisp night air. He walked crookedly up to the castle doors (he had, afterall, chugged about two bottles of 100 proof alcohol), and he walked inside. His heart was racing as he climbed the steps up to the seventh floor...

He kept repeating the same thing over and over in his head... "He wants me. I'm sexy. He wants me. I'm sexy. He wants me. I'm sexy."

The paintings on the stairway watched him, whispering to each other and moving from portrait to portrait. But he didn't care. He couldn't care in the slightest.

Why? Because tonight was the night when two become one.

He found himself standing in front of the Gryffindor common room. The fat lady lay snoring in her sleep, Hagrid leaned close and stroked her cheek. She looked up at him and blushed, but then realized what was happening and began to scream. Hagrid grabbed a knife out of his bra and shoved it into her heart and then jammed it into her brain, lady Violet's color slowly fading from her plump face as blood gushed out of her wounds. Hagrid clumsily felt for the side of the portrait and then pulled it open, revealed a slender passageway to the warmly lit common room.

Although Hagrid's eyes were blurry due to his intoxication, he could see what looked like an angel sitting in an armchair at the end of the tunnel.

He felt like he had died and gone to heaven, Harry's face buried in a book was set amid diffused golden light.

Hagrid slowly walked toward the light.