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bookishwenchAnother chapter from Muggle Fairy Tales Are Mad (link to all previous chapters)
Please see first chapter for general notes.
The trio entered the tent in silence. They had chosen to place their temporary home in an alleyway behind a vacant pub in London, and whether it was the wards and protective charms they used to seal themselves away or the empty little road was just unusually quiet, the silence was deafening. No one spoke as they sat in their accustomed places. Harry took the Horcrux from around his neck and placed it on the table, trying to make as little noise as possible with its chain. The ugly locket seemed to glow with smug satisfaction. If it really was capable of emotion, it was the only one of them to feel happy now.
The silence lasted the better part of twenty minutes. Hermione had a couch pillow wrapped in her arms, Ron was staring at a stain on the floor, and Harry, feeling bonelessly tired, sat so far back in his chair it threatened to tip. He knew in a distant way that he was hungry, and he actually had gotten some food while they were out, currently sitting in a paper sack by the door. They should all eat. But none of them felt up to it after what they had seen.
“Do you suppose—” Ron said, shattering the silence, but he seemed unable to finish his thought.
“What?” Harry asked.
“Do you suppose they saw us?” Ron finished, looking up from the spot on the carpet.
“Yes and no,” Hermione said. “I’m pretty certain that Ginny and Fred noticed us, but with the Polyjuice potion, I don’t think they knew who we were.”
Ron nodded, his thoughts confirmed. Harry silently agreed. The changes that had come over Diagon Alley since the last time they had seen it were obvious. Some of them echoed the propaganda they had found in the Ministry: pictures of themselves on wanted posters, himself as Undesirable Number One, pamphlets on the crimes of Muggleborns drifting about in the gutters underfoot, graffiti of Muggles showing them as barely human, all of what Harry had been steeling himself to see since they had decided to come here.
Still, he wasn’t ready for the sheer hopelessness in every corner. Dementors floated silently everywhere. Empty shops, their windows blasted out and their signs blackened by fires, were far more numerous than occupied ones. Knockturn Alley had always been hideous, but that aura of darkness and something foul had leeched its way everywhere else. Ollivander’s, Fortescue’s, even Flourish and Blotts (“Books are always considered too dangerous in times like these,” Hermione had whispered sadly as they passed its vacant spot), all of them were gone, and in their place were harried-looking witches and wizards who kept their heads down and moved quickly, finishing their errands as fast as they could before going to the safety of home, if home was safe at all. Harry had even noted a large number of purebloods who looked every bit as worried as the rest of them, including Theodore Nott’s family.
Of course, the posters with images of menacing Death Eaters and bold lettering declaring “All hail our protectors!” glaring down on them from every wall didn’t lessen the effect.
The three of them had used Polyjuice to turn into a woman from India who was in her forties for Hermione, a younger man who had been emptying dustbins behind a store for Ron, and a wizened octogenarian who had been feeding the birds on a park bench for Harry. Although the origins of their transformations were all Muggles, they made sure to dress in wizarding robes and not give any outward signs of being anything but the usual clientele of Diagon Alley. Anything else might have been lethal.
Reaching Riddle’s old flat had proved relatively easy. Borgin and Burkes was deserted. While the shop wasn’t closed down permanently, the lights were currently off, and a quick look through its glass windows showed the shelves were largely empty. The few items still left were put together haphazardly, as though someone had rifled through them and decided none were worth taking. Harry wondered whether Voldemort’s followers had been looking for potential weapons or if the Order of the Phoenix had raided it. Possibly both were true. Either way, Hermione was able to break in with little ado, and the small flat at the top of the stairs was unguarded.
Their search had produced absolutely nothing at all. The room was vacant, completely empty. Even the furniture had been removed. The grey walls and equally grey floor were all that remained. A single window looked out over the front of the shop with a view of the street below, but it was so clouded in dust and grime that only a vague picture of the world was visible, warped, covered in years of dirt. Harry was certain there was a metaphor in there for Voldemort’s life, but he didn’t care to spend the time to examine it further.
Hermione had still used a few spells to check for any concealed artefacts, but nothing turned up. It was Ron who had noted how odd that was, though.
“There aren’t even any spiders,” he said, and while that normally would have been a cause of delight, even he knew that was wrong. “No mice, no cobwebs, no dead flies on the sill, nothing.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Hermione said. “There’s a spell on this place, but not the kind we’re looking for. It reeks of evil in here so much that even a Basilisk wouldn’t take up residence.”
They’d left the dingy, disturbingly untouched spot behind, Harry feeling like he’d accidentally crawled into a forgotten corner of Voldemort’s mind. A chill wind blew up the alley as they left, wandering back towards the main strip of shops. Harry pulled his robe around him more tightly to keep out the blast of cold, and it was then he realized Ron wasn’t with them.
“Where is he?” he said to Hermione, who appeared to have noticed his absence at the same moment.
“No idea,” she said. “He was here a moment ago, then—”
She looked behind her, and Harry heard her sharp intake of breath. He was almost certain what he would see even before he turned around, and he hadn’t been wrong. There was Ron, still disguised as the Muggle man, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, following the path of two people with brilliantly red hair. Even from here he recognized Ginny, but he couldn’t be certain if the other figure was Fred or George.
“Merlin, he’ll give us away for certain,” Hermione whispered quietly, beginning to move with as much haste as she could towards him without drawing attention.
Harry was right on her heels, but Ron had already managed to pull up level with his siblings before they could reach him. He appeared to be about to speak, but at that precise moment Amycus Carrow walked out of the shop door only a few feet away, laughing very unpleasantly. That seemed to stop Ron, and he drew back a bit. Ginny and Fred continued on, disgust evident on their faces as they passed Carrow. Ginny turned around to say something to the Death Eater, and Harry found himself fervently hoping her temper hadn’t gotten the better of her so completely that she was about to be killed for her trouble.
They couldn’t hear what she said, but Carrow sneered at her, and then Ron applauded briefly before slipping back into the crowd before Carrow could see who had made the noise. Ginny seemed to have found the source of it, though, and a strange look passed over her face. She quickly took Fred’s hand (Harry could see both of his ears now) and continued up the street, leaving Carrow behind. For a split instant, though, she looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with Harry.
“What did Ginny say to that git?” Harry asked now that they were back in the safety of the tent.
“She was bawling him out for picking on some poor half-blood kid for having a ragged pair of shoes,” Ron said. “She said the girl’s ‘sole’ might be worn through, but unlike Carrow she at least had one.”
“Nice pun,” Harry said.
“I thought so too,” Ron said, then winced, “hence the clapping.”
“We got away without a problem, so it wasn’t that awful,” Hermione said consolingly.
“She might know it was us,” Harry said quietly. “She looked right at me. I thought about giving her a wink, but it might have been too obvious.”
“As opposed to my applauding like a trained baboon,” Ron said, his voice full of self-loathing.
“If it makes you feel any better, if the situation had been reversed and we’d run across my parents just ambling down the street, I probably wouldn’t have had any self-control either, and they wouldn’t even know who the girl was who was sobbing and hugging them,” Hermione said. “You’re only human, Ron. It’s understandable.”
“Maybe,” Ron said, still looking uncomfortable. “I feel awful, though. The whole day was a nightmare.”
“It’s the Dementors, too,” Harry said. “There were so many of them that no one stood a chance against them. It feels like they’ve sucked every happy memory out of me and I’ll never laugh again.”
Hermione looked up at him and actually had a little grin on her face.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to hear a story about just that,” she said.
“What, not laughing?” Harry said.
“In a way,” Hermione said, then turned to Ron and added, “and there’s one of your favorite things in this one.”
“Food?” Ron asked, perking up.
“Well, yes, that too,” Hermione said, “but something else.”
“Why not?” Harry said.
“Go on then,” Ron said, looking mildly interested.
“Alright then. Once upon—“
“A time,” Ron finished, but without further comment.
“Indeed, there was a couple who had three sons. The first two were their favorites, but they had no patience with the third one, and so rather than his name, they always called him Simpleton,” Hermione said.
“Simpleton? That’s cruel,” Ron said.
“A few versions use Dummling instead, which is no better,” Hermione said.
“I already don’t like these people,” Ron said darkly. “I hope this gets better.”
“Well, perhaps it will. One day the oldest son went out to chop wood, and his mother gave him good wine and a sweet cake to take with him,” Hermione said.
“You’re right; it got better,” Ron said. “I’m not so much for the wine, though I wouldn’t say no to it, but a sweet cake sounds awfully good about now.”
“Chocolate would be better still, but there was none to be had in Diagon Alley,” Harry said. “They’ve sold out.”
“Gosh, I wonder why,” Ron said sarcastically. “Might have to think a whole two seconds there. Could it possibly be something to do with the Dementors floating all over the place?”
Hermione had a longing look on her face, and Harry thought he heard her mumble the word “Cadbury” under her breath with the same level of passion she’d once reserved for Lockhart.
“So, what happens to the fellow with the lunch?” Harry asked.
“Right. Well, he walked into the woods and was just about to start work when a little, old, grey man appeared before him and said, ‘I am very hungry and thirsty. Will you not share your food and drink with me?’” Hermione said, giving the old man a creaky, high-pitched voice that reminded Harry of Flitwick.
“I’m guessing the answer is no,” Ron said.
“Indeed. The oldest son said that he had no reason to share with those who had less than he did, and that the little old man should be off as he would get nothing from him. Then the boy picked up his ax, and at the first stroke the blade bounced off the tree and hit him squarely in the leg, injuring him so that he had to go home,” Hermione said.
“Talk about instant karma,” Harry said.
“Karma?” Ron asked.
“It’s a traditionally Hindu or Buddhist concept that good deeds result in good outcomes for the person who acts righteously, and bad deeds create bad situations for the perpetrator, sometimes immediately, but often later on,” Hermione said. “However, in this particular instance, it was really the gray man who had caused it.”
“I rather thought so,” Ron said. “The bloke’s not all that bright. If you find a short, elderly, oddly grey chap wandering around the forest, most likely he’s not human and it’s better not to offend him.”
“Yes, but I’m not really sure what he’s supposed to be here,” Hermione said. “He almost sounds like a gnome, but the rest of his behavior doesn’t match up. I suppose he could be some variety of elemental spirit, but that’s still not quite right either.”
“The Muggles who make these things up only get about one out of every five things right when it comes to magic, so I suppose we should cut them some slack,” Ron said. “So the eldest comes home with a limp. Then what?”
“The next day, the middle son went out, with yet another bottle of good wine and a sweet cake, to finish the job his older brother hadn’t done, and once again the little gray many appeared, asking for a share of his food. He ignored the man too, and he also met with an accident while chopping down a tree, injuring his arm,” Hermione said.
“Karma strikes again,” Ron said, then added, “which is apparently the name of the weird little grey man.”
“Just so,” Hermione said, then stopped and shrugged. “Fine. His name is Karma. It fits. Anyway, the third son said he wanted to try chopping wood, but his parents said he was far too stupid.”
“Unlike the tremendous brains that nearly amputated their limbs previously,” Ron said.
“True. Simpleton repeated over and over his desire to chop wood until finally his parents gave in. They turned him out into the forest with an ax, a cup of water, and some dry bread, rather hoping not to see him again,” Hermione said.
“Home sweet home,” Harry muttered quietly, “except all I got were Dudley’s old socks. At least bread and water would be useful. And probably smell less.”
Ron gave Harry a sad look that Hermione echoed.
“Anyway, what does Simon do?” Ron asked, ending the awkward silence.
“Simon?” Hermione asked. “How do you get that for a name?”
“You know the old rhyme, yeah? ‘Simple Simon met a pie man going to the fair’?” Ron said.
“I thought that was a Muggle nursery rhyme,” Hermione said, looking surprised.
“It is? How do they explain the verse about the Quidditch match?” Ron asked, looking confused.
“What?” Harry said.
“Yeah, you know. ‘Simple Simon dared the pie man to catch a snitch mid-air, but Simple Simon beat the pie man, and ate his pie right there,” Ron recited in a sing-song voice.
“That’s not in ours,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, even I ran across that one,” Harry said. “He just tries to get a pie without paying for it, but the pie man catches on and Simon walks away hungry.”
“Well that’s depressing,” Ron said. “I like ours better. At least he gets a meal out of it. I also like calling the third son Simon a lot better than Simpleton. That’s just rude.”
“I wonder which version came first,” Hermione said, staring into the distance. “The literary cross-references between Muggle and non-Muggle works are really a rather fascinating subject.”
“Fine, but what happens to Simon?” Ron asked.
“Oh, yes. The little grey man shows up again, but the boy is much kinder than his brothers and immediately offers him a share of the poor food and drink he has, but no sooner do they sit down to eat together than the water becomes a good wine and the dry bread a fine cake,” Hermione said.
“Karma,” Ron said, nodding his head firmly.
“Even more than you know. The little man told him that since he had been so kind and hospitable, he would reward him. He showed him a particular tree, and told him to chop down that one and look among the roots for something,” Hermione said.
“And did he?” Ron asked.
“He did indeed,” Hermione said, “and without any accidents, either.”
“So what was in the roots of the tree?” Harry asked. “A pot of gold?”
“Diamonds?” Ron suggested.
“Rubies?”
“Emeralds?”
“Pearls?”
“A Paracelsus Chocolate Frog card?”
Harry and Hermione stared at Ron.
“What? It’s really rare. I’ve been looking for that thing since first year without any luck,” he said.
“None of that,” Hermione said. “Instead, he found… a goose.”
“A goose?” Ron said.
Hermione nodded, waiting for the inevitable.
“Okay, what is it with these people and gooses? I mean, geese. They lay golden eggs, they get swapped with swans, they get kidnapped by giants, and now they roost underneath gigantic tree roots?” Ron said.
“Oh, and the goose’s feathers were made of gold,” Hermione added as an afterthought.
Harry and Ron exchanged looks.
“They were what now?” Ron asked calmly.
“Gold. It was literally a golden goose,” Hermione said.
“So the old girl’s moved from laying golden eggs to being made of gold,” Ron said.
“Or maybe one of the golden eggs hatched, and this goose was inside it,” Harry suggested.
“Yeah, that’d fit,” Ron said, nodding in approval. “This is the daughter of the golden-egg laying goose. Or something.”
“I thought you’d come to the conclusion she’d eaten a Philosopher’s Stone, explaining her longevity and the gold eggs,” Hermione said.
“Sorcerer’s Stone,” Harry muttered.
“So? Nothing contradicts that theory with this one,” Ron said, folding his arms firmly and ignoring the issues of the stone’s nomenclature. “She ate the stone, she lives forever, she lays golden eggs, and one of them hatched, producing a golden goose. Completely logical, though I don’t know what she’s doing underground.”
“Yes, well, that part never does get satisfactorily explained,” Hermione said. “Anyway, the youngest son—“
“Simon,” Ron piped up.
“As you wish. Simon picks up the goose and takes her with him to a nearby inn to pass the night, thinking that perhaps the goose will help him to earn his fortune,” Hermione said.
“Kid’s not that stupid after all, is he,” Ron said.
“That night, the innkeeper’s oldest daughter noticed the goose and thought she would try to pluck a few of its feathers to make herself rich, but no sooner did she touch the goose than her hand stuck fast to it,” Hermione said.
“Well, she did have sticky fingers in the metaphorical sense, and now it’s literal,” Harry said.
“Sticky fingers?” Ron said, looking confused.
“It’s a Muggle term for someone who tends to steal things,” Harry said.
“Well, yeah, that’d fit here. So what did Simon do when he saw the girl stuck to the goose?” Ron asked.
“He ignored her completely,” Hermione said. “He just put the goose under his arm and walked on the next morning with the girl still stuck to the goose.”
“That must have been a bit awkward,” Harry said, snickering.
“Yes, and the girl called for help, and her sister heard her and grabbed her, although some versions of the story say she too was trying to steal a feather, and she became stuck to her sister. As they both wailed in misery, trotting along behind the boy, the youngest sister heard them and grabbed on as well, and now the boy, the goose, and all three girls were going along the road in a line,” Hermione said.
Harry and Ron both snorted.
“And it gets worse! The vicar of the local church saw the three girls following behind the boy and cried ‘For shame! Have you no modesty! It is unseemly for maidens to chase after men so!’ and then he grabbed the youngest girl to try to stop her and became stuck fast as well,” Hermione said.
Ron shot a look at Harry, took a deep breath, then said in a very even tone, “And does that represent the patriarchy punishing the girls for behavior deemed acceptable for males but not for them?”
“Perhaps,” Hermione said, “although the concept that the vicar is made to look a fool as much as the girls do rather undermines that message and instead enforces an opposite interpretation that the vicar is the one in the wrong.”
“Then it undermines the patriarchy,” Ron said.
“Potentially at this stage, yes,” Hermione said, giving him a glowing smile.
Harry fought back the growing urge to run out of the tent and take a lap of the block just to avoid the feeling of being a third wheel. However, as they were in close proximity to a wide variety of Death Eaters, he managed to rein in the feeling and only rolled his eyes and sighed.
“And then what happened?” he prompted her.
“Oh, yes, right,” Hermione said, snapping back to herself. “The sexton came out to remind the vicar that he had a christening later that morning, and he grabbed the vicar’s arm to detach him from the train and became stuck fast as well.”
“This is becoming quite the parade,” Ron said.
“And then the vicar and the sexton saw a pair of farm workers along the side of the road, and they called out to them to help them, and the men grabbed onto the sexton to try to pull him away and became stuck as well,” Hermione said.
“Okay, so Simon, the goose, the three sisters, the vicar, the sexton, and the two workers,” Ron said, ticking them off on his fingers. “This is starting to remind me of the one about the gingerbread boy that ran off with the chain of people following along.”
“Yes, it does have some of the properties of a cumulative tale,” Hermione said. “Granted, we’re missing an anthropomorphic baked good here, though.”
“Yeah, but we picked up a goose made of gold. That’s a fair trade,” Ron said. “And Simon doesn’t take any notice of the lot of them?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said. “He just continues into the next town. A king lived there who had an only daughter who had never in her life laughed.”
“That’s odd,” Ron said. “Was it a medical condition or summat?”
“I suppose there could have been a partial paralysis of the vocal chords or some other underlying cause, but in the story she’s just far too serious for her own good,” Hermione said.
“Sounds like someone I know,” Ron said, giving Hermione a pointed look.
“Oh, come off it! I laugh plenty,” Hermione said.
“Yeah? When?” Ron asked, still fixing her with a critical gaze.
“Well, there’s… I suppose… well, I can’t think just now, and it’s not like it’s a laugh a minute out here,” Hermione snapped at him. “In any case, the king had issued a proclamation that whoever could make the princess laugh would win her hand in marriage and inherit the kingdom eventually.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, another father who’s willing to slap a ring on his daughter’s finger in return for something stupid!” Ron said. “It seems like the princess really does have a good reason for not laughing: her father’s a nitwit.”
“It’s another fairly ridiculous task, but no sooner had the king made the proclamation then into town walked the youngest son, err, Simon, with his goose and his train of people following along behind. The princess was looking out of her window, saw the whole lot of them following one behind the other, and she burst out laughing at once,” Hermione said.
“Which of course proves that they’re a perfect match and should be joined in matrimonial bliss without any further delay,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
“Actually, the king was none too pleased at having to marry his daughter to a peasant boy, so he said that Simon would need to complete some tasks to prove he was able to be a good king,” Hermione said.
“I can’t decide whether the king is attempting to make a more rational choice here, which is good, or if he’s trying to wiggle his way out of his promise, which is bad,” Harry said.
“Thank you for not saying ‘weasel his way out,’” Ron said, tipping an imaginary hat at him. “That always annoys the whole lot of us.”
“I imagine it would,” Hermione said. “So, the first task the king set for the boy was to find a man who could drink an entire cellar full of wine.”
“And this has what to do with being a good and wise king?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Nothing, of course,” Hermione said. “The king just wanted to get rid of him, so he set what he thought was an impossible task.”
“Since you said he thought it was impossible, I’m going to assume it wasn’t,” Ron said.
“Indeed. The boy went back to the same spot where he’d met the little gray man, and sure enough, there he was, weeping that he was so very thirsty and yet he couldn’t find anything to drink,” Hermione said.
“Wild guess. The kid takes him back to town and gets him a whole cellar full of wine?” Harry asked.
“Precisely. The little man drank every single cask of wine and then disappeared,” Hermione said.
“Whew. He must have been completely sozzled,” Ron said.
“Apparently not,” Hermione said. “Perhaps alcohol had no effect on him, whatever he was.”
“That’s lucky. That’d be an awful hangover. Anyway, the boy gets the princess now?” Ron said.
“No, the king next says he has to find someone who can eat a mountain of bread,” Hermione said.
“And the kid gets the little grey man again, and he eats all the bread?” Ron said.
“Right again,” Hermione said. “And as this is a fairy tale, of course the king comes up with a third task.”
“What next? Lift the whole castle with one hand?” Ron asked.
“No, though that’s a good one. Instead, he said the boy needed to get him a ship that could sail on water and on land,” Hermione said.
“The bloke wants one of those amphibious car things,” Harry said.
“That would fit the bill nicely, but of course this was long before the invention of the automobile,” Hermione pointed out.
“An amphi-whatimous car?” Ron asked.
“It’s pretty much exactly what the king asked for. On land, it drives like a regular car, but it can also be used as a boat,” Hermione said.
“Too bad he didn’t ask for something that could go on land and in the air. Dad’s old car would have been just exactly perfect,” Ron said. “I wonder whatever happened to that Ford Anglia.”
“Probably still roaming the Forbidden Forest, trundling about under the trees and terrifying the spiders,” Harry said.
“Yeah,” Ron said, smiling. “Good ol’ girl.”
“I don’t suppose the little grey man had a boat that also worked on land by any chance,” Harry said.
“The boy went to ask him, and sure enough, the little grey man produced it at once and made him a present of it,” Hermione said, “all because he had once shared his simple lunch with the old man.”
“Bully for him, I suppose,” Ron said. “Now does he get to marry the princess?”
“The king could see no way out of it, so yes, he gave the boy his daughter,” Hermione said.
“And once again, no one asks the girl what she wants,” Ron said.
“Unfortunately, as usual, no. Some years later, the old king died, and the boy was crowned king in his place. He became well known for his wisdom and kindness, and under him the kingdom was peaceful and prosperous,” Hermione said, “and they all lived happily ever after. The end.”
“Meanwhile, what exactly is going on with the goose and the seven people that were stuck to her?” Harry asked.
“So far as I know, they remained glued to the goose through the whole ordeal,” Hermione said. “They never do bring them up again as that’s the end of the story.”
“Well, if they do all live happily ever after, I think it’s safe to assume the seven of them don’t remain attached to the goose’s hind end for the rest of their lives. How would any of them have used the loo, anyway?” Ron said.
“As usual, Ronald, your sense of decorum and tact is legendary,” Hermione said with a sigh.
“Yeah, because that was in full evidence today,” Ron said, gloom making his features drop again as he remembered his public display earlier.
“Oh, snap out of it,” Harry said, slugging him in the arm. “I don’t think there was any harm done. It even provided a distraction for them so that Carrow didn’t focus on getting even with Ginny.”
“I suppose so,” Ron said, but he still sounded glum.
“They looked okay,” Hermione said. “Fred and Ginny, I mean.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Ron said, lightening a little. “No major wounds or anything. I guess I at least got some word about part of my family.”
“True enough,” Hermione said, smiling a little, “and Ginny still has plenty of fight in her.”
“That’s my little sister,” Ron said, pride showing in his eyes. “She’s made of strong stuff, that one.”
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. It had been a horrible day, but seeing Ginny, even with everything else going on, had been good.
“I suppose we’d best turn in,” Hermione said. “It’s getting late.”
“Mmm,” Ron said. “Where are we going next? Harry, it’s your turn to pick.”
Caught off guard, Harry frowned, staring at the Horcrux sitting on the table. A thought occurred to him, one he hadn’t considered before.
“What if, rather than trying to find another one, we try to get rid of this one instead?” Harry said. “Even if we did manage to track down the next Horcrux, we’d only be carrying around a pair of the bloody things, and that might be worse yet.”
“That’s a good point,” Hermione said. “I hadn’t really thought of that, but if we do succeed in finding it, the effect both of them might have on us could be even worse.”
“I do not want that,” Ron said, looking ill. “One is much more than enough, thanks.”
“So what do you have in mind?” Hermione asked Harry.
“Well, we’ve tried all sorts of spells and hexes,” Harry said. “Maybe we could try something less magical and more natural.”
“Like what?” Ron asked.
“Like . . . throwing it in a volcano?” Harry said tentatively, hoping it didn’t sound ridiculous out loud as it did in his head.
“A volcano?” Hermione asked, looking worried.
“Yeah,” Ron said, sounding enthusiastic. “A volcano! Why not? They’re kind of thin on the ground in Britain, though. Where were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Are there any active volcanos that are off by themselves?” Harry asked Hermione. “Just in case this backfires, I don’t want to wipe out a whole city or something.”
“You know, I think there might be,” Hermione said, reaching for her beaded bag and rooting through it until she found, to Harry’s surprise, not a book but a newspaper. She flipped through the pages hurriedly. “I read about this just last year. There was a major eruption on the island of Montserrat near the city of Plymouth. The whole place has been permanently evacuated as a result. The Soufrière Hills volcano that caused all the damage is definitely still active, too, though the whole city is buried in mud and ash. It’s completely illegal to go there, of course, but then we’re not exactly following the rules anymore."
“There was a time I never would have believe that of you,” Ron said with an admiring gaze. “So where’s Montserrat then?”
“The Caribbean,” Hermione said. “It’s not too far from Guadeloupe or St. Kitts and Nevis.”
“We’re going to the Caribbean?” Ron said, suddenly a lot more keen.
“Into an exclusion zone covered in poisonous volcanic ash, but yes, it’s in the Caribbean,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, now significantly much less keen. “Right. Do you think it’ll work?”
Just at that moment, the locket started to vibrate, almost as though it were trying to walk itself away from them.
“That’s good enough for me,” Ron said, grabbing it before it could fall on the floor.
The next morning, before they left, Ron woke to find something on his forehead.
“What’s this?” he said, grabbing it and staring at it in the light. “Blimey! The Paracelsus card! Did you put this here?”
Harry shook his head.
“Hermione?” Ron said, but she was already out of the tent and starting to take down the wards that protected them so they could leave. “She really is full of surprises, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, looking at the locket. “Aren’t we all?”
AN: Ten years ago in August, I wrote Cinder-what-the-hell?-a, expecting it to be a one-shot. Now, almost quarter of a million words and forty-four chapters later, the trio are still sitting around in various desolate places on a never-ending camping trip, telling fairy tales like some sort of magic-based MST3K. And I'm still having fun with it. I hope you are too. I have a fairly long list of other fairy tales I want to play with still, which means I don't see this ending particularly soon, so enjoy the journey. Thank you for all the lovely feedback I've received since 2008 on this. (Incidentally, I've now also passed the million word mark overall. I need to get me a life!)
Please see first chapter for general notes.
The trio entered the tent in silence. They had chosen to place their temporary home in an alleyway behind a vacant pub in London, and whether it was the wards and protective charms they used to seal themselves away or the empty little road was just unusually quiet, the silence was deafening. No one spoke as they sat in their accustomed places. Harry took the Horcrux from around his neck and placed it on the table, trying to make as little noise as possible with its chain. The ugly locket seemed to glow with smug satisfaction. If it really was capable of emotion, it was the only one of them to feel happy now.
The silence lasted the better part of twenty minutes. Hermione had a couch pillow wrapped in her arms, Ron was staring at a stain on the floor, and Harry, feeling bonelessly tired, sat so far back in his chair it threatened to tip. He knew in a distant way that he was hungry, and he actually had gotten some food while they were out, currently sitting in a paper sack by the door. They should all eat. But none of them felt up to it after what they had seen.
“Do you suppose—” Ron said, shattering the silence, but he seemed unable to finish his thought.
“What?” Harry asked.
“Do you suppose they saw us?” Ron finished, looking up from the spot on the carpet.
“Yes and no,” Hermione said. “I’m pretty certain that Ginny and Fred noticed us, but with the Polyjuice potion, I don’t think they knew who we were.”
Ron nodded, his thoughts confirmed. Harry silently agreed. The changes that had come over Diagon Alley since the last time they had seen it were obvious. Some of them echoed the propaganda they had found in the Ministry: pictures of themselves on wanted posters, himself as Undesirable Number One, pamphlets on the crimes of Muggleborns drifting about in the gutters underfoot, graffiti of Muggles showing them as barely human, all of what Harry had been steeling himself to see since they had decided to come here.
Still, he wasn’t ready for the sheer hopelessness in every corner. Dementors floated silently everywhere. Empty shops, their windows blasted out and their signs blackened by fires, were far more numerous than occupied ones. Knockturn Alley had always been hideous, but that aura of darkness and something foul had leeched its way everywhere else. Ollivander’s, Fortescue’s, even Flourish and Blotts (“Books are always considered too dangerous in times like these,” Hermione had whispered sadly as they passed its vacant spot), all of them were gone, and in their place were harried-looking witches and wizards who kept their heads down and moved quickly, finishing their errands as fast as they could before going to the safety of home, if home was safe at all. Harry had even noted a large number of purebloods who looked every bit as worried as the rest of them, including Theodore Nott’s family.
Of course, the posters with images of menacing Death Eaters and bold lettering declaring “All hail our protectors!” glaring down on them from every wall didn’t lessen the effect.
The three of them had used Polyjuice to turn into a woman from India who was in her forties for Hermione, a younger man who had been emptying dustbins behind a store for Ron, and a wizened octogenarian who had been feeding the birds on a park bench for Harry. Although the origins of their transformations were all Muggles, they made sure to dress in wizarding robes and not give any outward signs of being anything but the usual clientele of Diagon Alley. Anything else might have been lethal.
Reaching Riddle’s old flat had proved relatively easy. Borgin and Burkes was deserted. While the shop wasn’t closed down permanently, the lights were currently off, and a quick look through its glass windows showed the shelves were largely empty. The few items still left were put together haphazardly, as though someone had rifled through them and decided none were worth taking. Harry wondered whether Voldemort’s followers had been looking for potential weapons or if the Order of the Phoenix had raided it. Possibly both were true. Either way, Hermione was able to break in with little ado, and the small flat at the top of the stairs was unguarded.
Their search had produced absolutely nothing at all. The room was vacant, completely empty. Even the furniture had been removed. The grey walls and equally grey floor were all that remained. A single window looked out over the front of the shop with a view of the street below, but it was so clouded in dust and grime that only a vague picture of the world was visible, warped, covered in years of dirt. Harry was certain there was a metaphor in there for Voldemort’s life, but he didn’t care to spend the time to examine it further.
Hermione had still used a few spells to check for any concealed artefacts, but nothing turned up. It was Ron who had noted how odd that was, though.
“There aren’t even any spiders,” he said, and while that normally would have been a cause of delight, even he knew that was wrong. “No mice, no cobwebs, no dead flies on the sill, nothing.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Hermione said. “There’s a spell on this place, but not the kind we’re looking for. It reeks of evil in here so much that even a Basilisk wouldn’t take up residence.”
They’d left the dingy, disturbingly untouched spot behind, Harry feeling like he’d accidentally crawled into a forgotten corner of Voldemort’s mind. A chill wind blew up the alley as they left, wandering back towards the main strip of shops. Harry pulled his robe around him more tightly to keep out the blast of cold, and it was then he realized Ron wasn’t with them.
“Where is he?” he said to Hermione, who appeared to have noticed his absence at the same moment.
“No idea,” she said. “He was here a moment ago, then—”
She looked behind her, and Harry heard her sharp intake of breath. He was almost certain what he would see even before he turned around, and he hadn’t been wrong. There was Ron, still disguised as the Muggle man, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, following the path of two people with brilliantly red hair. Even from here he recognized Ginny, but he couldn’t be certain if the other figure was Fred or George.
“Merlin, he’ll give us away for certain,” Hermione whispered quietly, beginning to move with as much haste as she could towards him without drawing attention.
Harry was right on her heels, but Ron had already managed to pull up level with his siblings before they could reach him. He appeared to be about to speak, but at that precise moment Amycus Carrow walked out of the shop door only a few feet away, laughing very unpleasantly. That seemed to stop Ron, and he drew back a bit. Ginny and Fred continued on, disgust evident on their faces as they passed Carrow. Ginny turned around to say something to the Death Eater, and Harry found himself fervently hoping her temper hadn’t gotten the better of her so completely that she was about to be killed for her trouble.
They couldn’t hear what she said, but Carrow sneered at her, and then Ron applauded briefly before slipping back into the crowd before Carrow could see who had made the noise. Ginny seemed to have found the source of it, though, and a strange look passed over her face. She quickly took Fred’s hand (Harry could see both of his ears now) and continued up the street, leaving Carrow behind. For a split instant, though, she looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with Harry.
“What did Ginny say to that git?” Harry asked now that they were back in the safety of the tent.
“She was bawling him out for picking on some poor half-blood kid for having a ragged pair of shoes,” Ron said. “She said the girl’s ‘sole’ might be worn through, but unlike Carrow she at least had one.”
“Nice pun,” Harry said.
“I thought so too,” Ron said, then winced, “hence the clapping.”
“We got away without a problem, so it wasn’t that awful,” Hermione said consolingly.
“She might know it was us,” Harry said quietly. “She looked right at me. I thought about giving her a wink, but it might have been too obvious.”
“As opposed to my applauding like a trained baboon,” Ron said, his voice full of self-loathing.
“If it makes you feel any better, if the situation had been reversed and we’d run across my parents just ambling down the street, I probably wouldn’t have had any self-control either, and they wouldn’t even know who the girl was who was sobbing and hugging them,” Hermione said. “You’re only human, Ron. It’s understandable.”
“Maybe,” Ron said, still looking uncomfortable. “I feel awful, though. The whole day was a nightmare.”
“It’s the Dementors, too,” Harry said. “There were so many of them that no one stood a chance against them. It feels like they’ve sucked every happy memory out of me and I’ll never laugh again.”
Hermione looked up at him and actually had a little grin on her face.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to hear a story about just that,” she said.
“What, not laughing?” Harry said.
“In a way,” Hermione said, then turned to Ron and added, “and there’s one of your favorite things in this one.”
“Food?” Ron asked, perking up.
“Well, yes, that too,” Hermione said, “but something else.”
“Why not?” Harry said.
“Go on then,” Ron said, looking mildly interested.
“Alright then. Once upon—“
“A time,” Ron finished, but without further comment.
“Indeed, there was a couple who had three sons. The first two were their favorites, but they had no patience with the third one, and so rather than his name, they always called him Simpleton,” Hermione said.
“Simpleton? That’s cruel,” Ron said.
“A few versions use Dummling instead, which is no better,” Hermione said.
“I already don’t like these people,” Ron said darkly. “I hope this gets better.”
“Well, perhaps it will. One day the oldest son went out to chop wood, and his mother gave him good wine and a sweet cake to take with him,” Hermione said.
“You’re right; it got better,” Ron said. “I’m not so much for the wine, though I wouldn’t say no to it, but a sweet cake sounds awfully good about now.”
“Chocolate would be better still, but there was none to be had in Diagon Alley,” Harry said. “They’ve sold out.”
“Gosh, I wonder why,” Ron said sarcastically. “Might have to think a whole two seconds there. Could it possibly be something to do with the Dementors floating all over the place?”
Hermione had a longing look on her face, and Harry thought he heard her mumble the word “Cadbury” under her breath with the same level of passion she’d once reserved for Lockhart.
“So, what happens to the fellow with the lunch?” Harry asked.
“Right. Well, he walked into the woods and was just about to start work when a little, old, grey man appeared before him and said, ‘I am very hungry and thirsty. Will you not share your food and drink with me?’” Hermione said, giving the old man a creaky, high-pitched voice that reminded Harry of Flitwick.
“I’m guessing the answer is no,” Ron said.
“Indeed. The oldest son said that he had no reason to share with those who had less than he did, and that the little old man should be off as he would get nothing from him. Then the boy picked up his ax, and at the first stroke the blade bounced off the tree and hit him squarely in the leg, injuring him so that he had to go home,” Hermione said.
“Talk about instant karma,” Harry said.
“Karma?” Ron asked.
“It’s a traditionally Hindu or Buddhist concept that good deeds result in good outcomes for the person who acts righteously, and bad deeds create bad situations for the perpetrator, sometimes immediately, but often later on,” Hermione said. “However, in this particular instance, it was really the gray man who had caused it.”
“I rather thought so,” Ron said. “The bloke’s not all that bright. If you find a short, elderly, oddly grey chap wandering around the forest, most likely he’s not human and it’s better not to offend him.”
“Yes, but I’m not really sure what he’s supposed to be here,” Hermione said. “He almost sounds like a gnome, but the rest of his behavior doesn’t match up. I suppose he could be some variety of elemental spirit, but that’s still not quite right either.”
“The Muggles who make these things up only get about one out of every five things right when it comes to magic, so I suppose we should cut them some slack,” Ron said. “So the eldest comes home with a limp. Then what?”
“The next day, the middle son went out, with yet another bottle of good wine and a sweet cake, to finish the job his older brother hadn’t done, and once again the little gray many appeared, asking for a share of his food. He ignored the man too, and he also met with an accident while chopping down a tree, injuring his arm,” Hermione said.
“Karma strikes again,” Ron said, then added, “which is apparently the name of the weird little grey man.”
“Just so,” Hermione said, then stopped and shrugged. “Fine. His name is Karma. It fits. Anyway, the third son said he wanted to try chopping wood, but his parents said he was far too stupid.”
“Unlike the tremendous brains that nearly amputated their limbs previously,” Ron said.
“True. Simpleton repeated over and over his desire to chop wood until finally his parents gave in. They turned him out into the forest with an ax, a cup of water, and some dry bread, rather hoping not to see him again,” Hermione said.
“Home sweet home,” Harry muttered quietly, “except all I got were Dudley’s old socks. At least bread and water would be useful. And probably smell less.”
Ron gave Harry a sad look that Hermione echoed.
“Anyway, what does Simon do?” Ron asked, ending the awkward silence.
“Simon?” Hermione asked. “How do you get that for a name?”
“You know the old rhyme, yeah? ‘Simple Simon met a pie man going to the fair’?” Ron said.
“I thought that was a Muggle nursery rhyme,” Hermione said, looking surprised.
“It is? How do they explain the verse about the Quidditch match?” Ron asked, looking confused.
“What?” Harry said.
“Yeah, you know. ‘Simple Simon dared the pie man to catch a snitch mid-air, but Simple Simon beat the pie man, and ate his pie right there,” Ron recited in a sing-song voice.
“That’s not in ours,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, even I ran across that one,” Harry said. “He just tries to get a pie without paying for it, but the pie man catches on and Simon walks away hungry.”
“Well that’s depressing,” Ron said. “I like ours better. At least he gets a meal out of it. I also like calling the third son Simon a lot better than Simpleton. That’s just rude.”
“I wonder which version came first,” Hermione said, staring into the distance. “The literary cross-references between Muggle and non-Muggle works are really a rather fascinating subject.”
“Fine, but what happens to Simon?” Ron asked.
“Oh, yes. The little grey man shows up again, but the boy is much kinder than his brothers and immediately offers him a share of the poor food and drink he has, but no sooner do they sit down to eat together than the water becomes a good wine and the dry bread a fine cake,” Hermione said.
“Karma,” Ron said, nodding his head firmly.
“Even more than you know. The little man told him that since he had been so kind and hospitable, he would reward him. He showed him a particular tree, and told him to chop down that one and look among the roots for something,” Hermione said.
“And did he?” Ron asked.
“He did indeed,” Hermione said, “and without any accidents, either.”
“So what was in the roots of the tree?” Harry asked. “A pot of gold?”
“Diamonds?” Ron suggested.
“Rubies?”
“Emeralds?”
“Pearls?”
“A Paracelsus Chocolate Frog card?”
Harry and Hermione stared at Ron.
“What? It’s really rare. I’ve been looking for that thing since first year without any luck,” he said.
“None of that,” Hermione said. “Instead, he found… a goose.”
“A goose?” Ron said.
Hermione nodded, waiting for the inevitable.
“Okay, what is it with these people and gooses? I mean, geese. They lay golden eggs, they get swapped with swans, they get kidnapped by giants, and now they roost underneath gigantic tree roots?” Ron said.
“Oh, and the goose’s feathers were made of gold,” Hermione added as an afterthought.
Harry and Ron exchanged looks.
“They were what now?” Ron asked calmly.
“Gold. It was literally a golden goose,” Hermione said.
“So the old girl’s moved from laying golden eggs to being made of gold,” Ron said.
“Or maybe one of the golden eggs hatched, and this goose was inside it,” Harry suggested.
“Yeah, that’d fit,” Ron said, nodding in approval. “This is the daughter of the golden-egg laying goose. Or something.”
“I thought you’d come to the conclusion she’d eaten a Philosopher’s Stone, explaining her longevity and the gold eggs,” Hermione said.
“Sorcerer’s Stone,” Harry muttered.
“So? Nothing contradicts that theory with this one,” Ron said, folding his arms firmly and ignoring the issues of the stone’s nomenclature. “She ate the stone, she lives forever, she lays golden eggs, and one of them hatched, producing a golden goose. Completely logical, though I don’t know what she’s doing underground.”
“Yes, well, that part never does get satisfactorily explained,” Hermione said. “Anyway, the youngest son—“
“Simon,” Ron piped up.
“As you wish. Simon picks up the goose and takes her with him to a nearby inn to pass the night, thinking that perhaps the goose will help him to earn his fortune,” Hermione said.
“Kid’s not that stupid after all, is he,” Ron said.
“That night, the innkeeper’s oldest daughter noticed the goose and thought she would try to pluck a few of its feathers to make herself rich, but no sooner did she touch the goose than her hand stuck fast to it,” Hermione said.
“Well, she did have sticky fingers in the metaphorical sense, and now it’s literal,” Harry said.
“Sticky fingers?” Ron said, looking confused.
“It’s a Muggle term for someone who tends to steal things,” Harry said.
“Well, yeah, that’d fit here. So what did Simon do when he saw the girl stuck to the goose?” Ron asked.
“He ignored her completely,” Hermione said. “He just put the goose under his arm and walked on the next morning with the girl still stuck to the goose.”
“That must have been a bit awkward,” Harry said, snickering.
“Yes, and the girl called for help, and her sister heard her and grabbed her, although some versions of the story say she too was trying to steal a feather, and she became stuck to her sister. As they both wailed in misery, trotting along behind the boy, the youngest sister heard them and grabbed on as well, and now the boy, the goose, and all three girls were going along the road in a line,” Hermione said.
Harry and Ron both snorted.
“And it gets worse! The vicar of the local church saw the three girls following behind the boy and cried ‘For shame! Have you no modesty! It is unseemly for maidens to chase after men so!’ and then he grabbed the youngest girl to try to stop her and became stuck fast as well,” Hermione said.
Ron shot a look at Harry, took a deep breath, then said in a very even tone, “And does that represent the patriarchy punishing the girls for behavior deemed acceptable for males but not for them?”
“Perhaps,” Hermione said, “although the concept that the vicar is made to look a fool as much as the girls do rather undermines that message and instead enforces an opposite interpretation that the vicar is the one in the wrong.”
“Then it undermines the patriarchy,” Ron said.
“Potentially at this stage, yes,” Hermione said, giving him a glowing smile.
Harry fought back the growing urge to run out of the tent and take a lap of the block just to avoid the feeling of being a third wheel. However, as they were in close proximity to a wide variety of Death Eaters, he managed to rein in the feeling and only rolled his eyes and sighed.
“And then what happened?” he prompted her.
“Oh, yes, right,” Hermione said, snapping back to herself. “The sexton came out to remind the vicar that he had a christening later that morning, and he grabbed the vicar’s arm to detach him from the train and became stuck fast as well.”
“This is becoming quite the parade,” Ron said.
“And then the vicar and the sexton saw a pair of farm workers along the side of the road, and they called out to them to help them, and the men grabbed onto the sexton to try to pull him away and became stuck as well,” Hermione said.
“Okay, so Simon, the goose, the three sisters, the vicar, the sexton, and the two workers,” Ron said, ticking them off on his fingers. “This is starting to remind me of the one about the gingerbread boy that ran off with the chain of people following along.”
“Yes, it does have some of the properties of a cumulative tale,” Hermione said. “Granted, we’re missing an anthropomorphic baked good here, though.”
“Yeah, but we picked up a goose made of gold. That’s a fair trade,” Ron said. “And Simon doesn’t take any notice of the lot of them?”
“Exactly,” Hermione said. “He just continues into the next town. A king lived there who had an only daughter who had never in her life laughed.”
“That’s odd,” Ron said. “Was it a medical condition or summat?”
“I suppose there could have been a partial paralysis of the vocal chords or some other underlying cause, but in the story she’s just far too serious for her own good,” Hermione said.
“Sounds like someone I know,” Ron said, giving Hermione a pointed look.
“Oh, come off it! I laugh plenty,” Hermione said.
“Yeah? When?” Ron asked, still fixing her with a critical gaze.
“Well, there’s… I suppose… well, I can’t think just now, and it’s not like it’s a laugh a minute out here,” Hermione snapped at him. “In any case, the king had issued a proclamation that whoever could make the princess laugh would win her hand in marriage and inherit the kingdom eventually.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, another father who’s willing to slap a ring on his daughter’s finger in return for something stupid!” Ron said. “It seems like the princess really does have a good reason for not laughing: her father’s a nitwit.”
“It’s another fairly ridiculous task, but no sooner had the king made the proclamation then into town walked the youngest son, err, Simon, with his goose and his train of people following along behind. The princess was looking out of her window, saw the whole lot of them following one behind the other, and she burst out laughing at once,” Hermione said.
“Which of course proves that they’re a perfect match and should be joined in matrimonial bliss without any further delay,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
“Actually, the king was none too pleased at having to marry his daughter to a peasant boy, so he said that Simon would need to complete some tasks to prove he was able to be a good king,” Hermione said.
“I can’t decide whether the king is attempting to make a more rational choice here, which is good, or if he’s trying to wiggle his way out of his promise, which is bad,” Harry said.
“Thank you for not saying ‘weasel his way out,’” Ron said, tipping an imaginary hat at him. “That always annoys the whole lot of us.”
“I imagine it would,” Hermione said. “So, the first task the king set for the boy was to find a man who could drink an entire cellar full of wine.”
“And this has what to do with being a good and wise king?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Nothing, of course,” Hermione said. “The king just wanted to get rid of him, so he set what he thought was an impossible task.”
“Since you said he thought it was impossible, I’m going to assume it wasn’t,” Ron said.
“Indeed. The boy went back to the same spot where he’d met the little gray man, and sure enough, there he was, weeping that he was so very thirsty and yet he couldn’t find anything to drink,” Hermione said.
“Wild guess. The kid takes him back to town and gets him a whole cellar full of wine?” Harry asked.
“Precisely. The little man drank every single cask of wine and then disappeared,” Hermione said.
“Whew. He must have been completely sozzled,” Ron said.
“Apparently not,” Hermione said. “Perhaps alcohol had no effect on him, whatever he was.”
“That’s lucky. That’d be an awful hangover. Anyway, the boy gets the princess now?” Ron said.
“No, the king next says he has to find someone who can eat a mountain of bread,” Hermione said.
“And the kid gets the little grey man again, and he eats all the bread?” Ron said.
“Right again,” Hermione said. “And as this is a fairy tale, of course the king comes up with a third task.”
“What next? Lift the whole castle with one hand?” Ron asked.
“No, though that’s a good one. Instead, he said the boy needed to get him a ship that could sail on water and on land,” Hermione said.
“The bloke wants one of those amphibious car things,” Harry said.
“That would fit the bill nicely, but of course this was long before the invention of the automobile,” Hermione pointed out.
“An amphi-whatimous car?” Ron asked.
“It’s pretty much exactly what the king asked for. On land, it drives like a regular car, but it can also be used as a boat,” Hermione said.
“Too bad he didn’t ask for something that could go on land and in the air. Dad’s old car would have been just exactly perfect,” Ron said. “I wonder whatever happened to that Ford Anglia.”
“Probably still roaming the Forbidden Forest, trundling about under the trees and terrifying the spiders,” Harry said.
“Yeah,” Ron said, smiling. “Good ol’ girl.”
“I don’t suppose the little grey man had a boat that also worked on land by any chance,” Harry said.
“The boy went to ask him, and sure enough, the little grey man produced it at once and made him a present of it,” Hermione said, “all because he had once shared his simple lunch with the old man.”
“Bully for him, I suppose,” Ron said. “Now does he get to marry the princess?”
“The king could see no way out of it, so yes, he gave the boy his daughter,” Hermione said.
“And once again, no one asks the girl what she wants,” Ron said.
“Unfortunately, as usual, no. Some years later, the old king died, and the boy was crowned king in his place. He became well known for his wisdom and kindness, and under him the kingdom was peaceful and prosperous,” Hermione said, “and they all lived happily ever after. The end.”
“Meanwhile, what exactly is going on with the goose and the seven people that were stuck to her?” Harry asked.
“So far as I know, they remained glued to the goose through the whole ordeal,” Hermione said. “They never do bring them up again as that’s the end of the story.”
“Well, if they do all live happily ever after, I think it’s safe to assume the seven of them don’t remain attached to the goose’s hind end for the rest of their lives. How would any of them have used the loo, anyway?” Ron said.
“As usual, Ronald, your sense of decorum and tact is legendary,” Hermione said with a sigh.
“Yeah, because that was in full evidence today,” Ron said, gloom making his features drop again as he remembered his public display earlier.
“Oh, snap out of it,” Harry said, slugging him in the arm. “I don’t think there was any harm done. It even provided a distraction for them so that Carrow didn’t focus on getting even with Ginny.”
“I suppose so,” Ron said, but he still sounded glum.
“They looked okay,” Hermione said. “Fred and Ginny, I mean.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Ron said, lightening a little. “No major wounds or anything. I guess I at least got some word about part of my family.”
“True enough,” Hermione said, smiling a little, “and Ginny still has plenty of fight in her.”
“That’s my little sister,” Ron said, pride showing in his eyes. “She’s made of strong stuff, that one.”
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. It had been a horrible day, but seeing Ginny, even with everything else going on, had been good.
“I suppose we’d best turn in,” Hermione said. “It’s getting late.”
“Mmm,” Ron said. “Where are we going next? Harry, it’s your turn to pick.”
Caught off guard, Harry frowned, staring at the Horcrux sitting on the table. A thought occurred to him, one he hadn’t considered before.
“What if, rather than trying to find another one, we try to get rid of this one instead?” Harry said. “Even if we did manage to track down the next Horcrux, we’d only be carrying around a pair of the bloody things, and that might be worse yet.”
“That’s a good point,” Hermione said. “I hadn’t really thought of that, but if we do succeed in finding it, the effect both of them might have on us could be even worse.”
“I do not want that,” Ron said, looking ill. “One is much more than enough, thanks.”
“So what do you have in mind?” Hermione asked Harry.
“Well, we’ve tried all sorts of spells and hexes,” Harry said. “Maybe we could try something less magical and more natural.”
“Like what?” Ron asked.
“Like . . . throwing it in a volcano?” Harry said tentatively, hoping it didn’t sound ridiculous out loud as it did in his head.
“A volcano?” Hermione asked, looking worried.
“Yeah,” Ron said, sounding enthusiastic. “A volcano! Why not? They’re kind of thin on the ground in Britain, though. Where were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Are there any active volcanos that are off by themselves?” Harry asked Hermione. “Just in case this backfires, I don’t want to wipe out a whole city or something.”
“You know, I think there might be,” Hermione said, reaching for her beaded bag and rooting through it until she found, to Harry’s surprise, not a book but a newspaper. She flipped through the pages hurriedly. “I read about this just last year. There was a major eruption on the island of Montserrat near the city of Plymouth. The whole place has been permanently evacuated as a result. The Soufrière Hills volcano that caused all the damage is definitely still active, too, though the whole city is buried in mud and ash. It’s completely illegal to go there, of course, but then we’re not exactly following the rules anymore."
“There was a time I never would have believe that of you,” Ron said with an admiring gaze. “So where’s Montserrat then?”
“The Caribbean,” Hermione said. “It’s not too far from Guadeloupe or St. Kitts and Nevis.”
“We’re going to the Caribbean?” Ron said, suddenly a lot more keen.
“Into an exclusion zone covered in poisonous volcanic ash, but yes, it’s in the Caribbean,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, now significantly much less keen. “Right. Do you think it’ll work?”
Just at that moment, the locket started to vibrate, almost as though it were trying to walk itself away from them.
“That’s good enough for me,” Ron said, grabbing it before it could fall on the floor.
The next morning, before they left, Ron woke to find something on his forehead.
“What’s this?” he said, grabbing it and staring at it in the light. “Blimey! The Paracelsus card! Did you put this here?”
Harry shook his head.
“Hermione?” Ron said, but she was already out of the tent and starting to take down the wards that protected them so they could leave. “She really is full of surprises, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, looking at the locket. “Aren’t we all?”
AN: Ten years ago in August, I wrote Cinder-what-the-hell?-a, expecting it to be a one-shot. Now, almost quarter of a million words and forty-four chapters later, the trio are still sitting around in various desolate places on a never-ending camping trip, telling fairy tales like some sort of magic-based MST3K. And I'm still having fun with it. I hope you are too. I have a fairly long list of other fairy tales I want to play with still, which means I don't see this ending particularly soon, so enjoy the journey. Thank you for all the lovely feedback I've received since 2008 on this. (Incidentally, I've now also passed the million word mark overall. I need to get me a life!)
