Fic: The Owl (MFTAM)
Oct. 9th, 2023 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchTo no one’s surprise, Rowena Ravenclaw’s mother’s home didn’t contain a Horcrux. Failure was starting to feel normal, and Harry hated it. He suspected Hermione was running out of places for them to check, and the connections to Hogwarts and its founders were getting thinner and thinner. He didn’t want to say anything about it to her, though. She looked pinched, tired, and worried, and Ron was no better. Harry had seen Ron trying to take Hermione’s hand a few times, but she always managed to just barely slip away without seeming rude. Harry knew what it was: Ron wanted reassurance, and Hermione had none to give him. As for Harry himself, he had a headache, and for once it didn’t seem to be connected to his scar. They had spent too long wandering. The food Dumbledore had managed to leave them had brightened their spirits and given them increased strength to face their task, but the prospect that they might lose it meant even that bit of hope was threatened.
Hermione had carefully added more food to the cupboards and refrigerator in the tent, slowly and very unobtrusively funneling it out of her bag. More importantly, she had taken to patrolling the outside area of the tent, claiming she kept hearing “an odd noise” in the woods where they were currently sheltering. She was so persuasive about it that Harry had actually believed the story at first, but the night before their plan to destroy the Horcrux was set to happen, he went outside to check on her and found her layering enchantments on a little knitted bag, charms to extend it and make it weightless.
“That ugly thing is in the tent, right?” Hermione asked bitterly.
“If you mean the Horcrux, yeah,” Harry said, sitting down on a rock next to her. “If you mean Ron, then also yeah, but that wouldn’t be a good sign of how well your relationship is going.”
Hermione snorted and looked up at him. In only a second or two, though, her shoulders sagged.
“Several of these spells take longer to cast than we can afford to wait,” she told him quietly. “The original bag is a lot stronger and more secure. Otherwise, I would just use the new one, fill it with some firewood or dried brush and newspaper, and throw the bloody thing in to turn. But I can’t possibly make it that powerful this fast.”
“I figured there had to be a reason,” Harry said.
“As it is, I’m going to have to work on this new one for weeks until I feel confident that it’s as safe as the old one,” Hermione said.
“Just do what you can, and if Ron or I can help, tell us what to do,” Harry said, gently patting her shoulder.
“I’ve already moved the money and quite a few of the medical supplies,” she said, “and there’s some clothes, notes on possible Horcrux locations along with map coordinates, spell ingredients, several containers of Polyjuice Potion, and a lot of odds and ends. Oh, and we’ve cleared out nearly all the food.”
“That’ll cheer Ron up,” Harry said, feeling relieved himself.
“There’s still some things I’ve had to leave behind, of course,” Hermione said, then drew in a shaky breath and added, “including about half the books.”
Harry flinched. The mere idea of Hermione Granger being compelled to burn books made him feel ill. He didn’t even want to think what it was doing to her.
“You really think this will work?” Harry asked, realizing that she almost certainly did if she was willing to part with even one book to make it happen.
“I hope so?” she said, sounding less certain than he expected. “I mean, it should. It’s just that everything else we’ve tried has been a failure, so I’m starting to second guess myself.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, trying to sound confident.
“Yes, well, that’s what I’m planning on,” she said, then stopped fussing with the bag in her lap and looked up at him, her demeanor changing to something so practical that he knew she was using it to cover her own fear. “Harry, even if it does work, if something goes wrong—”
“It won’t,” he interrupted, not wanting her to finish that thought.
“It could, though,” she said, not letting him break eye contact with her. “If I don’t come back, you need to watch out for Ron.”
“Hermione, I—”
“No, I mean it in more than one way. The Horcrux hits him harder than either of us. I don’t know why, but you know that it does. More than once I think he’s really been on the cusp of leaving,” Hermione said.
“He’d never do that,” Harry said, but he knew that he really wasn’t certain. He’d suspected it himself.
“If things do go wrong, I think you’re going to have to be the one managing most of this mess,” Hermione said. “I’ll show you where the supplies are in the new bag, and I’ve got a list of other possibilities for methods of Horcrux destruction. I jotted down all the contact information I memorized for different people who might be able to help, too. And… and there’s a will. It’s tucked inside Magical Injuries and Maladies in the first aid kit.”
Harry wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t get the words out.
“Get him to his family,” Hermione said, staring off into the darkness of the forest. “Not the Burrow. It’ll be watched. Shell Cottage, maybe, or Romania, but even if there’s a risk, I think it’s better for him to have a little taste of home if it doesn’t go the way we planned. And there’ll need to be at least one more person who knows what you’re up to. Only two people is too risky. I think McGonagall, or maybe Hannah Abbott.”
“Hannah Abbot?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “Why her? We barely know her.”
“That’s precisely why. I thought about Neville or Mr. Weasley, but that’s probably exactly who other people would expect us to tell. Hannah doesn’t have much of a connection to us, so she won’t draw suspicion from the Death Eaters,” Hermione said, “but we do know her well enough to trust her. Besides, Hufflepuffs are extremely loyal by nature.”
“None of this is going to be necessary, Hermione,” Harry said. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll see.”
“Promise me,” Hermione said firmly. “Promise me you’ll do what I’m asking you to do.”
Harry took a deep breath, then took one of her hands in both of his.
“I swear,” Harry said.
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Now, in the bag, you can see I’ve arranged the medical supplies here…”
She spent the next several minutes guiding him through the organization of the new bag. Harry had never really had a good look inside the old one, and he was stunned by just how much he could make out through the opening. He also noticed that there was an old ragdoll sitting on top of a pile of blankets, looking as though someone had held it very tightly quite recently. He said not one word about it.
When they re-entered the tent, they found Ron sprawled on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. In spite of his relaxed posture, he looked tense.
“You two find anything out there?” Ron asked, not moving.
“I think it was a false alarm,” Hermione said. “Either that or there was a deer wandering about.”
Ron hummed in agreement and slowly pulled himself into an upright position.
“Anyone hungry?” Ron asked.
“Not especially,” Hermione said, sitting in her usual chair. “What about you?”
“Not really,” Ron said, and at that moment Harry questioned his own sanity since that seemed impossible.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry said.
Ron was watching Hermione like his eyes were glued to her, and Harry realized with a jolt what he was doing. He was trying to memorize her. He was really afraid that Hermione wasn’t going to be able to come out of this in one piece, and he was looking at her like he wanted to remember every single thing about her. Harry’s heart was breaking for both of them.
“So,” Harry said, desperate to break the mood, “how about a story?”
He knew it was a ridiculous idea, combating this much tension with a fairy tale, but it had worked before. Hermione turned to look at him and opened her mouth, but no sound came out for a second when she locked eyes with Ron.
“Alright then,” she said, sitting cross-legged with her hands in her lap. Harry could see the stress in them, though. “What sort of story do you want?”
“You pick,” Ron said.
Hermione nodded, then pursed her lips, thinking.
“Okay, this is only a short little story from the Brothers Grimm,” she said. “It’s not one of their more popular ones, but I’ve always rather liked it. It’s called ‘The Owl.’”
“Well, we know enough of those,” Ron said, smiling a little. “Go on then.”
“Once upon a time,” Hermione said.
Ron said nothing, just listening. Hermione looked momentarily shocked, but moved on. Harry’s stomach dropped into his shoes.
“There was a great horned owl who had stayed out too long at night. She took refuge during the day in a large barn, not wanting to be attacked by all of the day birds if she tried to go home,” Hermione said.
“Really?” Ron asked. “That can happen?”
“Absolutely. It’s called mobbing, and smaller birds will gang up on an owl in order to drive it away so they and their young don’t get eaten. I’ve never seen it happen myself with an owl, but I’ve definitely seen little birds go after larger predator birds, especially if they come too near a nest,” Hermione said. “In any case, just after sunup, a servant came into the barn to get some hay for the animals. When he saw the owl, he didn’t know what it was. He saw only a dark shape sitting up in the corner near the roof, its eyes glowing.”
“That’d be unsettling,” Ron said.
“So what did he do?” Harry asked.
“Screamed and ran away,” Hermione said with a shrug that seemed almost normal.
“Like a little… frightened person,” Ron said, stopping himself.
Hermione shot him a look that said she knew exactly what he had intended to say, but she seemed more tolerant than anything else, which Harry found a little unnerving.
“Yes, well, the man ran into the home of the man who owned the barn, telling him about the monster that had taken up residence there, but the man only rolled his eyes and laughed, saying he knew the servant to be a coward,” Hermione said.
“He’s rude, but to be fair he does seem to be right,” Ron said.
“One might think so, but to show up the servant, he went into the barn himself and ran out moments later, screaming just as loud if not louder,” Hermione said.
“Have these people never seen an owl before?” Harry said, snickering in spite of himself.
“During the daytime, probably not,” Hermione said. “Centuries ago, it was rare to go out at night unless things were really dire since the lack of light made travelling dangerous, so most likely they heard owls, but they didn’t see them much.”
“And to be fair, they can be a little intimidating,” Ron admitted. “I mean, Pig isn’t going to terrify anybody, but even old Hermes could get sort of unnerving in the right lighting. I can see how a Muggle would be frightened of them. I take it back. It’s not completely unreasonable.”
Hermione smiled at him warmly for being so considerate towards Muggles, then continued on.
“The man called a meeting of the whole town and explained that a horrible monster was in his barn. The people, worried that it would move from his place and on to their own, decided to band together to drive it out while they still could,” Hermione said.
“Decent plan, even though it’s based on a wrong idea,” Ron said.
“Yes, when the data is incomplete or corrupted, any hypothesis about it is likely to be flawed,” Hermione agreed. “But you’re right, with the limited information they have, it’s probably their best option.”
“So what did they do?” Harry asked.
“Oh, they all went to the barn, carrying torches and pitchforks and things, and when they got inside, they saw the owl, screamed in unison, and ran back out again,” Hermione said.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron said. “Now it really is getting ridiculous. Even if it’s a small town, there’s got to be dozens of people against one bird!”
“I think that’s meant to be the point,” Harry said. “They’re acting like idiots.”
“Yes, well, all the people surrounded the barn, still heavily armed with all their farming implements and whatnot, and sent for the most courageous man in the town,” Hermione said.
“Seems like that’s a fairly low bar,” Ron said, grimacing.
“The man scoffed that all the men of the town must have turned into women to be so frightened of one animal, but he agreed to come and get rid of it,” Hermione said.
Ron’s face twisted in disgust, and he spat out only one word: “Patriarchy.”
“Quite so. He was given armor, a sword, and a spear, and then the barn doors were opened once again as the townspeople cheered him on,” Hermione said. “That frightened the owl, who had flown up into the rafters and was sitting on a crossbar, and she fluttered her wings and gave a loud ‘Tu-whit tu-whoo!’ in fear.”
“Poor bird,” Ron said. “It’s not her fault that these idiots don’t know an owl from a Manticore or something. Course she’s frightened.”
“And if there’s anything we’ve learned from Hagrid,” Harry said, “it’s that a frightened animal is likely to be dangerous.”
“Well, that’s one thing we learned from him,” Ron agreed. “Another is Blast-Ended Skrewts have no known useful purpose on this plain of existence or any other. Oh, and Nifflers are kind of adorable.”
“And Flobberworms are so boring that they make you long for dragons,” Hermione said, sighing. “In any case, the crowd urged the man to go in to battle the fearsome creature, but he was very reluctant to do so.”
“Great, so leave the poor thing alone and she’ll fly home come nightfall,” Ron said. “They’re making a huge to-do out of this when it’s really nothing at all.”
“But people often do just that,” Hermione said.
“I suppose so,” Ron admitted. “It’s like when Muggle first years see the house ghosts for the first time. It’s overwhelming and wild to them, but within a couple months if they pass Nick on the stairs, they barely nod a greeting or just ask him for directions to the Owlery.”
“Pretty much the same idea,” Hermione said.
“I wonder what Nick’s up to back at Hogwarts,” Harry said, his mind drifting to happier times.
“He shows up on the map, doesn’t he?” Ron asked.
“Yeah, but seeing where he is doesn’t really tell me what he’s doing,” Harry said. “He seems like he’s spending a lot of time in the trophy room, though.”
“Why? There’s not much that goes on in there,” Ron said.
“Perhaps that’s why,” Hermione said, looking concerned. “I suppose it would be awful to have to watch what’s going on there and not be able to do anything about it. Maybe he goes there to get away from it.”
“Maybe,” Ron said, his shoulders slumping. “I hope Ginny’s okay.”
Harry silently agreed with him but decided it might be better not to tell Ron that he checked the map for Ginny’s location at least three times a day.
“Even after the owl’s fearsome ‘tu-whit tu-whoo,’ the man called for a ladder and rested it against the crossbar,” Hermione said.
“Okay, I’ll give him a tiny bit of credit for that,” Ron said approvingly. “At least he’s going to make some kind of an effort.”
“Yes, and he even began to climb the ladder,” Hermione said.
“Wonders never cease,” Harry said, and Ron snorted.
“The villagers thought the same, for they cried out encouragement and commended him to St. George, who slew the dragon,” Hermione said.
“Wait, St. Who who slew the what?” Ron asked.
“Oh, it’s an old folktale, though back then quite a few people probably really believed it. He was most likely a real person, an early Christian martyr under Diocletian, but somehow the story of him slaying a dragon got tacked on about eight hundred or so years later. It’s the usual story, an obvious descendant of the tale of Perseus and Andromeda: a terrible dragon demands one of the town’s maidens as a sacrifice, and the mayor’s daughter is chosen. At the last moment, up rides St. George and slays the dragon, saves the girl, and when he's offered gold as a reward, he gives it to the poor instead,” Hermione said. “He’s patron of England, for some odd reason, though he never supposedly set foot here.”
Ron squinted, looking up at the tent’s ceiling.
“What?” Harry asked.
“I’m just trying to picture my brother George doing any of that,” Ron said. “He’d probably try to ride the dragon instead, or maybe trick it into leaving the girl alone, but he wouldn’t kill it. Hagrid would be furious about that.”
Meanwhile, Hermione had gotten an odd expression on her face.
“Trying to figure out which of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes he’d use on the dragon?” Ron asked.
“No, though personally I’d use a combination of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and an Ever-Bashing Boomerang, then untie the girl while the dragon was distracted,” Hermione said. “I was just noticing that the story has a few similarities to Harry’s task in the Triwizard Tournament. I mean, he didn’t slay the dragon, of course. You’re right, Ron, Hagrid would be livid about that, and frankly I wouldn’t blame him. I wonder if the first task was chosen to be a symbolic representation of the host country’s patron saint in a modified pantomime of the story under slightly less lethal circumstances.”
“Slightly less lethal?” Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It didn’t feel particularly less lethal at the time.”
“I strongly doubt Dumbledore or any of the other teachers would have really let any true harm come to the champions,” Hermione said. “There was a risk, of course, but the tasks were probably pretty closely monitored.”
“Not enough for Cedric,” Harry said, feeling the odd twisting in the pit of his stomach that happened whenever he thought of how Cedric was killed just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“No,” Hermione said, resting her hand consolingly on top of Harry’s for a moment, “not enough for poor Cedric.”
“Do you think they’ll ever be daft enough to hold another Triwizard Tournament again?” Ron asked.
“I hope not,” Hermione said, shuddering. “I was a nervous wreck during that whole thing. I can’t imagine how bad it was for the champions.”
“Bad,” Harry agreed. “Still, I can see how it would be fun if there wasn’t a crazed spy intent on murder added into the mix. So, yeah, they probably will.”
“Probably,” Hermione admitted, “even though it’s a barking mad idea.”
“We nearly forgot about the bloke going up the ladder,” Ron said. “So how did that go?”
“Not well,” Hermione said. “The owl really began to raise a fuss, shrieking and flapping her wings and snapping with her beak, and the townspeople kept cheering, urging him to go higher up the ladder. He called back, ‘If you could see what I see, you would not be telling me to go up there!’ In spite of that, he did put his foot up on the next rung of the ladder—”
“I’m actually impressed,” Ron said approvingly.
“—and then ran directly back down the ladder and out of the barn,” Hermione finished.
“Oh. I’m less impressed,” Ron said. “So what happened?”
“The man said that the beast or demon or whatever it was couldn’t possibly be confronted successfully in combat,” Hermione said.
“So they left the bird alone and she flew home at sunset,” Ron said, grinning.
“Well, no,” Hermione said, and Harry saw an expression on her face that made him think she was suddenly regretting picking this story. “The mayor of the town called the town counsel together, and they decided the best thing to do was to buy the man’s barn and pay him a fair amount for everything that was in it: wheat, hay, straw, whatever he had.”
“So far so good,” Ron said.
“And then they burned the barn down with the owl inside it,” Hermione said quickly.
“Wait, what?” Ron said. “I didn’t hear that right. They killed the owl because they were frightened for no good reason?”
“They thought it was a good reason, though,” Hermione said.
“But it wasn’t!” Ron said indignantly. “These people make Trelawney look rational!”
“Calm down, Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s only a story. No one really got hurt.”
“Maybe not just exactly like this, but it’s the principle of the thing,” Ron said, still seething. “People get frightened by something or somebody that they don’t understand, and rather than finding out what’s really happening and acting with a bit of common sense, they just destroy whatever it is just because it’s different.”
Hermione looked at him, and Harry thought she seemed almost relieved, “That’s certainly true enough. The story can certainly have that as a possible moral.”
Ron looked somewhat mollified, but Harry started thinking, and once he pieced something together, he physically flinched. The story had another parallel. He pressed his lips together tightly, deciding not to say anything and hoping Ron wouldn’t work it out.
The three of them stared at one another for a few moments, realizing they should all go to bed before they started out on the next day’s mission. With a jolt, Harry realized if things went right, they wouldn’t have the Horcrux spreading its sickly light inside the tent tomorrow night, and if things went badly wrong, Hermione would be gone as well. That was what he’d taken from the story and what he’d hoped Ron hadn’t: the image of the innocent owl being burned to death in a doomed effort to rid the town of evil. Even if the Horcrux were destroyed tomorrow, more of them were out there. The diary and the ring were gone, of course, and one bit of soul was still lodged in Voldemort somewhere, and if Dumbledore was right, another was lurking inside Nagini. That left two more. It already felt like they had been on this journey for years, and even if this time ended in victory instead of disaster, they weren’t done, just another step along the path. Who knew where they would even find the next one?
Harry’s scar twinged.
“I suppose we should get some sleep,” Hermione said, keeping her voice remarkably steady.
“Yeah,” Ron said, sounding like it was an impossibility, “sleep.”
“Ehm,” she said, looking down, “would either of you mind if I slept out here tonight instead of behind the curtain? I’d just rather—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry said as Ron nodded.
“I’ll take the floor,” Hermione said.
“No, that’s my spot,” Ron said, grabbing one pillow for himself. “You take the couch.”
Harry grabbed his own usual place, but as the lights dimmed, he was vividly reminded of the time at Grimmauld Place when he had realized Ron and Hermione had been holding hands as they fell asleep and had let go at some point in the night. When Harry woke the next morning, he glanced over at the couch and saw that this time, their fingers had remained joined. He hoped it was a good omen.
Hermione had carefully added more food to the cupboards and refrigerator in the tent, slowly and very unobtrusively funneling it out of her bag. More importantly, she had taken to patrolling the outside area of the tent, claiming she kept hearing “an odd noise” in the woods where they were currently sheltering. She was so persuasive about it that Harry had actually believed the story at first, but the night before their plan to destroy the Horcrux was set to happen, he went outside to check on her and found her layering enchantments on a little knitted bag, charms to extend it and make it weightless.
“That ugly thing is in the tent, right?” Hermione asked bitterly.
“If you mean the Horcrux, yeah,” Harry said, sitting down on a rock next to her. “If you mean Ron, then also yeah, but that wouldn’t be a good sign of how well your relationship is going.”
Hermione snorted and looked up at him. In only a second or two, though, her shoulders sagged.
“Several of these spells take longer to cast than we can afford to wait,” she told him quietly. “The original bag is a lot stronger and more secure. Otherwise, I would just use the new one, fill it with some firewood or dried brush and newspaper, and throw the bloody thing in to turn. But I can’t possibly make it that powerful this fast.”
“I figured there had to be a reason,” Harry said.
“As it is, I’m going to have to work on this new one for weeks until I feel confident that it’s as safe as the old one,” Hermione said.
“Just do what you can, and if Ron or I can help, tell us what to do,” Harry said, gently patting her shoulder.
“I’ve already moved the money and quite a few of the medical supplies,” she said, “and there’s some clothes, notes on possible Horcrux locations along with map coordinates, spell ingredients, several containers of Polyjuice Potion, and a lot of odds and ends. Oh, and we’ve cleared out nearly all the food.”
“That’ll cheer Ron up,” Harry said, feeling relieved himself.
“There’s still some things I’ve had to leave behind, of course,” Hermione said, then drew in a shaky breath and added, “including about half the books.”
Harry flinched. The mere idea of Hermione Granger being compelled to burn books made him feel ill. He didn’t even want to think what it was doing to her.
“You really think this will work?” Harry asked, realizing that she almost certainly did if she was willing to part with even one book to make it happen.
“I hope so?” she said, sounding less certain than he expected. “I mean, it should. It’s just that everything else we’ve tried has been a failure, so I’m starting to second guess myself.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, trying to sound confident.
“Yes, well, that’s what I’m planning on,” she said, then stopped fussing with the bag in her lap and looked up at him, her demeanor changing to something so practical that he knew she was using it to cover her own fear. “Harry, even if it does work, if something goes wrong—”
“It won’t,” he interrupted, not wanting her to finish that thought.
“It could, though,” she said, not letting him break eye contact with her. “If I don’t come back, you need to watch out for Ron.”
“Hermione, I—”
“No, I mean it in more than one way. The Horcrux hits him harder than either of us. I don’t know why, but you know that it does. More than once I think he’s really been on the cusp of leaving,” Hermione said.
“He’d never do that,” Harry said, but he knew that he really wasn’t certain. He’d suspected it himself.
“If things do go wrong, I think you’re going to have to be the one managing most of this mess,” Hermione said. “I’ll show you where the supplies are in the new bag, and I’ve got a list of other possibilities for methods of Horcrux destruction. I jotted down all the contact information I memorized for different people who might be able to help, too. And… and there’s a will. It’s tucked inside Magical Injuries and Maladies in the first aid kit.”
Harry wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t get the words out.
“Get him to his family,” Hermione said, staring off into the darkness of the forest. “Not the Burrow. It’ll be watched. Shell Cottage, maybe, or Romania, but even if there’s a risk, I think it’s better for him to have a little taste of home if it doesn’t go the way we planned. And there’ll need to be at least one more person who knows what you’re up to. Only two people is too risky. I think McGonagall, or maybe Hannah Abbott.”
“Hannah Abbot?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “Why her? We barely know her.”
“That’s precisely why. I thought about Neville or Mr. Weasley, but that’s probably exactly who other people would expect us to tell. Hannah doesn’t have much of a connection to us, so she won’t draw suspicion from the Death Eaters,” Hermione said, “but we do know her well enough to trust her. Besides, Hufflepuffs are extremely loyal by nature.”
“None of this is going to be necessary, Hermione,” Harry said. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll see.”
“Promise me,” Hermione said firmly. “Promise me you’ll do what I’m asking you to do.”
Harry took a deep breath, then took one of her hands in both of his.
“I swear,” Harry said.
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Now, in the bag, you can see I’ve arranged the medical supplies here…”
She spent the next several minutes guiding him through the organization of the new bag. Harry had never really had a good look inside the old one, and he was stunned by just how much he could make out through the opening. He also noticed that there was an old ragdoll sitting on top of a pile of blankets, looking as though someone had held it very tightly quite recently. He said not one word about it.
When they re-entered the tent, they found Ron sprawled on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. In spite of his relaxed posture, he looked tense.
“You two find anything out there?” Ron asked, not moving.
“I think it was a false alarm,” Hermione said. “Either that or there was a deer wandering about.”
Ron hummed in agreement and slowly pulled himself into an upright position.
“Anyone hungry?” Ron asked.
“Not especially,” Hermione said, sitting in her usual chair. “What about you?”
“Not really,” Ron said, and at that moment Harry questioned his own sanity since that seemed impossible.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry said.
Ron was watching Hermione like his eyes were glued to her, and Harry realized with a jolt what he was doing. He was trying to memorize her. He was really afraid that Hermione wasn’t going to be able to come out of this in one piece, and he was looking at her like he wanted to remember every single thing about her. Harry’s heart was breaking for both of them.
“So,” Harry said, desperate to break the mood, “how about a story?”
He knew it was a ridiculous idea, combating this much tension with a fairy tale, but it had worked before. Hermione turned to look at him and opened her mouth, but no sound came out for a second when she locked eyes with Ron.
“Alright then,” she said, sitting cross-legged with her hands in her lap. Harry could see the stress in them, though. “What sort of story do you want?”
“You pick,” Ron said.
Hermione nodded, then pursed her lips, thinking.
“Okay, this is only a short little story from the Brothers Grimm,” she said. “It’s not one of their more popular ones, but I’ve always rather liked it. It’s called ‘The Owl.’”
“Well, we know enough of those,” Ron said, smiling a little. “Go on then.”
“Once upon a time,” Hermione said.
Ron said nothing, just listening. Hermione looked momentarily shocked, but moved on. Harry’s stomach dropped into his shoes.
“There was a great horned owl who had stayed out too long at night. She took refuge during the day in a large barn, not wanting to be attacked by all of the day birds if she tried to go home,” Hermione said.
“Really?” Ron asked. “That can happen?”
“Absolutely. It’s called mobbing, and smaller birds will gang up on an owl in order to drive it away so they and their young don’t get eaten. I’ve never seen it happen myself with an owl, but I’ve definitely seen little birds go after larger predator birds, especially if they come too near a nest,” Hermione said. “In any case, just after sunup, a servant came into the barn to get some hay for the animals. When he saw the owl, he didn’t know what it was. He saw only a dark shape sitting up in the corner near the roof, its eyes glowing.”
“That’d be unsettling,” Ron said.
“So what did he do?” Harry asked.
“Screamed and ran away,” Hermione said with a shrug that seemed almost normal.
“Like a little… frightened person,” Ron said, stopping himself.
Hermione shot him a look that said she knew exactly what he had intended to say, but she seemed more tolerant than anything else, which Harry found a little unnerving.
“Yes, well, the man ran into the home of the man who owned the barn, telling him about the monster that had taken up residence there, but the man only rolled his eyes and laughed, saying he knew the servant to be a coward,” Hermione said.
“He’s rude, but to be fair he does seem to be right,” Ron said.
“One might think so, but to show up the servant, he went into the barn himself and ran out moments later, screaming just as loud if not louder,” Hermione said.
“Have these people never seen an owl before?” Harry said, snickering in spite of himself.
“During the daytime, probably not,” Hermione said. “Centuries ago, it was rare to go out at night unless things were really dire since the lack of light made travelling dangerous, so most likely they heard owls, but they didn’t see them much.”
“And to be fair, they can be a little intimidating,” Ron admitted. “I mean, Pig isn’t going to terrify anybody, but even old Hermes could get sort of unnerving in the right lighting. I can see how a Muggle would be frightened of them. I take it back. It’s not completely unreasonable.”
Hermione smiled at him warmly for being so considerate towards Muggles, then continued on.
“The man called a meeting of the whole town and explained that a horrible monster was in his barn. The people, worried that it would move from his place and on to their own, decided to band together to drive it out while they still could,” Hermione said.
“Decent plan, even though it’s based on a wrong idea,” Ron said.
“Yes, when the data is incomplete or corrupted, any hypothesis about it is likely to be flawed,” Hermione agreed. “But you’re right, with the limited information they have, it’s probably their best option.”
“So what did they do?” Harry asked.
“Oh, they all went to the barn, carrying torches and pitchforks and things, and when they got inside, they saw the owl, screamed in unison, and ran back out again,” Hermione said.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron said. “Now it really is getting ridiculous. Even if it’s a small town, there’s got to be dozens of people against one bird!”
“I think that’s meant to be the point,” Harry said. “They’re acting like idiots.”
“Yes, well, all the people surrounded the barn, still heavily armed with all their farming implements and whatnot, and sent for the most courageous man in the town,” Hermione said.
“Seems like that’s a fairly low bar,” Ron said, grimacing.
“The man scoffed that all the men of the town must have turned into women to be so frightened of one animal, but he agreed to come and get rid of it,” Hermione said.
Ron’s face twisted in disgust, and he spat out only one word: “Patriarchy.”
“Quite so. He was given armor, a sword, and a spear, and then the barn doors were opened once again as the townspeople cheered him on,” Hermione said. “That frightened the owl, who had flown up into the rafters and was sitting on a crossbar, and she fluttered her wings and gave a loud ‘Tu-whit tu-whoo!’ in fear.”
“Poor bird,” Ron said. “It’s not her fault that these idiots don’t know an owl from a Manticore or something. Course she’s frightened.”
“And if there’s anything we’ve learned from Hagrid,” Harry said, “it’s that a frightened animal is likely to be dangerous.”
“Well, that’s one thing we learned from him,” Ron agreed. “Another is Blast-Ended Skrewts have no known useful purpose on this plain of existence or any other. Oh, and Nifflers are kind of adorable.”
“And Flobberworms are so boring that they make you long for dragons,” Hermione said, sighing. “In any case, the crowd urged the man to go in to battle the fearsome creature, but he was very reluctant to do so.”
“Great, so leave the poor thing alone and she’ll fly home come nightfall,” Ron said. “They’re making a huge to-do out of this when it’s really nothing at all.”
“But people often do just that,” Hermione said.
“I suppose so,” Ron admitted. “It’s like when Muggle first years see the house ghosts for the first time. It’s overwhelming and wild to them, but within a couple months if they pass Nick on the stairs, they barely nod a greeting or just ask him for directions to the Owlery.”
“Pretty much the same idea,” Hermione said.
“I wonder what Nick’s up to back at Hogwarts,” Harry said, his mind drifting to happier times.
“He shows up on the map, doesn’t he?” Ron asked.
“Yeah, but seeing where he is doesn’t really tell me what he’s doing,” Harry said. “He seems like he’s spending a lot of time in the trophy room, though.”
“Why? There’s not much that goes on in there,” Ron said.
“Perhaps that’s why,” Hermione said, looking concerned. “I suppose it would be awful to have to watch what’s going on there and not be able to do anything about it. Maybe he goes there to get away from it.”
“Maybe,” Ron said, his shoulders slumping. “I hope Ginny’s okay.”
Harry silently agreed with him but decided it might be better not to tell Ron that he checked the map for Ginny’s location at least three times a day.
“Even after the owl’s fearsome ‘tu-whit tu-whoo,’ the man called for a ladder and rested it against the crossbar,” Hermione said.
“Okay, I’ll give him a tiny bit of credit for that,” Ron said approvingly. “At least he’s going to make some kind of an effort.”
“Yes, and he even began to climb the ladder,” Hermione said.
“Wonders never cease,” Harry said, and Ron snorted.
“The villagers thought the same, for they cried out encouragement and commended him to St. George, who slew the dragon,” Hermione said.
“Wait, St. Who who slew the what?” Ron asked.
“Oh, it’s an old folktale, though back then quite a few people probably really believed it. He was most likely a real person, an early Christian martyr under Diocletian, but somehow the story of him slaying a dragon got tacked on about eight hundred or so years later. It’s the usual story, an obvious descendant of the tale of Perseus and Andromeda: a terrible dragon demands one of the town’s maidens as a sacrifice, and the mayor’s daughter is chosen. At the last moment, up rides St. George and slays the dragon, saves the girl, and when he's offered gold as a reward, he gives it to the poor instead,” Hermione said. “He’s patron of England, for some odd reason, though he never supposedly set foot here.”
Ron squinted, looking up at the tent’s ceiling.
“What?” Harry asked.
“I’m just trying to picture my brother George doing any of that,” Ron said. “He’d probably try to ride the dragon instead, or maybe trick it into leaving the girl alone, but he wouldn’t kill it. Hagrid would be furious about that.”
Meanwhile, Hermione had gotten an odd expression on her face.
“Trying to figure out which of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes he’d use on the dragon?” Ron asked.
“No, though personally I’d use a combination of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and an Ever-Bashing Boomerang, then untie the girl while the dragon was distracted,” Hermione said. “I was just noticing that the story has a few similarities to Harry’s task in the Triwizard Tournament. I mean, he didn’t slay the dragon, of course. You’re right, Ron, Hagrid would be livid about that, and frankly I wouldn’t blame him. I wonder if the first task was chosen to be a symbolic representation of the host country’s patron saint in a modified pantomime of the story under slightly less lethal circumstances.”
“Slightly less lethal?” Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It didn’t feel particularly less lethal at the time.”
“I strongly doubt Dumbledore or any of the other teachers would have really let any true harm come to the champions,” Hermione said. “There was a risk, of course, but the tasks were probably pretty closely monitored.”
“Not enough for Cedric,” Harry said, feeling the odd twisting in the pit of his stomach that happened whenever he thought of how Cedric was killed just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“No,” Hermione said, resting her hand consolingly on top of Harry’s for a moment, “not enough for poor Cedric.”
“Do you think they’ll ever be daft enough to hold another Triwizard Tournament again?” Ron asked.
“I hope not,” Hermione said, shuddering. “I was a nervous wreck during that whole thing. I can’t imagine how bad it was for the champions.”
“Bad,” Harry agreed. “Still, I can see how it would be fun if there wasn’t a crazed spy intent on murder added into the mix. So, yeah, they probably will.”
“Probably,” Hermione admitted, “even though it’s a barking mad idea.”
“We nearly forgot about the bloke going up the ladder,” Ron said. “So how did that go?”
“Not well,” Hermione said. “The owl really began to raise a fuss, shrieking and flapping her wings and snapping with her beak, and the townspeople kept cheering, urging him to go higher up the ladder. He called back, ‘If you could see what I see, you would not be telling me to go up there!’ In spite of that, he did put his foot up on the next rung of the ladder—”
“I’m actually impressed,” Ron said approvingly.
“—and then ran directly back down the ladder and out of the barn,” Hermione finished.
“Oh. I’m less impressed,” Ron said. “So what happened?”
“The man said that the beast or demon or whatever it was couldn’t possibly be confronted successfully in combat,” Hermione said.
“So they left the bird alone and she flew home at sunset,” Ron said, grinning.
“Well, no,” Hermione said, and Harry saw an expression on her face that made him think she was suddenly regretting picking this story. “The mayor of the town called the town counsel together, and they decided the best thing to do was to buy the man’s barn and pay him a fair amount for everything that was in it: wheat, hay, straw, whatever he had.”
“So far so good,” Ron said.
“And then they burned the barn down with the owl inside it,” Hermione said quickly.
“Wait, what?” Ron said. “I didn’t hear that right. They killed the owl because they were frightened for no good reason?”
“They thought it was a good reason, though,” Hermione said.
“But it wasn’t!” Ron said indignantly. “These people make Trelawney look rational!”
“Calm down, Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s only a story. No one really got hurt.”
“Maybe not just exactly like this, but it’s the principle of the thing,” Ron said, still seething. “People get frightened by something or somebody that they don’t understand, and rather than finding out what’s really happening and acting with a bit of common sense, they just destroy whatever it is just because it’s different.”
Hermione looked at him, and Harry thought she seemed almost relieved, “That’s certainly true enough. The story can certainly have that as a possible moral.”
Ron looked somewhat mollified, but Harry started thinking, and once he pieced something together, he physically flinched. The story had another parallel. He pressed his lips together tightly, deciding not to say anything and hoping Ron wouldn’t work it out.
The three of them stared at one another for a few moments, realizing they should all go to bed before they started out on the next day’s mission. With a jolt, Harry realized if things went right, they wouldn’t have the Horcrux spreading its sickly light inside the tent tomorrow night, and if things went badly wrong, Hermione would be gone as well. That was what he’d taken from the story and what he’d hoped Ron hadn’t: the image of the innocent owl being burned to death in a doomed effort to rid the town of evil. Even if the Horcrux were destroyed tomorrow, more of them were out there. The diary and the ring were gone, of course, and one bit of soul was still lodged in Voldemort somewhere, and if Dumbledore was right, another was lurking inside Nagini. That left two more. It already felt like they had been on this journey for years, and even if this time ended in victory instead of disaster, they weren’t done, just another step along the path. Who knew where they would even find the next one?
Harry’s scar twinged.
“I suppose we should get some sleep,” Hermione said, keeping her voice remarkably steady.
“Yeah,” Ron said, sounding like it was an impossibility, “sleep.”
“Ehm,” she said, looking down, “would either of you mind if I slept out here tonight instead of behind the curtain? I’d just rather—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry said as Ron nodded.
“I’ll take the floor,” Hermione said.
“No, that’s my spot,” Ron said, grabbing one pillow for himself. “You take the couch.”
Harry grabbed his own usual place, but as the lights dimmed, he was vividly reminded of the time at Grimmauld Place when he had realized Ron and Hermione had been holding hands as they fell asleep and had let go at some point in the night. When Harry woke the next morning, he glanced over at the couch and saw that this time, their fingers had remained joined. He hoped it was a good omen.
