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bookishwenchThe 40th installment in Muggle Fairy Tales Are Mad.
“Well, at least the food is good?” Ron ventured apologetically as they entered the tent, which was currently set up in a back alley of Rome, right between a bakery and a butcher.
“I can’t argue with that,” Hermione said, “but it would be nice if we could do more than smell it.”
Harry silently agreed. They’d cadged a few bits out of bins, as usual, but the scent of the fresh bread and the piles of good meat on either side of them was slowly driving him mad.
“I don’t think You-Know-Who was ever here,” Ron said.
“He might have been,” Hermione said consolingly. “They do say all roads lead to Rome, don’t they?”
“That’d be downright confusing,” Ron said, flopping into a chair. “Also, really inconvenient if you’re just trying to go to the corner shop for some mustard.”
Their search of the catacombs had proved fruitless, even in the wizarding section that was unknown to Muggles. While Hermione had been fascinated by the wealth of history they had encountered, there was no known connection to Voldemort, or even to any of the Hogwarts’ founders. The winding tunnels and tiny chambers arranged in a bewildering collection under the ancient city would certainly have been a perfect place to hide a precious treasure, and Harry suspected that any number of other wizarding relics probably were hidden away down there in undisturbed compartments, but one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes didn’t seem to be among them.
The three of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the noises of the city as night began to fall: the shutters of shops closing, people walking home along the stone streets, the voices of children calling out happily to one another in Italian as they played. Harry couldn’t help thinking it all sounded much nicer than anything they’d seen back home for a long while.
“You might have been wrong about the Horcrux, Ron,” Harry said, “but if we’re going to show up in the wrong spot, at least this is a pleasant one.”
“Much nicer than Mary Bentley’s childhood boarding school,” Ron said, nodding in agreement.
Hermione, however, looked worried. Granted, that was beginning to be her normal expression, but Harry knew something was on her mind.
“Yes, it is quite nice here,” she said, “and warm too, which is lovely almost beyond words, but we can’t make a habit of this.”
“Why not?” Ron said, raising his head from where he’d been resting it on the back of the chair. “It’s miles better than Britain just now.”
“Yes, but we’re not supposed to running away from home. We’re fighting to make home safe again,” Hermione said quietly. “This is a really tempting place just to sit and wait things out. Too tempting, actually.”
Harry knew what she meant. He was nowhere near as enthralled with history as Hermione was, but even he had a strong urge to wander the streets and soak in the feel of Rome in all its glory. It didn’t hurt that it was a good deal warmer than Britain, and his bones felt like they were starting to thaw from a chill he had nearly forgotten was always present there.
“No Dementors,” Ron said suddenly. “That’s what it is. They aren’t as many here as there are back home.”
“I think you’re right,” Harry said slowly. “We’ve gotten so used to them, we don’t even realize it anymore when they’re around.”
“You do have a point,” Hermione said. “Dementors can show up anywhere, even here, but they’ve been breeding like mad in Britain for the last couple years. The effect of that much horrible, hungry power everywhere, what with the nearly constant fog, probably has created a cumulative negative impact on just about everyone.”
“And now that we’re here, it’s going away,” Harry said, looking sideways at Ron, who seemed more like his old self than Harry could remember in a very long time.
Rome was doing them all good, but Hermione was right. There was a danger in becoming too comfortable. Still, perhaps one more day wouldn’t be so bad? An idea occurred to Harry, and while it was outrageously manipulative of Hermione, he thought that it might just help them recover a bit more before they had to return to battle.
“Hermione,” Harry said, “have you given a thought to the Vatican library?”
Hermione’s eyes seemed to increase three times from their normal size.
“What?” she squeaked out.
“It’s supposed to be a very good one, isn’t it?” Harry said. “Could there be a clue or something in one of the books there? We could probably sneak in using the cloak.”
The look on Hermione’s face was one Harry hadn’t seen since she’d been gazing at Lockhart in second year. Contemplating breaking into the Vatican library was throwing her into something that seemed very akin to outright lust. In fact, she was scaring Harry just a bit, and Ron was actually inching closer to the door.
“I would assume there’s a restricted section in there that would focus on some of the things we could be dealing with, but of course it isn’t open to the general public,” she said, wetting her lips. “Until the wizarding world went into hiding, the Vatican library held an enormous specialized collection dealing with alchemy and a variety of other magical topics. I’m positive all of that must still be in there somewhere.”
“Uh-huh,” Ron said, staring at her lips now. “Sure, that’s right.”
Harry would have bet his last Knut Ron had no idea what she had been talking about.
“So you think it might be worth a go, then?” Harry asked. “We could try tomorrow.”
Hermione looked deeply conflicted, then began muttering to herself, “It’s not like we’re doing it purely for fun, and there could be something, though I don’t know what it would be, but if we overlook an opportunity to find useful information that would be wasteful, even if it does delay returning to direct battle, and isn’t this a form of arming ourselves properly, or am I letting my own desires outweigh the needs of the many, and what if we get caught, not that it’s more likely here than elsewhere, but then again the moral ramifications—”
“I think we should check,” Ron interrupted. “We might find something.”
“Hmm?” Hermione said, glancing up as though she’d forgotten the other two were there. “Oh, you think so?”
“I do,” Ron said. “It’s got books and stuff, right?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, “it mostly definitely has books and stuff.”
“Then since we’re here, we might as well try,” Ron said.
“Okay, if we’re all in agreement, then we’ll delay leaving Rome for one more day,” Hermione said.
Harry smiled, though inwardly he felt a bit guilty for manipulating Hermione’s bibliophile tendencies, but being here really did seem to be helping them all, especially Ron. They couldn’t fight properly if they were so saturated in despair that everything seemed like a losing battle.
“How will we know when we’ve found what we’re looking for?” Ron asked suddenly.
“You mean a Horcrux?” Hermione asked.
“No, though that’s a fair point as well. I mean, I suppose any one of the five billion pebbles we’ve passed today could have Lord Baldy’s soul wedged inside it and we’d never know the difference, but I actually meant the book in the library. What we will be looking for?” Ron asked.
“Oh, well, I suppose we need to find the Vatican’s equivalent of the Restricted Section first, which should be fairly obvious once we’ve uncovered the various charms and other security measures around it. Then, we’d look for books that don’t fit, things that are out of place thematically,” Hermione said, “sort of like the book version of the ugly duckling.”
“The what?” Ron asked.
Hermione rubbed her forehead in frustration and said, “Looks like I’ve gone and done it again. It’s another Muggle story.”
“Is it weird?” Ron asked, grinning with anticipation.
“I suppose, though there isn’t any magic in it,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, his smile faltering. “Well, I suppose you can’t have everything. Would you tell us it anyway?”
The simple fact Ron was asking her to tell a story rather than commanding it made Harry absolutely convinced he’d made the right decision in coercing Hermione to stay a day longer, and Hermione’s beaming smile in return made him doubly sure of it.
“Certainly, if you like,” Hermione said, settling herself into a cross-legged position on the couch. “Once—“
“—upon a time,” Ron said along with her, and Hermione merely nodded in response as though he had given the correct answer to one of their long-ago review sessions for N.E.W.T.s.
“There lived a mother duck who was very proud of the seven eggs she had just laid in her lovely nest by the lake in the farmer’s pasture,” Hermione said.
“Seven? That’s a good layer,” Ron said, sounding impressed.
“That’s what she felt too, and all the other ducks from the pond came to visit her as she sat on the eggs while the father duck brought her food to eat. However, something was strange about one of the eggs. It was larger than the others,” Hermione said.
“That’d be uncomfortable under the poor old girl’s bum,” Ron said sympathetically.
“Yes, well, I suppose in a brood of seven, there’s always at least one that’s likely to be a pain in the mother’s posterior,” Hermione said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Are you insinuating something?” Ron said in mock indignation.
“Not at all, not at all,” Hermione said in an equally teasing tone.
“Fine, I’ll say it straight out,” Harry said with a laugh. “Poor Mrs. Weasley has had it rough with the lot of all seven of you!”
“Eight, if you don’t mind,” Ron said seriously. “You’re basically a Weasley too for all practical concerns.”
The sudden declaration from Ron was a bit of a surprise, and Harry felt quite touched by it. He was struck speechless for a long moment, after which a misty-eyed Hermione continued on.
“Yes, well, six of the eggs hatched in the usual time, but the seventh remained still. An older duck came by and prodded it, saying, ‘It’s a dud, I think. Look at what a different color it is from the others, and so large!’” Hermione said, giving the duck a particularly quack-y sounding voice.
“I suppose that can happen,” Ron said. “Sad though. Be nice if the other duck had a touch of compassion there.”
“Unfortunately, that tends to be in short supply in this story,” Hermione said. “However, the mother duck was certain the egg was still good, and in a few more days, it did indeed break open and a bird came out.”
“And judging from what you said earlier, this was not a handsome duck,” Ron said.
“Yes, everyone took one look at the duckling, even the mother, and declared him the ugliest duckling they’d ever seen, though the mother said she would love him just the same,” Hermione said.
“What was so wrong with him?” Harry asked.
“The other ducklings were yellow and fluffy and small, but he was very big and grey and quite awkward when he walked,” Hermione said.
“Why am I being weirdly reminded of Neville for some reason?” Ron said.
“Possibly because it’s a pretty fair comparison,” Hermione said. “He’s a very good sort, Neville, but he does rather stand out in Gryffinor.”
“That and your brothers turned him into a giant bird with those Canary Creams of theirs,” Harry said.
“Yeah, that’s probably it. Merlin, he did make an ugly bird,” Ron said with a laugh.
“He was very good-natured about it, though,” Hermione said, and there was a guilty twinge to her voice. “He almost always is, and maybe that’s why I haven’t said enough to the rest of Gryffindor about backing off from him. He really has had a bad time of it.”
“I suppose,” Ron said, but the look on his face was bordering on jealous rather than guilty. After all, Neville had asked Hermione to the Yule Ball in fourth year, though she’d already had a date with Krum, meaning Ron was at least the third person to ask her. Harry couldn’t help wondering if she really would have said yes to Neville if Krum hadn’t asked first, which was a strange thought. Harry almost felt sorry for Neville being turned down until he remembered Neville had ended up going with Ginny instead and coming back to the dormitory very late that night. Suddenly Harry wasn’t quite so sympathetic anymore.
“So what happened to the ducklings, including the gawky ugly one?” Ron asked with what sounded like a bit of relish.
“When they were old enough, the mother duck taught them to swim, and while all of them swam well, the ugly duckling was by far the best,” Hermione said.
“Good at sports then, is he?” Ron said. “So not Neville, then.”
Hermione gave him a warning look that did shut Ron up before she continued on.
“Pleased at how well the ducklings had swum, the mother…”
“Swum?” Ron asked, making a face.
“Yes, swum,” Hermione said. “It’s the past participle of swim.”
“Yeah, maybe, but seriously, who says swum?” Ron said, screwing his face into a grimace.
“I do,” Hermione said, sounding offended. “It’s entirely correct.”
“Yeah, so’s calling a bunch of blackbirds a merle, but who does that?” Ron asked.
“Apparently you do,” Hermione said, now looking a good deal more impressed. “How did you know that?”
“Percy mentioned it once,” Ron said as though this were the most damning piece of evidence yet against Hermione’s use of the word swum.
“Oh,” Hermione said. “Well, regardless, the mother duck took her children to the farmyard to show them off to the other animals. Unfortunately, it did not go well.”
“I was afraid of that,” Harry said.
“While the first six were the subject of many compliments, they were entirely forgot when the final and enormous duckling came into view. The animals laughed at him, calling him names, and one rooster even started pecking him viciously,” Hermione said.
“Malfoy,” Ron said, now firmly on the side of the ostracized duckling regardless of any affinity to Neville. “But they’re all a right lot of horrid bullies.”
“Very true,” Hermione said. “The mother duck took him under her wing and told them to leave him alone, saying ‘He’s done nothing to you!’ but they seemed to take issue with his existing at all.”
“Wild guess. Andersen again?” Ron said asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said. “How did you know?”
“His always seem more than a bit cruel, but in a different way than the others. More like sad and mean,” Ron said.
“It’s worse when you realize it’s basically his autobiography,” Hermione said. “He was a large, awkward, shy, rather unattractive man who was picked on a lot as both a child and an adult.”
“Crikey. Poor bloke. Okay, maybe I’ll cut him a tiny bit of slack about his foot thing,” Ron said.
“Indeed, but to return to the story of the ugly duckling—,” Hermione started to say, but Ron interrupted her.
“Does he have a proper name?” he asked.
“No, not that I’ve ever heard,” Hermione said.
“It seems mean to keep calling him the ugly duckling,” Ron said. “Do any of the other animals get a name in this?”
“No, so he isn’t odd that way,” Hermione said.
“But it’s still mean,” Ron said, frowning deeply. “I’m calling him, I don’t know… Norbert.”
“You’re naming him after Hagrid’s dragon?” Harry asked, wondering if his friend was going round the twist at last.
“Well, he wasn’t exactly adorable at birth either,” Ron said.
“Fair point,” Harry conceded. “Okay, Norbert the ugly duckling it is.”
Hermione looked back and forth between the pair them and gave in.
“Fine,” Hermione said, and Harry noted there was a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “The mother duck did stand up for her strange son.”
“Well, at least there’s that,” Ron said.
“But over time even her resolve grew weak, and eventually, to avoid the constant struggle with the other animals, she told him to go away on his own,” Hermione said.
“She threw out her own kid just because he wasn’t good-looking enough?” Ron said, appalled.
“Well, it could also be interpreted more generously that she was afraid something would happen to him if the other animals kept trying to hurt him, but the original text does seem to suggest that she’s really just tired of him,” Hermione said.
“Poor Norbert,” Ron said, sounding really distressed. “This kid’s childhood make yours look perfect in comparison, Harry.”
“Yeah, the Dursleys might have hated me, but they didn’t throw me out the door and tell me to shove off forever when I was a little kid either, much as they probably would have liked to,” Harry said. The story was starting to strike a chord with him as well.
“My parents were obsessed with flossing,” Hermione blurted out suddenly.
Ron and Harry both stared at her, then started laughing.
“Sorry,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I’m not even sure where that came from. Anyway, the duckling did indeed leave the farm, wandering very far, farther than the other ducklings had ever gone, until he reached a large lake with tall grass and reeds all around it.”
“Wait, he walked all that way?” Ron asked. “Why didn’t he just fly?”
“He’s too young to fly,” Hermione said. “Those feathers haven’t grown in yet.”
“Great Merlin, he really is just a baby in this,” Ron said, looking really upset.
“He’s exceptionally young, yes,” Hermione said.
“That’s awfully small to be out all alone,” he said.
“Well, he did make some friends at the lake, a pair of wild ducks,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking happier. “That’s good. Bully for Norbert.”
“Well, yes and no,” Hermione said. “The ducks insisted on calling him Ugly and used him as a practice test audience for approaching the female wild ducks, hissing at him and such.”
“You know, I really wouldn’t be surprised if this kid grows up to have some sort of self-esteem problem,” Ron said. “Tell me that isn’t the end of the story, Hermione. Please. Even for Andersen, that’s bleak.”
“No, it’s not,” Hermione said reassuringly, then frowned. “Ehm, well, not mostly. Sort of. Anyway, he did live with the ducks for some time on the lake, and he watched many other wild birds come and go, including a flock of beautiful swans. By looking at those lovely birds every day, he learned what real grace was and felt doubly unhappy about his own ugliness in comparison until eventually they flew away.”
“What happened next?” Harry asked.
“Oh, one day a pair of hunters shot the wild ducks from a blind,” Hermione said.
“What?” Ron said, looking up from his pseudo-dead position on the floor. “I mean, I didn’t like them, but still, that’s harsh.”
“The ugly duckling was terrified as an enormous dog came crashing towards the high grass where he was hiding to retrieve the ducks’ bodies for the hunters. The dog saw him, but snorted out, ‘You’re much too ugly to kill,’ picked up the dead ducks in his mouth, and ran back to his masters,” Hermione said.
“So he gets called ugly yet again, but at least it saves his life,” Harry said. “That comes out to sort of a draw.”
“I suppose so, but the duckling was left alone once again,” Hermione said.
“This tyke is having a very, very rough go of it,” Ron said, looking deeply concerned. “Hermione, this isn’t going to be one of Andersen’s stories that ends with someone freezing to death in an alleyway or turning into sentient seafoam or something, right?”
“Well, I don’t usually like to spoil the ending of the stories,” Hermione said uncertainly, but Harry could tell from her expression that she wanted to say something to put Ron at ease.
“Okay, then can you at least promise that the poor duck doesn’t hallucinate the world’s saddest Christmas dinner and a masochistic goose with a fork and knife in it walking around like some very badly done Inferius?” Ron pleaded.
“I… what?” Hermione said looking confused.
“That little girl in the match story really got to me,” he said sadly. “Also, I’m having nightmares about the damn goose. That was just deeply wrong, and there are birds in this one.”
“Without any form of mental reservation, I can promise you this story does not involve waterfowl hallucinating a reanimated Christmas dinner composed of avian Inferi,” Hermione said, then paused. “That may be the oddest sentence I have ever uttered.”
“It’s probably in the top ten,” Ron said, “but only probably since these stories are so mental. Okay, the duckling loses his none-too-nice friends and doesn’t get killed by a dog. Now what?”
“Well, the duckling wandered for quite some time until he came upon the cottage of an elderly woman who lived with a cat and a hen. At first he was quite frightened of her, but she lured him into the house, reasoning that if the duckling proved to be a female, she would be able to eat its eggs along with those of the hen, and if a male, she could kill it and eat it,” Hermione said.
“Merlin, this bird just stumbles about from bad to worse!” Ron said. “At least tell me she didn’t call him ugly.”
“No, she actually had rather poor eyesight, so she didn’t comment on his looks at all,” Hermione said.
“That’s good,” Ron said.
“Her cat and hen did, though,” Hermione added.
“Oh, come off it! This is ludicrous! I mean, cats can be sort of picky and snooty and overly posh, but hens! I ask you, who ever heard of a conceited, bullying hen!” Ron yelled.
“I take it you are unfamiliar with the term hen-pecked?” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said. “Okay, I guess they do have a negative reputation.”
“Granted, they didn’t focus overmuch on the duckling’s features and more on his perceived uselessness. The hen pointed out that she was a valuable member of the group because she could lay eggs, and the cat—” Hermione began.
“I know, let me guess, the cat can kill mice and rats and save them all from the plague or something,” Ron said.
“Actually, the cat just mentions that he can arch his back and his fur can make sparks if someone pets him the wrong way and that he can purr,” Hermione said.
Ron and Harry both looked confused.
“That’s bloody useless,” Ron said. “Putting his back up, purring and sparking? Also, does Crookshanks ever randomly give off sparks?”
“Not so I’ve noticed, but then I’m not idiot enough to rub a cat’s fur the wrong way,” Hermione said. “That’s an excellent way to wind up with a free arm tattoo.”
“So the cat and the hen are a couple of right old prigs,” Ron said, “and the old woman is only interested in the duckling for eggs or breakfast, which is going to prove a problem since Norbert’s a boy. Then what?”
“Oddly, after a few weeks the duckling started to have a craving for swimming in the water again as he’d been away from it for such a long time. He began fantasizing about diving deep to eat water weeds and how wonderfully cool the water would feel closing over his head,” Hermione said.
“Finally, for once food comes up in one of these things and it doesn’t make me hungry,” Ron said, grinning. “No, not even months wandering about in the barren wastelands of Britain will make me develop a craving for water weeds.”
“We’ve actually found the limit!” Harry cried in mock ecstasy, swatting Ron right off the couch. “The bottomless pit has an end at last!”
Ron looked up at him from the floor, crossing his eyes and making a face before glancing over at Hermione and saying, “So what happened? Did he go for a swim?”
“He mentioned it to the hen and the cat. Both of them never went near the water if they could help it, so they thought the duckling had at last lost his mind, and they refused to have anything to do with him at all. So the duckling wandered outside until he finally found a river and went for a swim, feeling much better than he had in the stuffy cottage,” Hermione said.
“And thereby he missed being eaten due to being a non-egg-laying male,” Harry pointed out.
“Yes, it does inadvertently save his life into the bargain,” Hermione agreed. “He did decide not to return to the cottage and lived alone on the pond. The other animals still shunned him for being so ugly, but at least he could breathe and act naturally.”
“Seriously, how ugly is this poor duck?” Ron asked. “He can’t be worse off than a Flobberworm or something.”
“Sometimes perception is the damning bit,” Hermione said. “No one expects a Flobberworm to be handsome, so no one really remarks that they’re unattractive since they aren’t supposed to be. On the other hand, ducklings are usually portrayed as cute and fluffy, so the lack of living up to that expectation makes the duckling appear to be some sort of failure.”
Ron squinted for a second, still sprawled on the floor.
“So, it’s like when Witch Weekly makes people think girls are all supposed to look perfect all the time?” Ron said slowly.
Hermione’s face broke into a whole-hearted smile so bright it made Harry blink.
“Yes, precisely!” she said.
“So, is there a Duck Weekly in this story?” Ron said, frowning.
“Ehm, probably not an exact parallel, but I truly think you’re getting the idea,” Hermione said.
“Patriarchy. Duckiarchy. Same thing,” Ron said, nodding wisely. “So what’s the poor little guy do in isolation on the lake?”
“He swims a good deal, for in spite of everything he was still quite graceful in the water. Then one day, he saw a whole flock of beautiful white birds land on the lake, and he was completely in awe of them,” Hermione said.
“Swans again?” Harry guessed.
“Precisely. The ugly duckling hid in the reeds but couldn’t take his eyes from the stately and perfect birds. He knew that they would undoubtedly abuse him if he went up to them, so he kept a good distance, but he allowed himself the joy of seeing what he would never be: beauty,” Hermione said.
“I don’t really understand why people get so impressed by swans,” Ron said, dragging himself back into his seat. “I mean, yeah, I guess they’re pretty and all, but have you ever really looked at their feet? Those are some weird feet.”
“Classically, they’re considered a pinnacle of beauty, and of course Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in Greek mythology, was supposed to have been hatched from a swan’s egg,” Hermione said.
Ron stared at her.
“I really don’t want to know how someone got hatched out of a swan’s egg, do I?” Ron said.
“Let’s just say Zeus could be horrible when he thought a mortal woman was attractive,” Hermione said, her eyes darkening in a way Harry thought would frighten most Death Eaters senseless.
“Okay, now that I’m scarred for life about that, let’s go back to poor Norbert staring at the pretty birds and experiencing deep-seated self-esteem issues,” Ron said. “What happened?”
“One day the swans flew away as it was autumn and the winter winds would soon arrive, and the duckling realized he would never see them again, but he carried the memory of them as something almost not of this earth,” Hermione said.
“Wait, is he going to migrate too? Do ducks migrate?” Ron asked.
“A good few do, but the ugly duckling didn’t really know how, so he just stayed on the pond, swimming in circles as the leaves fell and then the snow. The water slowly froze over each day, leaving him only a small pool that he broke up with his continued swimming, growing smaller and smaller until finally he was surrounded by ice,” Hermione said.
“He did not die in the ice,” Ron said firmly. “I refuse to accept Norbert freezes to death alone in an empty pond in the middle of winter.”
“Actually, he doesn’t,” Hermione said kindly, and Harry noted that Ron’s earlier declaration against the duckiarchy seemed to have mellowed her considerably. “A peasant comes by and sees him in the ice and takes pity on him, lifting him out and carrying him back to his cottage.”
“Finally!” Ron yelled. “An actual decent person! Is he a woodsman by any chance?”
“It doesn’t say so in the story, but I suppose he might be. Why?” Hermione asked.
“Woodsmen seem like good folk in most of these,” Ron said. “In my brain, he’s a woodsman.”
“Fine with me,” Hermione said, smiling. “He can join Little Red Riding Hood’s and Snow White’s.”
“Maybe they’re all in a club or something. Decent Woodsmen of Fairy Tales. D.W.O.F.T,” Ron said.
“Dwoft?” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.
“You named yours S.P.E.W.,” Ron pointed out. “You have very little room to complain.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but continued.
“The peasant, or woodsman, brought the bird back to his cottage, and the warmth of the fire there did revive him. However, the ugly duckling was very upset when he awoke and he didn’t know where he was,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, that can happen,” Harry said. “When I woke up in the Hospital Wing after the Dementors attacked during Quidditch in third year, I thought I was in some sort of nightmare for a few seconds.”
“Quite,” Hermione said with a nod. “That really was awful. The poor duck, though, had no one to explain to him what had happened, and he went absolutely wild. The peasant’s wife screamed as he started flapping among the rafters, and the children laughed and started trying to chase him, which upset him so much that he fell into the butter barrel and then the flour barrel by turns.”
“Mum would not like that,” Ron said. “Sounds like a right mess.”
“Sounds like he’s dredging himself for a fry up,” Harry said.
“Eventually he blundered out of an open window and took off at top speed, leaving the cottage behind,” Hermione said.
“So now he’s back to being alone and out in the cold but he’s also covered in butter and flour?” Ron said. “Norbert’s got no good luck at all in this.”
“Not much, but somehow he did manage to survive the winter,” Hermione said. “Eventually as spring came, he found a little park with a pretty lake in it and willow trees all around. It was a lovely spot, and as he watched, the beautiful swans he had seen last autumn flew down from the sky and landed gracefully on the water. He had travelled very far and had been deeply lonely for a long time, so he couldn’t help but to cautiously approach the birds, even though he feared they would kill him out of repulsion.”
“This kid’s got problems,” Ron said.
“As he approached the fairest swan, he lowered his neck and, deciding that if he had to choose his death, it would be this, quietly said, ‘Kill me,’” Hermione said.
“Oh, come on!” Ron said.
“That’s basically what the swans’ reaction was, as none of them made any move to harm him and couldn’t understand his sorrow,” Hermione said. “Just at that moment, a group of children came up to the lake, bringing along bread and cakes to feed the swans, and they gasped in disbelief when they saw the new bird.”
“Any why would that be?” Ron asked suspiciously.
“Because the ugly duckling was no longer ugly. He looked at his reflection in the lake and realized he was, in fact, a beautiful swan, the most beautiful of them all,” Hermione said.
Ron stared. Harry screwed up his face as though he was trying to work it all out himself. Hermione just sort of looked between the two of them, not quite certain if they understood, then after a pause gamely plodded on.
“So the children fed him cake and bread, the other swans accepted him into their group, he was never lonely again, and he lived happily ever after,” she said, though it almost sounded more like a question.
Silence filled the room for a few seconds until Ron finally opened his mouth.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “so Norbert was a swan, not a duck.”
“Yes,” Hermione said.
“So how did a swan egg end up in duck nest to begin with?” Ron asked.
“Absolutely no idea,” Hermione admitted.
“Then, never once in this whole story does anyone ever realize that Norbert is actually a swan and not a duck until the very end?” Ron asked.
“Apparently not, no,” Hermione said. “There aren’t any swans at the farm at any rate.”
“Well, there must have been one at some point to stick the egg in the nest,” Ron pointed out. “Where are all the other baby swans in this?”
“Cygnets,” Hermione provided immediately, “and he does seem to be the only one.”
“So essentially everyone in this whole thing is pretty much an idiot,” Ron said.
“To some extent, yes,” Hermione said. “They just assume he’s ugly rather than different, and Andersen used it as a parallel with his own rather unhappy life. He finally found his place in life with his fairy tales, so he pretty much is the duckling.”
“Cygnet,” Ron corrected her. “But the whole point is that rather than the duckling growing up to be fine as a duck, he’s actually a swan and this all comes back around to beauty being the most important thing or some such tosh?”
Hermione tipped her head to one side for a moment.
“That is a possible valid interpretation,” Hermione finally said. “Again, remember that beauty was usually equated with morality and goodness in these tales, so it’s a sort of justification of the duckling’s, or cygnet’s, hardships and a condemnation of his treatment by others.”
Ron shook his head.
“At least Andersen didn’t do anything nasty about feet in this one,” he said.
“Unless the peasant pulled him out of the icy lake and his feet were frozen,” Harry pointed out.
“Good catch, mate,” Ron said. “As far as I’m concerned, Norbert went on to grow up to be a duck, and not even an especially good-looking one, who lived a long and happy duck-life with his nice and average duck-wife and had lots of ducklings whom he actually loved regardless of whether they were pretty or handsome or whatnot, and nuts to the rest of those mean birds and people and whatnot, and that’s the end of the story.”
Harry wondered whether Hermione would be upset over this complete overhauling of one of her stories, but he was pleased to see she didn’t look angry at all.
“I do believe I like your ending a good deal better than Andersen’s, Ron,” she said, then, to the shock of both boys, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before getting up and stretching. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll turn in. See you in the morning, early, of course. We’ll need to be at the Vatican library before daybreak.”
“Okay,” Ron said, watching her retreating form, “yeah, daybreak, night, good, sleep, book, library, thingy.”
“Highly erudite,” Harry said, slugging his friend in the shoulder. “Next time, stick to happy ducks.”
“Right, and if you’re so smart, what would you have done to fix that nightmare, then?” Ron asked.
“Easy,” Harry said, rolling over onto the couch to try to get comfortable for another night in Rome. “I’d have had one of the swans tell Norbert he was a wizard. Worked for me.”
“Well, at least the food is good?” Ron ventured apologetically as they entered the tent, which was currently set up in a back alley of Rome, right between a bakery and a butcher.
“I can’t argue with that,” Hermione said, “but it would be nice if we could do more than smell it.”
Harry silently agreed. They’d cadged a few bits out of bins, as usual, but the scent of the fresh bread and the piles of good meat on either side of them was slowly driving him mad.
“I don’t think You-Know-Who was ever here,” Ron said.
“He might have been,” Hermione said consolingly. “They do say all roads lead to Rome, don’t they?”
“That’d be downright confusing,” Ron said, flopping into a chair. “Also, really inconvenient if you’re just trying to go to the corner shop for some mustard.”
Their search of the catacombs had proved fruitless, even in the wizarding section that was unknown to Muggles. While Hermione had been fascinated by the wealth of history they had encountered, there was no known connection to Voldemort, or even to any of the Hogwarts’ founders. The winding tunnels and tiny chambers arranged in a bewildering collection under the ancient city would certainly have been a perfect place to hide a precious treasure, and Harry suspected that any number of other wizarding relics probably were hidden away down there in undisturbed compartments, but one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes didn’t seem to be among them.
The three of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the noises of the city as night began to fall: the shutters of shops closing, people walking home along the stone streets, the voices of children calling out happily to one another in Italian as they played. Harry couldn’t help thinking it all sounded much nicer than anything they’d seen back home for a long while.
“You might have been wrong about the Horcrux, Ron,” Harry said, “but if we’re going to show up in the wrong spot, at least this is a pleasant one.”
“Much nicer than Mary Bentley’s childhood boarding school,” Ron said, nodding in agreement.
Hermione, however, looked worried. Granted, that was beginning to be her normal expression, but Harry knew something was on her mind.
“Yes, it is quite nice here,” she said, “and warm too, which is lovely almost beyond words, but we can’t make a habit of this.”
“Why not?” Ron said, raising his head from where he’d been resting it on the back of the chair. “It’s miles better than Britain just now.”
“Yes, but we’re not supposed to running away from home. We’re fighting to make home safe again,” Hermione said quietly. “This is a really tempting place just to sit and wait things out. Too tempting, actually.”
Harry knew what she meant. He was nowhere near as enthralled with history as Hermione was, but even he had a strong urge to wander the streets and soak in the feel of Rome in all its glory. It didn’t hurt that it was a good deal warmer than Britain, and his bones felt like they were starting to thaw from a chill he had nearly forgotten was always present there.
“No Dementors,” Ron said suddenly. “That’s what it is. They aren’t as many here as there are back home.”
“I think you’re right,” Harry said slowly. “We’ve gotten so used to them, we don’t even realize it anymore when they’re around.”
“You do have a point,” Hermione said. “Dementors can show up anywhere, even here, but they’ve been breeding like mad in Britain for the last couple years. The effect of that much horrible, hungry power everywhere, what with the nearly constant fog, probably has created a cumulative negative impact on just about everyone.”
“And now that we’re here, it’s going away,” Harry said, looking sideways at Ron, who seemed more like his old self than Harry could remember in a very long time.
Rome was doing them all good, but Hermione was right. There was a danger in becoming too comfortable. Still, perhaps one more day wouldn’t be so bad? An idea occurred to Harry, and while it was outrageously manipulative of Hermione, he thought that it might just help them recover a bit more before they had to return to battle.
“Hermione,” Harry said, “have you given a thought to the Vatican library?”
Hermione’s eyes seemed to increase three times from their normal size.
“What?” she squeaked out.
“It’s supposed to be a very good one, isn’t it?” Harry said. “Could there be a clue or something in one of the books there? We could probably sneak in using the cloak.”
The look on Hermione’s face was one Harry hadn’t seen since she’d been gazing at Lockhart in second year. Contemplating breaking into the Vatican library was throwing her into something that seemed very akin to outright lust. In fact, she was scaring Harry just a bit, and Ron was actually inching closer to the door.
“I would assume there’s a restricted section in there that would focus on some of the things we could be dealing with, but of course it isn’t open to the general public,” she said, wetting her lips. “Until the wizarding world went into hiding, the Vatican library held an enormous specialized collection dealing with alchemy and a variety of other magical topics. I’m positive all of that must still be in there somewhere.”
“Uh-huh,” Ron said, staring at her lips now. “Sure, that’s right.”
Harry would have bet his last Knut Ron had no idea what she had been talking about.
“So you think it might be worth a go, then?” Harry asked. “We could try tomorrow.”
Hermione looked deeply conflicted, then began muttering to herself, “It’s not like we’re doing it purely for fun, and there could be something, though I don’t know what it would be, but if we overlook an opportunity to find useful information that would be wasteful, even if it does delay returning to direct battle, and isn’t this a form of arming ourselves properly, or am I letting my own desires outweigh the needs of the many, and what if we get caught, not that it’s more likely here than elsewhere, but then again the moral ramifications—”
“I think we should check,” Ron interrupted. “We might find something.”
“Hmm?” Hermione said, glancing up as though she’d forgotten the other two were there. “Oh, you think so?”
“I do,” Ron said. “It’s got books and stuff, right?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, “it mostly definitely has books and stuff.”
“Then since we’re here, we might as well try,” Ron said.
“Okay, if we’re all in agreement, then we’ll delay leaving Rome for one more day,” Hermione said.
Harry smiled, though inwardly he felt a bit guilty for manipulating Hermione’s bibliophile tendencies, but being here really did seem to be helping them all, especially Ron. They couldn’t fight properly if they were so saturated in despair that everything seemed like a losing battle.
“How will we know when we’ve found what we’re looking for?” Ron asked suddenly.
“You mean a Horcrux?” Hermione asked.
“No, though that’s a fair point as well. I mean, I suppose any one of the five billion pebbles we’ve passed today could have Lord Baldy’s soul wedged inside it and we’d never know the difference, but I actually meant the book in the library. What we will be looking for?” Ron asked.
“Oh, well, I suppose we need to find the Vatican’s equivalent of the Restricted Section first, which should be fairly obvious once we’ve uncovered the various charms and other security measures around it. Then, we’d look for books that don’t fit, things that are out of place thematically,” Hermione said, “sort of like the book version of the ugly duckling.”
“The what?” Ron asked.
Hermione rubbed her forehead in frustration and said, “Looks like I’ve gone and done it again. It’s another Muggle story.”
“Is it weird?” Ron asked, grinning with anticipation.
“I suppose, though there isn’t any magic in it,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, his smile faltering. “Well, I suppose you can’t have everything. Would you tell us it anyway?”
The simple fact Ron was asking her to tell a story rather than commanding it made Harry absolutely convinced he’d made the right decision in coercing Hermione to stay a day longer, and Hermione’s beaming smile in return made him doubly sure of it.
“Certainly, if you like,” Hermione said, settling herself into a cross-legged position on the couch. “Once—“
“—upon a time,” Ron said along with her, and Hermione merely nodded in response as though he had given the correct answer to one of their long-ago review sessions for N.E.W.T.s.
“There lived a mother duck who was very proud of the seven eggs she had just laid in her lovely nest by the lake in the farmer’s pasture,” Hermione said.
“Seven? That’s a good layer,” Ron said, sounding impressed.
“That’s what she felt too, and all the other ducks from the pond came to visit her as she sat on the eggs while the father duck brought her food to eat. However, something was strange about one of the eggs. It was larger than the others,” Hermione said.
“That’d be uncomfortable under the poor old girl’s bum,” Ron said sympathetically.
“Yes, well, I suppose in a brood of seven, there’s always at least one that’s likely to be a pain in the mother’s posterior,” Hermione said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Are you insinuating something?” Ron said in mock indignation.
“Not at all, not at all,” Hermione said in an equally teasing tone.
“Fine, I’ll say it straight out,” Harry said with a laugh. “Poor Mrs. Weasley has had it rough with the lot of all seven of you!”
“Eight, if you don’t mind,” Ron said seriously. “You’re basically a Weasley too for all practical concerns.”
The sudden declaration from Ron was a bit of a surprise, and Harry felt quite touched by it. He was struck speechless for a long moment, after which a misty-eyed Hermione continued on.
“Yes, well, six of the eggs hatched in the usual time, but the seventh remained still. An older duck came by and prodded it, saying, ‘It’s a dud, I think. Look at what a different color it is from the others, and so large!’” Hermione said, giving the duck a particularly quack-y sounding voice.
“I suppose that can happen,” Ron said. “Sad though. Be nice if the other duck had a touch of compassion there.”
“Unfortunately, that tends to be in short supply in this story,” Hermione said. “However, the mother duck was certain the egg was still good, and in a few more days, it did indeed break open and a bird came out.”
“And judging from what you said earlier, this was not a handsome duck,” Ron said.
“Yes, everyone took one look at the duckling, even the mother, and declared him the ugliest duckling they’d ever seen, though the mother said she would love him just the same,” Hermione said.
“What was so wrong with him?” Harry asked.
“The other ducklings were yellow and fluffy and small, but he was very big and grey and quite awkward when he walked,” Hermione said.
“Why am I being weirdly reminded of Neville for some reason?” Ron said.
“Possibly because it’s a pretty fair comparison,” Hermione said. “He’s a very good sort, Neville, but he does rather stand out in Gryffinor.”
“That and your brothers turned him into a giant bird with those Canary Creams of theirs,” Harry said.
“Yeah, that’s probably it. Merlin, he did make an ugly bird,” Ron said with a laugh.
“He was very good-natured about it, though,” Hermione said, and there was a guilty twinge to her voice. “He almost always is, and maybe that’s why I haven’t said enough to the rest of Gryffindor about backing off from him. He really has had a bad time of it.”
“I suppose,” Ron said, but the look on his face was bordering on jealous rather than guilty. After all, Neville had asked Hermione to the Yule Ball in fourth year, though she’d already had a date with Krum, meaning Ron was at least the third person to ask her. Harry couldn’t help wondering if she really would have said yes to Neville if Krum hadn’t asked first, which was a strange thought. Harry almost felt sorry for Neville being turned down until he remembered Neville had ended up going with Ginny instead and coming back to the dormitory very late that night. Suddenly Harry wasn’t quite so sympathetic anymore.
“So what happened to the ducklings, including the gawky ugly one?” Ron asked with what sounded like a bit of relish.
“When they were old enough, the mother duck taught them to swim, and while all of them swam well, the ugly duckling was by far the best,” Hermione said.
“Good at sports then, is he?” Ron said. “So not Neville, then.”
Hermione gave him a warning look that did shut Ron up before she continued on.
“Pleased at how well the ducklings had swum, the mother…”
“Swum?” Ron asked, making a face.
“Yes, swum,” Hermione said. “It’s the past participle of swim.”
“Yeah, maybe, but seriously, who says swum?” Ron said, screwing his face into a grimace.
“I do,” Hermione said, sounding offended. “It’s entirely correct.”
“Yeah, so’s calling a bunch of blackbirds a merle, but who does that?” Ron asked.
“Apparently you do,” Hermione said, now looking a good deal more impressed. “How did you know that?”
“Percy mentioned it once,” Ron said as though this were the most damning piece of evidence yet against Hermione’s use of the word swum.
“Oh,” Hermione said. “Well, regardless, the mother duck took her children to the farmyard to show them off to the other animals. Unfortunately, it did not go well.”
“I was afraid of that,” Harry said.
“While the first six were the subject of many compliments, they were entirely forgot when the final and enormous duckling came into view. The animals laughed at him, calling him names, and one rooster even started pecking him viciously,” Hermione said.
“Malfoy,” Ron said, now firmly on the side of the ostracized duckling regardless of any affinity to Neville. “But they’re all a right lot of horrid bullies.”
“Very true,” Hermione said. “The mother duck took him under her wing and told them to leave him alone, saying ‘He’s done nothing to you!’ but they seemed to take issue with his existing at all.”
“Wild guess. Andersen again?” Ron said asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said. “How did you know?”
“His always seem more than a bit cruel, but in a different way than the others. More like sad and mean,” Ron said.
“It’s worse when you realize it’s basically his autobiography,” Hermione said. “He was a large, awkward, shy, rather unattractive man who was picked on a lot as both a child and an adult.”
“Crikey. Poor bloke. Okay, maybe I’ll cut him a tiny bit of slack about his foot thing,” Ron said.
“Indeed, but to return to the story of the ugly duckling—,” Hermione started to say, but Ron interrupted her.
“Does he have a proper name?” he asked.
“No, not that I’ve ever heard,” Hermione said.
“It seems mean to keep calling him the ugly duckling,” Ron said. “Do any of the other animals get a name in this?”
“No, so he isn’t odd that way,” Hermione said.
“But it’s still mean,” Ron said, frowning deeply. “I’m calling him, I don’t know… Norbert.”
“You’re naming him after Hagrid’s dragon?” Harry asked, wondering if his friend was going round the twist at last.
“Well, he wasn’t exactly adorable at birth either,” Ron said.
“Fair point,” Harry conceded. “Okay, Norbert the ugly duckling it is.”
Hermione looked back and forth between the pair them and gave in.
“Fine,” Hermione said, and Harry noted there was a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “The mother duck did stand up for her strange son.”
“Well, at least there’s that,” Ron said.
“But over time even her resolve grew weak, and eventually, to avoid the constant struggle with the other animals, she told him to go away on his own,” Hermione said.
“She threw out her own kid just because he wasn’t good-looking enough?” Ron said, appalled.
“Well, it could also be interpreted more generously that she was afraid something would happen to him if the other animals kept trying to hurt him, but the original text does seem to suggest that she’s really just tired of him,” Hermione said.
“Poor Norbert,” Ron said, sounding really distressed. “This kid’s childhood make yours look perfect in comparison, Harry.”
“Yeah, the Dursleys might have hated me, but they didn’t throw me out the door and tell me to shove off forever when I was a little kid either, much as they probably would have liked to,” Harry said. The story was starting to strike a chord with him as well.
“My parents were obsessed with flossing,” Hermione blurted out suddenly.
Ron and Harry both stared at her, then started laughing.
“Sorry,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I’m not even sure where that came from. Anyway, the duckling did indeed leave the farm, wandering very far, farther than the other ducklings had ever gone, until he reached a large lake with tall grass and reeds all around it.”
“Wait, he walked all that way?” Ron asked. “Why didn’t he just fly?”
“He’s too young to fly,” Hermione said. “Those feathers haven’t grown in yet.”
“Great Merlin, he really is just a baby in this,” Ron said, looking really upset.
“He’s exceptionally young, yes,” Hermione said.
“That’s awfully small to be out all alone,” he said.
“Well, he did make some friends at the lake, a pair of wild ducks,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking happier. “That’s good. Bully for Norbert.”
“Well, yes and no,” Hermione said. “The ducks insisted on calling him Ugly and used him as a practice test audience for approaching the female wild ducks, hissing at him and such.”
“You know, I really wouldn’t be surprised if this kid grows up to have some sort of self-esteem problem,” Ron said. “Tell me that isn’t the end of the story, Hermione. Please. Even for Andersen, that’s bleak.”
“No, it’s not,” Hermione said reassuringly, then frowned. “Ehm, well, not mostly. Sort of. Anyway, he did live with the ducks for some time on the lake, and he watched many other wild birds come and go, including a flock of beautiful swans. By looking at those lovely birds every day, he learned what real grace was and felt doubly unhappy about his own ugliness in comparison until eventually they flew away.”
“What happened next?” Harry asked.
“Oh, one day a pair of hunters shot the wild ducks from a blind,” Hermione said.
“What?” Ron said, looking up from his pseudo-dead position on the floor. “I mean, I didn’t like them, but still, that’s harsh.”
“The ugly duckling was terrified as an enormous dog came crashing towards the high grass where he was hiding to retrieve the ducks’ bodies for the hunters. The dog saw him, but snorted out, ‘You’re much too ugly to kill,’ picked up the dead ducks in his mouth, and ran back to his masters,” Hermione said.
“So he gets called ugly yet again, but at least it saves his life,” Harry said. “That comes out to sort of a draw.”
“I suppose so, but the duckling was left alone once again,” Hermione said.
“This tyke is having a very, very rough go of it,” Ron said, looking deeply concerned. “Hermione, this isn’t going to be one of Andersen’s stories that ends with someone freezing to death in an alleyway or turning into sentient seafoam or something, right?”
“Well, I don’t usually like to spoil the ending of the stories,” Hermione said uncertainly, but Harry could tell from her expression that she wanted to say something to put Ron at ease.
“Okay, then can you at least promise that the poor duck doesn’t hallucinate the world’s saddest Christmas dinner and a masochistic goose with a fork and knife in it walking around like some very badly done Inferius?” Ron pleaded.
“I… what?” Hermione said looking confused.
“That little girl in the match story really got to me,” he said sadly. “Also, I’m having nightmares about the damn goose. That was just deeply wrong, and there are birds in this one.”
“Without any form of mental reservation, I can promise you this story does not involve waterfowl hallucinating a reanimated Christmas dinner composed of avian Inferi,” Hermione said, then paused. “That may be the oddest sentence I have ever uttered.”
“It’s probably in the top ten,” Ron said, “but only probably since these stories are so mental. Okay, the duckling loses his none-too-nice friends and doesn’t get killed by a dog. Now what?”
“Well, the duckling wandered for quite some time until he came upon the cottage of an elderly woman who lived with a cat and a hen. At first he was quite frightened of her, but she lured him into the house, reasoning that if the duckling proved to be a female, she would be able to eat its eggs along with those of the hen, and if a male, she could kill it and eat it,” Hermione said.
“Merlin, this bird just stumbles about from bad to worse!” Ron said. “At least tell me she didn’t call him ugly.”
“No, she actually had rather poor eyesight, so she didn’t comment on his looks at all,” Hermione said.
“That’s good,” Ron said.
“Her cat and hen did, though,” Hermione added.
“Oh, come off it! This is ludicrous! I mean, cats can be sort of picky and snooty and overly posh, but hens! I ask you, who ever heard of a conceited, bullying hen!” Ron yelled.
“I take it you are unfamiliar with the term hen-pecked?” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said. “Okay, I guess they do have a negative reputation.”
“Granted, they didn’t focus overmuch on the duckling’s features and more on his perceived uselessness. The hen pointed out that she was a valuable member of the group because she could lay eggs, and the cat—” Hermione began.
“I know, let me guess, the cat can kill mice and rats and save them all from the plague or something,” Ron said.
“Actually, the cat just mentions that he can arch his back and his fur can make sparks if someone pets him the wrong way and that he can purr,” Hermione said.
Ron and Harry both looked confused.
“That’s bloody useless,” Ron said. “Putting his back up, purring and sparking? Also, does Crookshanks ever randomly give off sparks?”
“Not so I’ve noticed, but then I’m not idiot enough to rub a cat’s fur the wrong way,” Hermione said. “That’s an excellent way to wind up with a free arm tattoo.”
“So the cat and the hen are a couple of right old prigs,” Ron said, “and the old woman is only interested in the duckling for eggs or breakfast, which is going to prove a problem since Norbert’s a boy. Then what?”
“Oddly, after a few weeks the duckling started to have a craving for swimming in the water again as he’d been away from it for such a long time. He began fantasizing about diving deep to eat water weeds and how wonderfully cool the water would feel closing over his head,” Hermione said.
“Finally, for once food comes up in one of these things and it doesn’t make me hungry,” Ron said, grinning. “No, not even months wandering about in the barren wastelands of Britain will make me develop a craving for water weeds.”
“We’ve actually found the limit!” Harry cried in mock ecstasy, swatting Ron right off the couch. “The bottomless pit has an end at last!”
Ron looked up at him from the floor, crossing his eyes and making a face before glancing over at Hermione and saying, “So what happened? Did he go for a swim?”
“He mentioned it to the hen and the cat. Both of them never went near the water if they could help it, so they thought the duckling had at last lost his mind, and they refused to have anything to do with him at all. So the duckling wandered outside until he finally found a river and went for a swim, feeling much better than he had in the stuffy cottage,” Hermione said.
“And thereby he missed being eaten due to being a non-egg-laying male,” Harry pointed out.
“Yes, it does inadvertently save his life into the bargain,” Hermione agreed. “He did decide not to return to the cottage and lived alone on the pond. The other animals still shunned him for being so ugly, but at least he could breathe and act naturally.”
“Seriously, how ugly is this poor duck?” Ron asked. “He can’t be worse off than a Flobberworm or something.”
“Sometimes perception is the damning bit,” Hermione said. “No one expects a Flobberworm to be handsome, so no one really remarks that they’re unattractive since they aren’t supposed to be. On the other hand, ducklings are usually portrayed as cute and fluffy, so the lack of living up to that expectation makes the duckling appear to be some sort of failure.”
Ron squinted for a second, still sprawled on the floor.
“So, it’s like when Witch Weekly makes people think girls are all supposed to look perfect all the time?” Ron said slowly.
Hermione’s face broke into a whole-hearted smile so bright it made Harry blink.
“Yes, precisely!” she said.
“So, is there a Duck Weekly in this story?” Ron said, frowning.
“Ehm, probably not an exact parallel, but I truly think you’re getting the idea,” Hermione said.
“Patriarchy. Duckiarchy. Same thing,” Ron said, nodding wisely. “So what’s the poor little guy do in isolation on the lake?”
“He swims a good deal, for in spite of everything he was still quite graceful in the water. Then one day, he saw a whole flock of beautiful white birds land on the lake, and he was completely in awe of them,” Hermione said.
“Swans again?” Harry guessed.
“Precisely. The ugly duckling hid in the reeds but couldn’t take his eyes from the stately and perfect birds. He knew that they would undoubtedly abuse him if he went up to them, so he kept a good distance, but he allowed himself the joy of seeing what he would never be: beauty,” Hermione said.
“I don’t really understand why people get so impressed by swans,” Ron said, dragging himself back into his seat. “I mean, yeah, I guess they’re pretty and all, but have you ever really looked at their feet? Those are some weird feet.”
“Classically, they’re considered a pinnacle of beauty, and of course Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in Greek mythology, was supposed to have been hatched from a swan’s egg,” Hermione said.
Ron stared at her.
“I really don’t want to know how someone got hatched out of a swan’s egg, do I?” Ron said.
“Let’s just say Zeus could be horrible when he thought a mortal woman was attractive,” Hermione said, her eyes darkening in a way Harry thought would frighten most Death Eaters senseless.
“Okay, now that I’m scarred for life about that, let’s go back to poor Norbert staring at the pretty birds and experiencing deep-seated self-esteem issues,” Ron said. “What happened?”
“One day the swans flew away as it was autumn and the winter winds would soon arrive, and the duckling realized he would never see them again, but he carried the memory of them as something almost not of this earth,” Hermione said.
“Wait, is he going to migrate too? Do ducks migrate?” Ron asked.
“A good few do, but the ugly duckling didn’t really know how, so he just stayed on the pond, swimming in circles as the leaves fell and then the snow. The water slowly froze over each day, leaving him only a small pool that he broke up with his continued swimming, growing smaller and smaller until finally he was surrounded by ice,” Hermione said.
“He did not die in the ice,” Ron said firmly. “I refuse to accept Norbert freezes to death alone in an empty pond in the middle of winter.”
“Actually, he doesn’t,” Hermione said kindly, and Harry noted that Ron’s earlier declaration against the duckiarchy seemed to have mellowed her considerably. “A peasant comes by and sees him in the ice and takes pity on him, lifting him out and carrying him back to his cottage.”
“Finally!” Ron yelled. “An actual decent person! Is he a woodsman by any chance?”
“It doesn’t say so in the story, but I suppose he might be. Why?” Hermione asked.
“Woodsmen seem like good folk in most of these,” Ron said. “In my brain, he’s a woodsman.”
“Fine with me,” Hermione said, smiling. “He can join Little Red Riding Hood’s and Snow White’s.”
“Maybe they’re all in a club or something. Decent Woodsmen of Fairy Tales. D.W.O.F.T,” Ron said.
“Dwoft?” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.
“You named yours S.P.E.W.,” Ron pointed out. “You have very little room to complain.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but continued.
“The peasant, or woodsman, brought the bird back to his cottage, and the warmth of the fire there did revive him. However, the ugly duckling was very upset when he awoke and he didn’t know where he was,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, that can happen,” Harry said. “When I woke up in the Hospital Wing after the Dementors attacked during Quidditch in third year, I thought I was in some sort of nightmare for a few seconds.”
“Quite,” Hermione said with a nod. “That really was awful. The poor duck, though, had no one to explain to him what had happened, and he went absolutely wild. The peasant’s wife screamed as he started flapping among the rafters, and the children laughed and started trying to chase him, which upset him so much that he fell into the butter barrel and then the flour barrel by turns.”
“Mum would not like that,” Ron said. “Sounds like a right mess.”
“Sounds like he’s dredging himself for a fry up,” Harry said.
“Eventually he blundered out of an open window and took off at top speed, leaving the cottage behind,” Hermione said.
“So now he’s back to being alone and out in the cold but he’s also covered in butter and flour?” Ron said. “Norbert’s got no good luck at all in this.”
“Not much, but somehow he did manage to survive the winter,” Hermione said. “Eventually as spring came, he found a little park with a pretty lake in it and willow trees all around. It was a lovely spot, and as he watched, the beautiful swans he had seen last autumn flew down from the sky and landed gracefully on the water. He had travelled very far and had been deeply lonely for a long time, so he couldn’t help but to cautiously approach the birds, even though he feared they would kill him out of repulsion.”
“This kid’s got problems,” Ron said.
“As he approached the fairest swan, he lowered his neck and, deciding that if he had to choose his death, it would be this, quietly said, ‘Kill me,’” Hermione said.
“Oh, come on!” Ron said.
“That’s basically what the swans’ reaction was, as none of them made any move to harm him and couldn’t understand his sorrow,” Hermione said. “Just at that moment, a group of children came up to the lake, bringing along bread and cakes to feed the swans, and they gasped in disbelief when they saw the new bird.”
“Any why would that be?” Ron asked suspiciously.
“Because the ugly duckling was no longer ugly. He looked at his reflection in the lake and realized he was, in fact, a beautiful swan, the most beautiful of them all,” Hermione said.
Ron stared. Harry screwed up his face as though he was trying to work it all out himself. Hermione just sort of looked between the two of them, not quite certain if they understood, then after a pause gamely plodded on.
“So the children fed him cake and bread, the other swans accepted him into their group, he was never lonely again, and he lived happily ever after,” she said, though it almost sounded more like a question.
Silence filled the room for a few seconds until Ron finally opened his mouth.
“Okay,” he said slowly, “so Norbert was a swan, not a duck.”
“Yes,” Hermione said.
“So how did a swan egg end up in duck nest to begin with?” Ron asked.
“Absolutely no idea,” Hermione admitted.
“Then, never once in this whole story does anyone ever realize that Norbert is actually a swan and not a duck until the very end?” Ron asked.
“Apparently not, no,” Hermione said. “There aren’t any swans at the farm at any rate.”
“Well, there must have been one at some point to stick the egg in the nest,” Ron pointed out. “Where are all the other baby swans in this?”
“Cygnets,” Hermione provided immediately, “and he does seem to be the only one.”
“So essentially everyone in this whole thing is pretty much an idiot,” Ron said.
“To some extent, yes,” Hermione said. “They just assume he’s ugly rather than different, and Andersen used it as a parallel with his own rather unhappy life. He finally found his place in life with his fairy tales, so he pretty much is the duckling.”
“Cygnet,” Ron corrected her. “But the whole point is that rather than the duckling growing up to be fine as a duck, he’s actually a swan and this all comes back around to beauty being the most important thing or some such tosh?”
Hermione tipped her head to one side for a moment.
“That is a possible valid interpretation,” Hermione finally said. “Again, remember that beauty was usually equated with morality and goodness in these tales, so it’s a sort of justification of the duckling’s, or cygnet’s, hardships and a condemnation of his treatment by others.”
Ron shook his head.
“At least Andersen didn’t do anything nasty about feet in this one,” he said.
“Unless the peasant pulled him out of the icy lake and his feet were frozen,” Harry pointed out.
“Good catch, mate,” Ron said. “As far as I’m concerned, Norbert went on to grow up to be a duck, and not even an especially good-looking one, who lived a long and happy duck-life with his nice and average duck-wife and had lots of ducklings whom he actually loved regardless of whether they were pretty or handsome or whatnot, and nuts to the rest of those mean birds and people and whatnot, and that’s the end of the story.”
Harry wondered whether Hermione would be upset over this complete overhauling of one of her stories, but he was pleased to see she didn’t look angry at all.
“I do believe I like your ending a good deal better than Andersen’s, Ron,” she said, then, to the shock of both boys, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before getting up and stretching. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll turn in. See you in the morning, early, of course. We’ll need to be at the Vatican library before daybreak.”
“Okay,” Ron said, watching her retreating form, “yeah, daybreak, night, good, sleep, book, library, thingy.”
“Highly erudite,” Harry said, slugging his friend in the shoulder. “Next time, stick to happy ducks.”
“Right, and if you’re so smart, what would you have done to fix that nightmare, then?” Ron asked.
“Easy,” Harry said, rolling over onto the couch to try to get comfortable for another night in Rome. “I’d have had one of the swans tell Norbert he was a wizard. Worked for me.”
