Many have heard of Hrothgar, greatest of Dane-kings, who ordered a mead-hall — Heorot it hight. Likewise they tell of the terrible troll-man, Grendel the greedy, who hated that hall.
But fewer have heard the tale that we tell now: of a great gift witch-given and unkenning received. Of a small Gryffindor, fearful of failure, driven to prove that she too belonged. Of crafty Hermione, twice-gifted with seider, who finds herself now where she wasn't before.
Hear now our tale of this chaotic conflict — it is not a tale that you have heard at all. While many could tell of Hrothgar and Grendel, it's by one more name that the saga is known: Beowulf, who journeyed to Heorot boldly, and with feigned-sleeping lost Grendel his arm.
If only he'd known, that beloved Gaet-son, the thing that Hermione, book-wise, must know: that trolls take more than disarming to put down, hastily healing what would lesser men slay. And so passes Beowulf, hero of legend, to the halls of Valhalla, his men to join there.
And here comes Hermione, with her slight stature, no shield-sisters around. How can she do it, what brought down the Gaet-son? Will her witch-ways succeed where strength of arms failed? Or will Hermione, last hope of Hrothgar, likewise to Grendel's great monstrousness fall?