Fic: The Boy Who Wanted to Learn How to Sh(eesh, This is Ridiculous!)udder

[bookishwench]

For a complete list of all previous chapters, go here.


“Well, that wasn’t very helpful,” Ron said as he re-entered the tent, made a beeline to the kitchen, and opened a bag of chocolate biscuits, shoveling four in his mouth at once.

“Perhaps not, but I think we can be sure there isn’t another Horcrux lying about Malfoy Manor,” Hermione said, flopping down on the couch and conjuring a cup of hot tea with a pensive expression. “Those people are really, well…”

“Idiots?” Harry volunteered. “Morons? Imbeciles?”

“Nutters?” Ron added. “Five pumpkin pasties shy of a picnic? Loonier than an entire lake full of loons?”

“Yes, that does rather capture the spirit of the thing,” Hermione said, sighing. “If I were You-Know-Who, there’s no way that I would trust a bit of my soul to one of them unless I had no other choice. Lucius might be the sanest one among them, which isn’t saying much.”

“Or maybe the mother,” Ron said, pulling out another biscuit. “She at least had enough sense to be quietly terrified in a non-obvious sort of way. But even so, I wouldn’t leave them two parts of my soul. One would be the absolute limit, and the rest of the Death Eaters? Not by half. Tommy’s hidden it somewhere unlikely, and that’s all there is to it.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione said.

“I am?” Ron said, almost looking pleased. “I suppose that had to happen eventually.”

Hermione gave him a weak smile, but Harry just looked tired.

“Do we have any roast beef left?” he asked. “I think I could do with a sandwich after watching that party.”

“Their house-elves do know how to cook, I’ll give them that,” Ron said. “Everything looked smashing. If we were still wandering about with nothing to eat, I think I might have robbed the Lestranges at wand-point for those little ham things on a cracker.”

“With the Swiss cheese and the bits of scrambled egg?” Harry asked, getting a nod. “I wouldn’t blame you. The smell was phenomenal.”

“And the puddings,” Hermione said. “I don’t even know what that chocolate monstrosity was, but that thing was so gorgeous that if it were legal, I might marry it.”

Ron raised one eyebrow at her, then shrugged and dug through the kitchen cupboard, coming up with the bread and handing it to Harry, who was already taking a package of sliced roast beef from Hermione. He immediately began making three sandwiches, remembering Ron’s penchant for heavily buttered bread and Hermione’s usual inclusion of thinly sliced tomato.

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione said as he handed the finished sandwich to her, and Ron took his with an appreciative nod of his head.

The Malfoys had indeed been in the midst of some sort of celebration, though it hadn’t looked at all jolly. A good number of the people they already knew were Death Eaters were there, and Harry had seriously wondered if Voldemort himself might turn up, but it seemed they were fortunate that he was elsewhere. The main thing all three of them had noted was a growing sense of desperation from anyone who seemed to possess a shred of sanity, and those who didn’t were so wildly chaotic, downing massive amounts of wine, that they could barely stand by the end of the night. Draco had attended but remained silent, sipping once or twice from an ornate glass while standing in a corner of the room and morosely observing the gathering. Harry noted that his eye had developed a twitch, and the hand holding the glass often shook. He looked miserable.

This time, owing to his height making the cloak rather dangerous for his ankles, Ron had used Polyjuice Potion* to take on the likeness of a masked, nondescript man in his forties while Hermione and Harry had remained invisible but entered the house as well. After a cursory search of the manor, all of them had come to the conclusion nothing was there. In fact, the whole place seemed to be falling into a state of gloomy disrepair. Either their staff of house-elves had been seriously depleted or the family no longer cared enough to keep up appearances.

“I wouldn’t live in that place if you paid me,” Hermione said, shaking her head between bites of her sandwich. “It makes the Addams family’s house look cheerful.”

“Who?” Ron asked.

“Oh, it was an old American Muggle television show about a spooky family who lived in an old house,” Hermione said. “There was a father named Gomez, a mother named Morticia, the daughter was Wednesday, the son was Pugsley, and their butler was Lurch. Oh, and there was a grandmother, and Uncle Fester, and a dismembered hand named Thing that lived in a box, and Cousin Itt, who was basically a walking pile of hair with a hat and sunglasses.”

Ron stared at her for a long time.

“They were actually quite nice, really, now that I think about it,” Hermione said slowly. “Different, a little weird in all senses of the word, but they all got along together well.”

Ron slowly shifted his gaze to Harry, who shook his head.

“The Dursleys wouldn’t let me watch it,” he explained. “I think the grandmother was a witch?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Morticia might have been as well, but it wasn’t really stated as directly.”

“Yeah, that was a hard no from them,” Harry said. “I accidentally watched The Munsters once when I was nine and got shut in my cupboard for two days as punishment.”

“The… what?” Ron asked as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to find out.

“Another television program,” Hermione said. “It had a similar idea. The mother and grandfather were vampires, the father was Frankenstein’s monster, the son was a werewolf, and cousin Marilyn was, well, normal. And they had a pet dragon named Spot. Of course, all of the magical details about them were wrong, as Muggles would tend to do, but for a while there Gothic suburban family comedies were a sort of mini-trend. Don’t get me started on Dark Shadows.”

Ron continued to stare, then said, “Her name is Wednesday?”

Hermione blinked.

“My brain is running a little behind,” he said. “I just finished processing people named Gomez and Morticia.”

“They’re actually a very loving couple,” Hermione said, then blushed a bit, adding, “and rather enthusiastic in their displays of affection. But Wednesday is from an old poem about the day of the week a child is born on determining their future. Supposedly, ‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe.’”

“And that’s a good thing?” Ron said uncertainly.

“If you’re an Addams, apparently so,” Hermione said.

“Uh, what day of the week were you born on?” Ron asked. “I know it’s the nineteenth of September.”

Hermione seemed rather happy he remembered but then grimaced and said, “Wednesday.”

Harry laughed a little around his sandwich. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, then pulled out her wand and wrote some numbers in the air, quickly figuring something out.

“You needn’t laugh,” she said. “You got Thursday, Harry. According to the poem, you have ‘far to go,’”

“Considering this never-ending search, they got one of them right at any rate,” Harry said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Was that Arithmancy?” Ron asked, watching as the numbers faded.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “It’s a bit like Muggle algebra only it’s actually useful for something other than making people think they’re stupid.”

“Can you do mine?” Ron asked.

Hermione tipped her head, then set another group of numbers flashing in the air.

“The first of March was a Saturday,” she said. “That means you ‘work hard for your living.’”

“Great,” Ron said, unenthusiastically. “Doesn’t anyone get a happy future with this?”

“Monday is pretty, Tuesday is graceful,” Hermione said. “Friday is supposed to be ‘loving and giving,’ and Sunday wins the jackpot with ‘bonny and blithe and good and gay.’”

“So basically the other four of them that aren’t us do great,” Ron said with a chuckle. “And I happen to know Percy was born on a Sunday, so this stupid poem’s obviously a fake. Okay, setting aside the weird hand thing. What was its name again?”

“Thing,” Hermione said.

“The thing is Thing?” Ron said uncertainly.

“Yes, and the cousin is Itt.”

“It’s Itt,” Ron said, nodding. “Right. Okay. Muggles are nutters. Sorry, but that’s the only explanation. Anyway, they’re nice people?”

“Fairly,” Hermione said. “The Addams are a bit odd and macabre at times, but the Munsters are downright cuddly.”

“Well, if they have a dragon named Spot as a pet, Hagrid would love them,” Ron said.

“He and Herman would be best friends. They’d nearly be the same height, too,” Hermione said, giggling.

“Okay, so aside from their decorating scheme, neither family has anything in common with the Malfoys at all,” Ron said.

“No,” Hermione said. “The Malfoys might look a bit less frightening, but they’re the real monsters.”

Harry thought he caught a trace of that Wednesday’s child’s woe in her eyes for a moment, but he simply took another bite of this sandwich and it passed.

“So Muggles kind of like things they think are scary, then?” Ron said.

“There can be a sort of fascination with it, yes,” Hermione agreed. “Some people enjoy it, but I was never really one of them. I think it has to do with the kick of adrenaline they get from being frightened.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt that would work on me anyway,” Ron said. “After living with Fred and George, constant exposure to things blowing up makes you forget what fear is.”

A familiar look crept across Hermione’s face as a smile curved the edges of her mouth.

“Ron just reminded you of a story, didn’t he,” Harry said knowingly.

“He did,” Hermione said.

“Bully for me,” Ron said, smiling broadly. “Go on, then. I could use something to blot out this evening. What’s this one called?”

“It goes by a few different names. One of them is ‘The Boy Who Didn’t Know What Fear Was,’” Hermione said.

“Bit of a mouthful, that,” Ron said, “but I see why you made the connection.”

“Yes, well, the other title is ‘The Boy Who Wanted to Learn How to Shiver,’” Hermione said, “which is even more of a mouthful.”

“Is it daft?” Ron asked.

“Fairly. It’s a bit scary in places and rather violent in others.”

“Then let’s have it!” Ron said, sitting back in his chair and putting his feet up on the couch. “Once upon—”

“A time,” Hermione finished. “Yes, there was a father with two sons. The older was a smart lad, but everyone thought the younger one was stupid.”

“That’s not very nice of them,” Ron said, frowning. “I already don’t like people in this story, and we haven’t even met anyone properly yet!”

“Yes, well, whenever the father asked the older son to do something, he would do it, but not if it was dark outside. If he told his son to fetch water from the river after the sun had set, he would say, ‘O father, I cannot go! It would make me shiver!’”

“So the older one’s scared of the dark,” Ron said, grinning. “Not so perfect then, is he?”

“No, but I don’t really blame him,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “It’s one thing to be inside your own home in the dark, but a Muggle wandering about outside in a time before electric torches, out in the countryside, especially on a moonless night, was risking everything from a turned ankle to a run in with dangerous animals. Add into that the father wanted him to fetch water, and there’s even a possibility of drowning if he accidentally fell in the river. One could carry a candle or lantern, of course, but the chance was good it might blow out.”

“Oh,” Ron said, looking slightly deflated. “Maybe it’s the father who’s the mean one then, even asking in the first place.”

“It might not be the older brother’s fault that people are unkind to the younger one,” Hermione agreed. “Regardless, the younger brother heard what he said and was baffled because he didn’t know what it meant to shudder.”

“How can he not know that?” Harry asked. “He just didn’t know the word?”

“Yeah, that’s easily fixed,” Ron said. “You just do this.”

Ron gave a full body jiggle that was reminiscent of a dog shaking itself after a downpour.

“See? That’s shuddering, Junior,” he said.

“Except that for some reason the boy couldn’t shudder, and he spent a good deal of his time wishing he could learn how,” Hermione said.

“Okay, even I have to admit that’s odd,” Ron said.

“When people would gather together and tell scary stories, they would all say, ‘Oh! That makes me shudder!’ but the boy, who wasn’t the least bit frightened, didn’t shudder at all and felt mystified by their strange behavior,” Hermione said. “And that’s where the title of the story comes in.”

“Kind of weird,” Ron said. “The kid just isn’t scared of anything?”

“No.”

“So he has no self-preservation instinct at all?” Harry asked.

“Apparently not.”

“I can’t decide whether he’s really brave, or whether it turns out everybody’s got a point about him,” Ron said.

“Even brave people know what fear is,” Hermione said. “It’s just that they don’t let it stop them from doing something necessary.”

Ron looked pensive, then nodded in agreement.

“Harry’s like that,” he said, nodding at him. “He’s done a lot of things people would have to be barking mad to do because they were what need to be done.”

“So’ve you,” Harry pointed out, blushing a little.

“I suppose,” Ron said uncertainly. “Either that or I’m just mental.”

“You’re both brave,” Hermione said, smiling at them fondly, “and possibly you’re both mental as well, but that’s beside the point. In any case, the father eventually went to the younger son and told him he needed to learn some kind of a trade so that he would be able to live. The boy thought about it and said, ‘There is something I want to learn. I should like to learn how to shudder.’”

“That didn’t go over well, I expect,” Ron said.

“No, it didn’t,” Hermione said. “His older brother laughed at him and called him a fool, and his father sighed and said that he could not earn his bread by shuddering.”

“Well, the dad’s right about it not exactly being a lucrative career choice,” Ron said.

“Instead, the father talked to the town’s sexton, complaining that the boy wanted to learn to shudder rather than taking choosing an apprenticeship, and the sexton offered to give him a job,” Hermione said.

“Okay, what’s a sexton?” Ron said suspiciously.

“It’s a church caretaker,” Hermione explained. “He would ring the bell, take care of the churchyard, that sort of thing.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” Ron said looking relieved.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, and Harry thought for a second she was going to ask him what he’d thought a sexton was, but he could literally see the moment when she decided to skip the topic entirely. Internally, he was applauding her choice.

“Yes, well, the sexton took him to the church and taught him how to ring the bell,” Hermione said.

“Honestly, that sounds like kind of a fun job,” Ron said, smiling. “It’d get boring after a while probably, but I wouldn’t mind doing that for a few weeks.”

“It also meant he had to get up at all hours to sound the bell to tell the time,” Hermione said.

“Oh,” Ron said, his face falling. “Then I’d rather not.”

“All went well for a few days, but the boy kept on about not knowing how to shudder, and the sexton decided he would fix that for him by frightening him,” Hermione said. “He woke the boy at midnight and told him to go up to the belltower and ring the bell, but the sexton quietly snuck up the tower before he could get there and stood in the window, dressed in a white sheet to look like a ghost.”

“This could end several different ways, and none of them are good,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “What was he thinking? Even Fred and George wouldn’t pull that gag.”

“You’re both right,” Hermione said. “The boy went up the tower and saw the figure standing motionless, silhouetted against the window, a sight that would have made most people’s blood run cold, but he only said, ‘Who are you? Answer me or get out, for you have no business here at night.’”

“Harry, you’re the Muggle expert between the two of us. That’s not normal Muggle behavior when seeing a ghost, is it?” Ron asked.

“Not even a little bit,” Harry said. “Most people would run screaming.”

“Right, that’s what I thought,” Ron said. “So what did the sexton do when he was caught out?”

“Nothing. He continued to stand there, thinking it would unnerve him,” Hermione said.

“Uh-huh,” Ron said. “I’m guessing it didn’t.”

“No. The boy said again, ‘What do you want? Speak, if you’re an honest fellow, or I’ll chuck you down the stairs!’”

“He’d make a good guard, at any rate,” Harry said.

“And did the sexton say anything?” Ron asked.

“No, he thought the boy couldn’t be serious. So the boy shouted at him, ‘I mean it! Answer me!’ Then, when nothing happened again, he picked up the sexton and tossed him down the stairs, rang the bell, and went back to bed as though nothing unusual had happened, walking right past the groaning figure,” Hermione said.

“And people think the kid’s a nutter?” Ron said. “This sexton fellow’s cracked.”

“It really is a stupid thing to do,” Hermione agreed. “The next morning, the man’s wife went to the boy and asked him if he had seen her husband since he had climbed the belltower before the boy did the previous night. He said ‘No, but I saw someone in the belltower whom I took for a thief and threw down the stairs when he wouldn’t answer. If that was the sexton, I’m truly sorry.’ The woman ran to the belltower to find her husband lying on the floor, his leg broken.”

“Serves him right,” Ron said, “though I’m betting it won’t be good for the kid.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right,” Hermione said. “The woman carried her husband home then ran to the boy’s father, yelling that her husband had nearly been killed because of his apprentice’s stupidity and demanding the father take his son back.”

“That’s a rather off interpretation of events,” Ron said, frowning. “She didn’t mention the fact he was dressed as a ghost and told to move three times and wouldn’t.”

“No, but the boy did tell his father that when he was brought home, but it made no difference to him at all,” Hermione said. “The father said, ‘You have been nothing but trouble to me all the days of your life, and I never want to see you again, for I am ashamed of you.’ Then he gave him fifty coins and ordered him never to tell anyone where he came from or who his father was.”

“Father of the year, this one,” Harry said.

Ron just shook his head and looked angry, and Harry noted he actually seemed on the verge of crying out of sheer rage.

“He’s rotten,” Hermione agreed. “The boy left, and as he went down the road, he kept repeating to himself, ‘If only I could shudder! If only I could shudder!’”

“At least he’s well out of that stinking town and away from his verbally abusive father,” Ron said. “He might be a little odd, but at least the boy isn’t cruel.”

“No, he isn’t. As he walked along, a man heard him muttering to himself about wishing he could shudder. Pointing up ahead, the man said, ‘Look. There are seven men there who have gotten married to the rope maker’s daughter and are learning to fly. If you want to shudder, just spend the night there, and that should do the trick.’”

“I don’t get it,” Ron said.

“It was a hangman’s gallows with seven men hanging from it, newly dead,” Hermione said. “The man said if the boy stayed there all night, it would frighten him properly.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “I think I would tend to agree there.”

“Yes, and the boy said if the man was right, he could return in the morning and he would give him his fifty coins as payment for teaching him to shudder,” Hermione said, “but as it was, his money turned out to be quite safe.”

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Because he wasn’t frightened. A cold wind blew up, and he felt rather sorry for the seven men because their clothes were tattered, so he cut them down and set them near his fire for the night. However, when they refused to heed his warning not to get too close or their clothes might burn, he grew angry at them and hung them back up again, then went to sleep,” Hermione said.

Ron and Harry exchanged a look.

“I admit, the boy does have some issues,” Ron said slowly. “That doesn’t make what his father did right, but, yeah, there is definitely a problem here.”

“It’s a little macabre,” Hermione said.

“A little? Hermione, the kid’s taking corpses up and down from the gallows and talking to dead bodies. I’m afraid what it would take for you to think something is really macabre, or even moderately macabre,” Ron said.

“That’d make a good band name,” Harry said. “Moderately Macabre.”

“Huh. You’re not wrong,” Ron said, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Anyway,” Hermione said, smirking at the boys, “if you can lay aside your plans for challenging the Weird Sisters for most popular band, the man came back the next morning, wanting his fifty coins for frightening the boy, and he was told to go away because he hadn’t shivered once, and the man went, away shaking his head.”

“Well, at least he saved his money,” Harry said with a shrug. “That’s something.”

“The boy continued down the road, still talking to himself, over and over, saying ‘I wish I could shiver!’ when a man driving a cart pulled up beside him and asked him his name,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, what is his name?” Ron asked.

“The story never says, and the boy’s father told him not to reveal any link to him, so he answered, ‘I don’t know,’” Hermione said.

“That’s inconvenient,” Ron said.

“So the man asked him where he was from, and the boy said again, ‘I don’t know,’ and when he was asked who his father was, he said, ‘I cannot say,’” Hermione said.

“The last one is the giveaway,” Ron said. “It’s not that he doesn’t know; he’s not supposed to tell.”

“It had to be an odd conversation for the man in the cart, though,” Harry said. “It seems like he’s trying to help the boy out.”

“Yes, he does seem to be asking questions in an effort to help him get back home,” Hermione said. “Finally, the man asked what the boy was mumbling to himself, and he said, ‘Oh! I wish that I could learn how to shudder!’”

“Something tells me that’s going to get a reaction,” Ron said.

“It actually didn’t,” Hermione said. “Instead, the man told the boy to stop talking foolishness and follow along beside his cart until he found a spot for him to rest for the night.”

“That’s… sort of kind,” Ron said uncertainly.

“For this story, the fellow’s a saint,” Harry said.

“Anyway, they came to an inn, and the boy still continued to mutter about how he wished he could learn to shudder, and the innkeeper, hearing him, said, ‘You’re in luck, lad. You have a fine opportunity to learn to shudder near here.’”

“That sounds suspicious,” Ron said.

“The innkeeper’s wife told her husband to say no more, for many had already lost their lives and it would be a pity if the boy’s beautiful eyes nevermore beheld the sun,” Hermione said.

“Bit flowery, isn’t she?” Ron said, wrinkling his nose. “This is the first we’ve heard of him being handsome at all.”

“Well, beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, I suppose,” Hermione said. “All the same, the boy said he had come a long way to learn to shudder, and he wouldn’t let a little danger put him off from it, so the innkeeper told him that there was a haunted castle not far away, and if he could stay there three nights, he would be given the hand of the king’s daughter in marriage.”

“Here we go again,” Ron sighed. “Yet another father who puts his daughter out as a prize to be won like the house cup, but with a lot fewer requirements to win.”

“Quite so,” Hermione said, with a nod. “The innkeeper explained that the castle was filled with treasure guarded by evil spirits, and if anyone stayed three nights and broke the curse, the king would also give them not only the princess but the treasure as well, but no one had succeeded. So far, all of them had died before dawn of the first night.”

“And the boy tries his luck, I’d guess,” Ron said.

“And you’d be right,” Hermione said. “The very next day, the boy presented himself before the king and said he wanted to try to break the curse on the haunted castle. The king was very impressed with him, and because of this, he said the boy could request any three things he wanted to bring with him.”

“Anything?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “What would you bring?”

“My wand,” Ron said, then paused. “Could it be a person?”

“He did say ‘things,’ so I’d guess not,” Hermione said.

“Then I guess I can’t bring you and Harry,” Ron said. “In that case, I’ll take a sandwich and a bezoar.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“What if I get hungry?”

“Not the sandwich,” Harry said. “Why a bezoar?”

“You can never be too careful, mate,” Ron said sagely. “Ever since what happened in sixth year with that poisoned mead, I used to keep one fairly handy. I didn’t have it on me at the wedding, though, so it’s back home in the drawer of my bedside table. Sort of my lucky charm.”

Ron looked more than a bit worried about that, but Hermione gave him a half-smile and reached for her little beaded bag. She only had to rummage through it for a moment before pulling out a small box labeled “Bezoars.” She shook it once, and it rattled as though it had at least half a dozen of the stones in it.

“You’re a treasure,” Ron said, smiling at her and letting the tension drop out of his shoulders.

Hermione blushed a little, but cleared her throat and asked, “What about you, Harry? What would you bring?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said, feeling as awkward as he usually did every time his friends seemed on the verge of realizing they were both still attracted to each other. “I agree with Ron about the wand. And I’d take a broom. Oh, and your bag, now I think of it.”

“Good one, mate,” Ron said, nodding. “I’m fairly sure that thing has literally everything possible and a few things that aren’t possible.”

“It has been useful,” Hermione said, smiling at it fondly. “It was one of Mum’s. I always rather liked it even before I put all the charms on it.”

“So what would you bring?” Harry asked her, knowing she was starting to feel sad from thinking about her mother and wanting to snap her out of it.

“I agree with both of you about my wand,” Hermione said. “And yes, this bag.”

“And what book?” Ron said knowingly.

“Octavio Hobbleton’s Guide to Ridding Homes of Unwanted Spirits,” she said with an almost apologetic wince. “That’s one of the ones I didn’t pack.”

“Knew it,” Ron said, grinning. “You’d definitely get the treasure. Granted, I don’t know how you’d feel about marrying the princess, though.”

“They do automatically make the assumption the hero will be both male and unmarried in these,” Hermione said, nodding. “If I think if I won, I’d still claim the princess’s hand in marriage. I’d just insist that she be allowed to marry whomever she chose when the time came and no one could prevent her from following her heart.”

“That’s nice,” Ron said, then frowned, “But they’d probably just insist you marry one of the king’s sons.”

“Oh, they probably would,” Hermione said, slumping. “That’s usually the way these things go. Anyway, the boy didn’t ask for any of these things.”

“Of course not,” Ron said. “He’s a Muggle. Well, I suppose he could ask for a sandwich, but everything else we picked was magical.”

“Right, so he asked the king for a fire, a lathe, and a woodcarver’s bench with a knife,” Hermione said.

“Sounds like he’s sneaking in a fourth thing with that last one,” Ron said, “but that aside, I get the fire. That’s useful. So’s the knife, though stabbing a ghost really wouldn’t do much other than annoy it. What’s a lathe?”

“It’s a Muggle tool,” Hermione said. “It’s got a circular thing in it that turns round to sharpen or smooth things.”

“Okay,” Ron said slowly. “Do Muggles tend to drag those around with them?”

“No,” Harry said. “I lived with Muggles for years, and I’ve never laid eyes on one. That wouldn’t be in my top five hundred picks for what to bring even if we couldn’t use magic.”

“So he’s, what, planning on doing some carpentry while he’s waiting for ghosts to pop out?” Ron asked.

“Possibly,” Hermione said with an impish grin.

“And a woodcarver’s bench?” Ron asked.

“There are lots of different kinds of those, but I always pictured it as the kind the woodcarver would sit astride on, with a blade mounted into it,” Hermione said. “Sometimes they’re called a shaving horse or a spoon mule.”

“Uh-huh,” Ron said. “Normally, I’d say he must have some kind of plan, but given this kid’s track record, I’m thinking probably not.”

“We shall see,” Hermione said. “The king did have all these things brought to the castle, and then the boy was left there alone as the sun set. Instead of being afraid, all he did was sigh and say that he had no hope of learning to shudder here, either.”

“He really needs another hobby,” Ron said.

“Or a trip to the Arctic,” Harry said.

“Nothing at all happened at first, and the boy prodded away at his fire in the fireplace, but then he heard voices coming from a corner of the room, ‘Meow! How cold we are!’” Hermione said, giving the newcomers a strange and high-pitched voice.

“Cats?” Ron asked.

“Yes, two very large, very fearsome looking black cats with eyes like flame,” Hermione said. “The boy only said, ‘You fools, if you are cold, warm yourselves by the fire!’ So they came and sat next to him, one on either side, staring at him unnervingly.”

“Cats do that,” Ron said, shrugging. ‘Nothing odd there.”

“’Would you like to play a game of cards with us?’ one of the cats asked the boy,” said Hermione.

“Okay, cats do not do that,” Ron said. “I figured that the whole ‘How cold we are!’ thing was just meowing, but it’s not normal for a cat to want to play Exploding Snap or something with you.”

“It was probably supposed to be some early variation on poker,” Hermione said. “That’s the usual game in these, and the animals wind up getting the human to bet something he shouldn’t lose, like his life or his soul or his luck or something.”

“So does he play cards with the freakishly large, talking cats?” Ron asked.

“He says, ‘First, let me see your paws,’” Hermione says.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Oh, maybe to see if they had extra cards hidden in them or something, but instead they put out their claws, and he exclaims, ‘My, your nails are much too long! I must trim them for you!’ Then he closed their paws into the vice of the woodcarving bench, and said, ‘I don’t believe I want to play cards with you at all’ and hit them over their heads, killing them, and threw their bodies into the water of the moat,” Hermione said.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” Ron said indignantly. “Maybe they really did want to play cards and he killed them for no good reason!”

“It’s oddly violent, but at the same time, several Muggles had already died trying to stay the night in the castle, so he had reason to be suspicious. Also, some Muggles are weirdly frightened of black cats,” Hermione said.

“Whatever for?” Ron asked. “I mean, I can see being allergic to them, and if they’re scared of cats, fine, people are scared of all sorts of things, but why only black cats?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I suppose they’re supposed to look wicked, but I’ve always thought they’re really quite beautiful.”

“Maybe they’re afraid of tripping on them in the dark?” Ron ventured.

“I doubt it,” Hermione said. “Unfortunately, some people can be very cruel to them.”

“Not unlike the boy here,” Harry said.

“You do have a point,” Hermione said. “Next, a lot of black cats and black dogs, all with red-hot iron collars around their necks, started yowling and growling and attacking him, but he used his knife from the bench. Some he killed, some he got to back away, and the rest ran off into the night. He took the bodies of the dead ones and threw them in the moat with the other cats.”

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Some Muggles think ghosts can’t cross water, so it might be that,” Hermione said.

“My uncle tried that when Hagrid was trying to deliver my Hogwarts letter,” Harry said, “but he even got that wrong. He stuck us in this old hut on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, thinking witches couldn’t cross water, and of course Hagrid showed up anyway.”

“Because that’s a load of old tosh,” Hermione said. “It’s just like burning at the stake. It doesn’t work a bit.”

“Typical Uncle Vernon,” Harry said.

“Yeah, but did battling off all these weird cats and dogs scare the boy?” Ron asked.

“No, but he was tired,” Hermione said.

“Okay, I suppose that’s logical,” Ron said.

“So he went to lie down on a great bed over in the corner of the room,” Hermione said.

“And that’s not logical,” Ron said. “Putting aside whatever’s likely to jump out at him next, if the place has been deserted for a long time, isn’t the bed going to be dusty and filthy and lumpy?”

“Probably,” Hermione said.

“Just like Pajamabelle,” Ron said shaking his head.

Hermione giggled at the memory of one of her earliest tales she had told them, and Harry realized with a shock that had been only a few months ago. It felt like years.

“In any case, the boy did lie down on the bed, and no sooner did he than the bed started to move,” Hermione said.

“Because it was filled with mice, most likely,” Ron said.

“Or a waterbed,” Harry suggested.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a Muggle type of bed that used to be popular. The mattress is filled with water instead of springs or feathers or whatever is usually in there,” Harry said.

“Is it to keep away ghosts and witches?” Ron asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“No, but they do keep this witch away,” Hermione said. “I had an aunt who had one in her guest bedroom. They’re supposed to be rather, ehm, sensual, but I hated it. It made me seasick. I couldn’t sleep a wink all night.”

“Are you sure that there wasn’t a pea under it?” Ron said, grinning again.

Hermione rolled her eyes but said, “No, and the bed in the haunted castle wasn’t a waterbed. It actually got up and started walking about the room with the boy still in it!”

“That could get annoying, but it doesn’t really sound all that terrifying,” Ron said.

“Yes, the boy seemed to think the same thing, for he said, ‘Very good! Now go faster!’ and with that, the bed began to run through the castle, up and down stairs, along corridors, faster and faster at breakneck speed,” Hermione said.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

“If we ever get back to Hogwarts—” Harry started.

“—we are so doing that!” Ron finished. “I think we could use that one charm Flitwick showed us, only we could experiment with it a bit!”

“First one around the Great Hall wins, and extra points if you leave Filch in the dust!” Harry said.

Hermione just put her forehead in her hands and mumbled something that sounded like “boys.”

“Okay, so after that, what happened?” Ron said.

“The bed rolled over and fell on him, trying to kill him,” Hermione said.

“Oh,” Ron said. “That’s less fun.”

“Yes, but all the boy did was jump out of the way and say, ‘Now whoever wishes may drive!’ and the bed walked off by itself,” Hermione said. “Tired, the boy lay down by the fire and fell asleep, and nothing else happened that night.”

“I’d think that was enough,” Harry said. “Even the furniture tried to kill him.”

“The next morning, the king and his knights arrived to find the boy still lying by the fire. The king thought he was dead, and was just saying what a pity it was that so handsome a lad had died, when the boy sat up and said, ‘It hasn’t come to that yet,’” Hermione said.

“He’s developing a sense of humor, I think,” Ron said. “Maybe being away from his father and brother is good for him.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “The king was delighted. The innkeeper, who had come to see how he had fared, asked him whether he had learned to shudder, and the boy sadly said that no, he had not. Then the boy was once again left in the castle for night.”

“Was he attacked by kitties again?” Ron asked.

“No. Just about midnight, there was a loud noise, and then half a man fell down the chimney,” Hermione said.

“Okay, I admit, that one would bother me,” Ron said.

“But it didn’t bother the boy, who called out, ‘Hey! This is too little! Where is the other half?’ Then the rest of the body fell down the chimney, and the two bits joined together to make a very ugly man.”

“I shouldn’t wonder he’s ugly,” Harry said. “Coming apart at your waist isn’t exactly a beauty regimen.”

“The boy actually seemed a little concerned about him and said he could warm himself by the fire, but instead the man took his seat on the woodcarver’s bench,” Hermione said. “That made the boy angry, and he threw him off the seat.”

“The kid’s a lot stronger than I thought,” Ron said, looking mildly impressed.

“Apparently the man was surprised as well, but then several other men dropped down the chimney,” Hermione said.

“That many against one hardly seems fair,” Harry said.

“No, but the odd thing is, the night doesn’t go badly at all. It turns out that the men have brought along ten bones and two skulls from dead men, and they want to go bowling,” Hermione said.

Ron glanced at Harry, who looked back at him.

“Okay, that’s just weird,” Ron said.

“It is, but when he saw the fun they were having, the boy asked to be able to play too, and they said yes, so long as he had money, which of course he still did from his father. However, the skulls, which they were using as balls, weren’t rolling very smoothly, so he offered to turn them on his lathe for them, and they became quite smooth and were much easier to bowl with,” Hermione said.

“This is what he ends up using the lathe for?” Harry said.

“Yes.”

“But he couldn’t possibly have known a bunch of weird men who split in half were going to show up with skull bowling balls in need of a good smoothing out,” Harry said.

“No, he couldn’t,” Hermione agreed.

“So…,” Harry looked at Ron, “it was only coincidence that he picked the exact tool he was going to need?”

“Apparently,” Hermione said with a shrug.

Harry glanced at Ron again and said, “Is this how you feel all the time? Because it’s really bothering me now.”

“Welcome to the club, mate,” Ron said. “So, what happened?”

“They played several games of ten pin bowling, and the boy did lose a bit of money, but nothing worse than that happened, and then the sun rose and that was that,” Hermione said.

“Okay, it’s rather gross, but that’s not that horrible,” Ron said. “It actually sounds like he made some new friends.”

“Yes, and the king and the innkeeper were glad to find him alive, but the boy was still upset that he had not yet learned to shudder, and only one more night remained,” Hermione said.

“Great, what’s he in for this time?” Ron asked.

“When the sun set, nothing much happened,” Hermione said. “Then, suddenly, six men came in carrying a coffin.”

“For him, or was someone already in it?” Ron asked.

“With someone in it,” Hermione said. “The boy said, ‘This must certainly be my little cousin, who died a few days ago.’”

“Oh,” Ron said. “That’s sad.”

“It seems so, but when he opens the lid, there is a dead man inside, and the boy feels his face and notices he’s cold, so he warms his own hands in front of the fire and puts them on the man’s face, but nothing happens,” Hermione said.

“I should hope not,” Harry said.

“Then he took him out of the coffin and set him on the bench beside him by the fire and rubbed his arms, trying to bring back the circulation, but still he didn’t move,” Hermione said.

“I can’t tell whether he’s having everyone on or if he really is this ridiculous,” Ron said. “There is no way for that to end well.”

“It doesn’t seem so, but then the boy thought that if two people lie in bed together, they keep one another warm, so he put the man in the bed from the night before and climbed in himself,” Hermione said.

“Uh… okay,” Ron said, looking green. “I think someone needs to intervene at this point.”

“The odd thing is, it worked, and the man sat up,” Hermione said.

“That’s not the only odd thing going on,” Harry said.

“The boy was delighted, saying, ‘See, little cousin? I got you warmed up in the end,’ but the man screamed at him, saying, ‘I am going to strangle you!’” Hermione said, trying to scream out the words, but it didn’t work very well since she started to cough.

“Need some water?” Ron asked.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Hermione said. “This is rather a long one is all. Anyway, the boy was furious at the man, so he picked him up and threw him back in his coffin, and the six men carried it away again.”

“They were just standing there through all this, doing nothing?” Harry asked.

“Apparently.”

“I hope the sort-of-dead bloke tipped them well,” Ron said. “They could have gone out and picked up another fare while all that was going on.”

Harry expertly hit Ron with a couch pillow, but Hermione continued gamely on.

“Just then, an old man, much taller and bigger than any of the other men, with a long white beard appeared in the room. He looked terrifying,” Hermione said.

“Sounds a little like dad’s Great Uncle Bascanio,” Ron said. “He didn’t come to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, so you wouldn’t have met him. Really tall fellow, long beard, and he always looks like he’s about to belt someone in the chops. I’m rather glad he didn’t show up. On the up side, he always smells like strawberry pie for some weird reason.”

“Yes, well, hopefully Great Uncle Bascanio doesn’t attend your family gatherings while screaming, ‘You wretch, you shall soon learn what it means to shudder, for you are about to die!’” Hermione said in her best villain voice, which wasn’t particularly villainous at all.

Ron appeared to think for a moment before saying, “If he has, I missed it. Wouldn’t be out of character for him, though.”

Harry snorted and took a bag of crisps from the table.

“You do have a rather unusual family, Ron,” Hermione said, eyeing him doubtfully.

“Not as bad as mine,” Harry said. “Trade you. Any day.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t want those three you have. The only way you’re getting in is if you marry Ginny,” Ron said, then seemed to realize what had just come out of his mouth and turned pink. “Or my Great Aunt Tessie. She’s available, you know.”

“That’s a tempting offer, but I think I’ll pass for now,” Harry said, though he could feel his face was burning as well.

“Well, matrimonial alliances and family swapping aside,” Hermione said, hiding a grin rather poorly, “the boy wasn’t very impressed with the old man and said, ‘I don’t think you can kill me. I’m much stronger than you,’ to which the old man replied with, “Ha! We’ll see about that! If you can prove yourself stronger than me, than I will let you go. If not, you die!’”

“That was stupid,” Ron said. “He was going to kill him anyway, and now the boy has an option to be free, but the old man doesn’t gain anything more from the challenge than he had before.”

“You’re right, of course,” Hermione said, “but some people just can’t back down from a challenge.”

“I suppose,” Ron said. “So what happened?”

“The strange old man led him down a dark passageway into the cellar, where there was a blacksmith’s forge with two anvils and a great ax,” Hermione said.

“There is no part of that sentence that doesn’t sound ominous,” Ron said.

“It does look bad, doesn’t it,” Hermione said, rather pleased that her story was going over well. “The old man picked up the ax, swung it over his head, and with one blow, drove the whole anvil straight into the ground.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Harry said. “I think the boy’s in trouble.”

“Not at all,” Hermione said. “The old man handed him the ax and then stood close by as the boy went to the second anvil and prepared to swing. However, rather than trying to pound the anvil into the ground, he caught the end of the man’s beard with the ax on his downswing and split the anvil in two, wedging his beard firmly into the crack.”

“Like the dwarf in the other Snow White story that didn’t really have Snow White in it,” Ron said in satisfaction.

“Yes, it does bear some similarities, now you mention it,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “The boy picked up a metal rod from the old blacksmith’s tools and began to beat the old man until at last he said he gave up and agreed to give the boy riches if he was set free.”

“I think I’d get that in writing first,” Ron said.

“Probably wise, but the boy just released him, and the old man kept his word, showing him to another part of the cellar where there were three chests filled with gold. The old man said, ‘That one is for the church, the second is for the king, and the third is yours.’ Then he disappeared at the stroke of midnight, leaving the boy alone in the dark to find his way back up the stairs. Tired, he climbed into bed and fell fast asleep,” Hermione said.

“Anything else going to bother him?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. A murderous coffee table? Maybe some pitch-black bunnies? A few ghouls looking for someone to repair their badminton rackets?” Ron suggested,

“No. The next morning, the king came to see him again, and he was thrilled to see the boy was alive. ‘Did you learn to shudder?’ he asked. ‘No,’ the boy replied. ‘My dead cousin stopped by, and then an old man tried to kill me then showed me some gold, but I have not learned to shudder. I fear I never shall.’”

“And I thought she needed to sort out her priorities,” Ron said to Harry, jerking his head towards Hermione.

“The king said that the curse was now lifted, and the boy could take the gold and marry his daughter. ‘That’s all very well,’ the boy said, ‘but I am unhappy that I shall never learn to shudder,’” Hermione said.

“If he does ever need a career, he could give lessons in being obsessed,” Ron said, shaking his head. “So does he marry the girl?”

“He does, and they’re quite happy together, and he does the sane thing for these stories and divides up the chests exactly as he was told to do, but however much he loved his new wife, he would never stop bemoaning that he couldn’t shudder,” Hermione said. “After a while, it began to drive her distraction.”

“I hear that,” Harry said.

“So she asked her maid what she should do,” Hermione said, “and the girl at once said, ‘I know what will do the job!’”

Harry and Ron both leaned forward in anticipation.

“This had better be good,” Ron said.

“The next morning, the princess got out of bed and let the maid in the room. While her husband was still asleep, the maid poured a great bucket of ice-cold water on him from the castle’s pond, filled with tiny little fish that flipped and flopped about on him, waking him up with a start,” Hermione said.

“Okay, didn’t see that one coming,” Ron said, raising his eyebrows. “Did it work?”

“Yes! The boy cried out, ‘Oh, what is making me shudder? Wait, wife! I can shudder! I have learnt how to shudder at last!’ And they lived happily ever after,” Hermione said.

“Daft,” Ron said, “but at least he got what he wanted in the end. Still, now I’m wondering if he ever went bowling again with the half-men from the castle.”

“They got on well enough,” Harry said. “Maybe they have a boys’ night out ever second Tuesday.”

“Perhaps they do,” Hermione said, stretching. “And I’m tired. Shall we turn in?”

“As long as the beds don’t start running about on us,” Ron said, then quietly added to Harry, “though we are most definitely doing that when we get back to Hogwarts.”

“Indubitably,” Harry muttered back, though a glance at Hermione showed she’d heard every word.

“Oh, fine,” Hermione said. “I think I know a charm that might help. When we get back, I’ll come along. If you’ll have me.”

“The more the merrier,” Ron said, tossing a cushion at her, which she deftly caught. “So, we’re leaving this place tomorrow. Where to next? Hermione, it’s your turn.”

She sighed and looked off into the middle distance, pursing her lips and half shutting her eyes.

“Perhaps it’s the story, but I’m wondering if there’s a castle in all this,” Hermione said.

“Sure, Hogwarts,” Ron said. “It’s even haunted, too. And filled with ghosts.”

Harry saw a strange emotion flit over Hermione’s face, but it was gone in a moment, and Ron, who’d had his back turned to put the plates in the sink, hadn’t seen it.

“No, I don’t think Hogwarts,” Hermione said slowly. “But Tommy did like to do things that are showy, and he might like something very grand for his Horcrux’s resting place.”

“He might, I suppose,” Harry said. “The rest of them were mostly in out of the way spots, but he could want one of them to be something more impressive.”

“Alright, it’s a crazy idea, but it’s a place known for keeping things safe, and it is rather impressive-looking,” Hermione said.

“What?”

“Well, as we’ve already done the Tower of London… Windsor Castle?” Hermione suggested almost timidly.

Ron looked at Harry and shrugged before saying, “We’ve tried dafter places. You game?”

“Oh, why not? Fine by me,” Harry said.

“Good, then we’ll leave tomorrow for Berkshire,” Hermione said.

“I won’t be sorry to go, either,” Ron said. “Malfoy Manor gives me the collywobbles. I’ll take the Burrow over it any day, even with the ghoul in the attic.”

“Me as well,” Harry said.

Not long after, each of them went off to their usual sleeping spots, the lights dimmed, and everything becamse still. Ron nodded off quickly, but Harry stayed awake, thinking about how strange his life had become. Only a few minutes after Ron’s quiet snores filled the tent, he heard Hermione gingerly get up from her niche, toe on her shoes, and go out the tent flap again. Harry thought for a moment, then joined her.

As soon as he was sure he was far enough away from the tent, Harry quietly said, “You think there’s one in Hogwarts.”

It wasn’t a question, and Hermione didn’t seem startled by his presence.

“I do,” she admitted, still looking at the dim, distant lights of the Malfoy estate. “I’ve suspected it since before we left, but somehow I think that one needs to be last.”

Harry stood beside her.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s only a feeling.”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, I don’t know why either, but I think you’re right.”

He sighed, feeling the chill wrapping around him.

“It’s good you know,” Hermione said. “That way, if anything happens to me, you can do what you need to. We have to have fail safes.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Harry said, wishing he could believe it.

“We don’t know that,” Hermione said. “We can’t take chances. Everything’s just too uncertain, and the whole world is falling to pieces. Sometimes I wish I’d never come to Hogwarts, just so I could stay a kid in my parents’ house, blissfully unaware of all this.”

Harry completely understood, even though the Dursleys were far from a wonderful option in comparison. But the wish not to have this burden? Just to be a teenager like anyone else his age? That he understood perfectly.

“I’m glad you did come to Hogwarts, though,” Harry said. “We’d be in a right mess without you.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said uncertainly. “Or maybe the pair of you would have found someone else to come along who would be better suited to all this.”

“Like who?” Harry said.

“One of the teachers?” Hermione suggested. “Hagrid or Lupin, or maybe McGonagall?”

“Hagrid would never fit in the tent, we’d have to chase Lupin down every full moon, and McGonagall? Can you imagine how long it would take for Ron to snap her sanity like a twig?” Harry said, starting to laugh. “No, there’s not another person at Hogwarts who could replace you. Besides, who’d tell us ridiculous stories?”

Hermione didn’t look at him, but a small smile quirked the corner of her mouth.

“I do have my uses,” she said, then let out a breath that turned to steam in the cold air.

“We’d better go in before we need to brew more Pepperup Potion,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded, but when she thought he wasn’t looking, he saw her throw a glance over her shoulder at Malfoy Manor one more time. Her expression was one of pity and regret, and something else he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

That night, as he drifted off to sleep, Harry was certain of only one thing: Draco Malfoy was the greatest fool he’d ever met in a thousand ways.