FanFiction by Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess

Warning: Please note that some stories may be rated NC17. If you are under the legal age of adulthood in your country of residence, or if you are offended by the idea of slash (stories containing male/male sex) or adult themes, including BDSM and other sexual kinks, please go and find something else to read.

Keeper of the Keys - Ch.11 Lost, now Found

Title Chapter: Lost, now Found

Title Series:  Keeper of the Keys

Author: Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess [email protected]

Pairing: RH/?

Word Count:  @ 2300

Episode Theme Music: Amazing Grace on bagpipe

Rating Chapter: NC17 for smut

Rating Series: NC17

Warning: dream fellatio

Summary: What happened later that night after Hagrid delivered baby Harry to the Dursley's?

Feedback: will sustain me and encourage continuation of the series. Also, if the prose is too techno, I'll be happy to add a glossary. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and praise dearly craved.

Notes: As I reread Rowling's books so many times that I've lost count, I keep getting ideas for how certain scenes impacted Hagrid and what he did afterward, or before . . .

Disclaimer: Characters and settings are hers, prose is mine.


Lost, now Found


T'was grace that kept me safe thus far,

and grace will lead me home . . .


The door clunked solidly into place, an earthy wholesome sound. Hagrid heaved a great sigh, glad to be home.


"Cyclops," he swore to himself. The world was out celebrating for the Boy Who Lived, but he couldn't stop thinking of the Parents Who Died.   James and Lily. Cut down in their prime and for what    ? What did their deaths serve? What purpose did any of the deaths serve?


And the baby . . . the best they could do for that baby was hide him away with his muggle relatives. Hagrid sided with Minerva on that one, but what could he do? He'd never cross Dumbledore. Never say a word against Dumbledore, fine man that he was. Hagrid never forgot that he owed everything to Dumbledore. He sighed.


All the lives Tom Riddle ruined  - Hagrid's before anyone else's.


At least he had Wolf. Still sleeping by the fire, now gone out. "C'mon Wolf!" Hagrid called to the hound so old it's face was white. "'Spect yeh'll be needing out after this long day." He gently nudged Wolf with the toe of his huge boot. Wolf was about deaf and mostly liked to lie by the fire all day and gum a little mash at  night at Hagrid's feet. But if Hagrid went on to bed now, Wolf would wake him in the night.


He nudged a little harder with his boot. The dog moved. He was stiff.


Hagrid's eyes went wide. No. I can't - he can't-

Silence rang deafeningly throughout the little hut. The peace before an avalanche, the calm of a hurricane's eye.


Hagrid's howl roared throughout the night, up to the castle, out into the Forbidden Forest. It was too much. On top of the war. On top of all the deaths. This one more death was breaking him. He couldn't abide it. The earth shook as his knees hit the floor. "No, Wolf! I need you. You're supposed to be here for me. Oh Merlin. Oh sweet dear Merlin." He buried his face in the dog's fur.




“Goddess of Change, what is that!” Minerva cried to Albus. They were taking a late tea in his office.

“Hagrid, I expect,” he responded placidly. Like everyone, he was exhausted to the point of numbness by recent events. “I shall check on him.” He heaved a sigh before rising to his feet. He crossed the room to the door.


"No rest for the wicked," Minerva thought she heard.




In time the tears slowed and the sobs faded into hiccups. Hagrid finally lifted his head and struggled to his feet. His limbs felt like lead. Cyclops, what a day! He looked around. Bone, toy, and flower for the body, mind, and spirit. But first . . . the blanket Wolf laid on was natty, ratty, not good for rags even, but Wolf had loved it. It was soiled now. Hagrid's eyes searched the confines of his little hut. With a quick deft tug he tore the bedspread from his own bed and then tenderly laid it over his dog.


He grabbed up Wolf's food bowl, filled it with kibble, then picked up an old twist of leather harness. He'd given up on repairing it a couple years ago and Wolf liked to play tug of war with it, back when he still had teeth.


Hagrid headed out the door, to the tool shed for a shovel. He chose a spot near the Forbidden Forest, not too far away from the cabin, but down a ways and a little bit into the trees where no one much wandered. He set the spade into the earth next to Vixen's grave. Like Wolf, she'd been a massive boarhound. And like Wolf, she hadn't made it twenty years. Rain drops spattered the leaves above him for a moment, then poured down all around and over him. Perfect weather for gravediggin’, he thought to himself.




He recognized Headmaster Dumbledore’s warm voice before he turned around and saw the familiar hat and robes.


"I thought I heard something earlier. Don't tell me . . is it?"

"Yes, Wolf's gone and left us, sir. Gone on to be with the Potters, I suppose." Tears leaked from his huge dark eyes, mixing with the rain.

"I'm so sorry, my dear boy. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No sir. Not much to be done. It was his time. He went in his sleep."

"Yes, of course. Shall I tell Minerva you're available? You know how she is about placing puppies."

Hagrid's chest seized up. Iron bands tightened around him. He couldn't breathe. "No, sir. No more dogs fer me. Tell her I'm not in the market."

"Again, I'm so sorry, Hagrid. I'll tell her. Shall I send you some soup from the kitchens?"

"Thank you sir. That's very kind, but I'll be just goin' on ter bed onced I finish up here."

"Very well Hagrid. Take whatever time you need. I'm happy to help in any way I can."

"I know sir. " He turned his back on his headmaster and began digging in earnest. Mud flew into a huge pile quickly. Wolf was a big dog and anything that wasn't buried deep was likely to get dug up again, especially this close to the Forest. He had to get Wolf into the ground, find stones for a cairn, do the ceremony. Maybe the ceremony could wait. No, he wanted to wake up tomorrow with nothing to do. If people saw him out, they'd want to come over and thump his back and grin at him and ask wasn't he so happy He Who Must Not Be Named was gone?


Codswollop! Tom Riddle come back and he’d keep coming back. He’d not got enough human left in him to do something so normal as die!


Hagrid climbed out of the hole he'd dug and looked around for flowers on his way back to the hut. The rain slacked off and the moon peeped out from the clouds that raced across the sky, off to a new destination to drop their rain. Ah, night blooming death daggers. They were so delicate, he'd get them when he was ready to place them in the grave, and not before. Back at the hut, Hagrid dipped water to rinse his hands, then wash the sweat from his brow. Food and toy were at the gravesite. Too wet and windy to keep a candle going. He didn't need an oil lamp. He steeled himself with a deep breath and went inside once again. His eyes met the lumpy bedspread next to the fireplace, and his chin quivered. He inhaled deeply and went for his stash of Old Ogden's. He pulled out the cork and took a long pull, then replaced it. He blinked and exhaled smoke. A quick shake to his head, he bent and lifted the dog in its shroud. “C'mon Wolf. Time to go to rest. Good thing yer sufferin's over, eh?"


Hagrid awkwardly placed his burden in the bottom of the grave then gently laid the bowl full of food and the old toy by his head. Only then did he go back for the night blooming death daggers. Very carefully, he reached for the bottom of the short stem from which the tiny white blossoms hung. There were three sprigs and he took them all and gently laid them on top of Wolf. A whiff of sickly sweet aroma caught his nose. They were deadly poisonous if taken internally.


"Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, Wolf's come to you now. Please take him to yer breast as yer own. I trained him up right. He'll do yeh proud." Yet again tears poured down Hagrid's face. It was too much. Much too much. How could a body go on? When he continued, his voice was rough with emotion. "And if yeh've a mind fer a hound handler. Yeh feel free to take me too." He ended on a whisper as he began scraping huge chunks of mud into the hole.


Back in the cabin after the last stone was found and laid on top of the grave, Hagrid peeled off his sweat sodden, mud covered clothes and tossed them onto the pile with the others. Looked like he'd have to wash tomorrer. He strode back into the main room and grabbed up the firewhisky bottle before returning to the bath where he washed himself with a rag from a bucket of water. He'd never seen the need fer a proper shower or bath.


When at last he'd removed the ash and mud and stench of this horrid day, he laid down to rest on his sturdy bedstead. Truly utterly alone.


The sunshine was so bright and everything was lovely. He felt wonderful, like one of those special magic moments in Spring when a breeze lifts your spirits so high you wonder how Winter's depression ever touched you. He couldn't recognize the trees. Each was  impossibly broad and high. Their smooth white trunks and golden leaves seemed to add to the glow surrounding him. He wandered on pebbled paths, peaceful and welcome until he came to a sculpted fountain spraying water droplets high overhead. 


As he turned his head, a greatly beautiful youth came into view. Clean of limb, he had dark hair caught up on his head with a leather thong. He wore a white cloth draped over his shoulder and around his waist. His sandals lace up his well muscled calves.


"Rubeus, you've come again," the youth stated in a voice that gently caressed Hagrid's ear while threatening to topple mountains. And Hagrid remembered. He had been here before. But where . . .?


"Who are you?"


The youth stepped closer until they were eye to eye, both touched by the mist wafting over from the fountain. "You may call me Art," he answered with a secretive simile. "But you can't stay."


And a cloud entered his vision of paradise. "Why not, then?" he whispered.


"I have much for you to do yet. Many hounds for you to train. And other things. Come," said the beautiful youth, taking Hagrid's hand. He led him to a different part of the gardens. It was a small meadow where the sun shone down so brightly, yet there was no sun to be seen. Yellow flowers topped green stems and bobbed gently in the freshening breeze. Heady scents floated by and Hagrid went willingly enough with this beautiful stranger. He felt perfectly safe and comfortable. There was no question of trust. That was already assumed. "It is not yet time for you to join the Hunt."


Warm strong hands pushed him down into the grass and flowers. Those same hands caressed down his arms and body. Soon, a warmth engulfed his being and set his blood on fire. He tried to return the burning sweet kisses, but a firm hand pressed him back into the heady fragrance of the flowers and he surrendered.


"That's it Rubeus, sweet surrender is what I require," the voice rolled over him, a whisper of distant thunder. Warm lips took his manhood into a hot embrace. He groaned and moaned and writhed in pleasure. Those firm hands held his hips still and steady. That hot mouth rode him hard, demanding, until he could resist no longer.


Hagrid woke with a start. His own cry had done it. He lay back and tried to capture the sense of peace and contentment he was sure he had dreamed.


"Sticky sheets agin, in' it?" he grumbled, finally rolling out of this great bed.


He heard voices approaching his hut and hurriedly slid into tunic and trousers.


He thought he caught, "Don't be ridiculous, Albus!" before a stiff tapping came at the door.


"Good morning!" he said brightly swinging open the massive oak. Last night's rain clouds were long gone. Sunshine streamed down brightly like a new hope. Two teachers stood on his stoop. Professor Dumbledore hovered nervously behind like a hen trying to shoo away a fox. Professor McGonagall looked grimly determined.


"I found this nosing around the trash back of the Hog's Head last night in that horrible rain. Near drowned to death and starved to boot." She held a huge dark boarhound puppy. It looked up at Hagrid with woeful eyes.


"Whassa matter wif da puppy, then?" Hagrid went all gooey eyed as he relieved Minerva of her burden. "Needs a good home don' he, eh? Whassat' then?" he said softly, fingers finding and pinching off a tick. The puppy reach up and licked at his face. "Ha!" Hagrid exclaimed. "He knows 'is mummy!" Then a great yawn seemed to overtake the puppy, now dwarfed in Hagrid's great arms. "Oo! Look at them fangs! What a fiercesome face yeh got there, Fang." Hagrid nuzzled the puppy's sloppy mess of a face.. 


The professors back off the porch, Minerva smiling at Albus in superiority. Albus mimed doffing his hat to her.


Hagrid strode out into the new day. "Oh yeah, Fang's a right proper name fer such a fine an' mighty boarhound as yer'll turn out ta be!"








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