Fic: Rose Red and Snow W(hat, Again?)hite
Mar. 22nd, 2019 11:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchYet another in the Muggle Fairy Tales Are Mad series (link to all previous chapters).
Rose Red and Snow W(hat, Again?)hite
“Well, that was unexpected,” Ron said as all three of them collapsed onto the couches inside the tent.
“We walked directly into that one,” Harry said, wondering if he would ever have full use of his limbs again after that much running.
“I am such an absolute moronic fool!” Hermione cried as she pulled off her shoes and poured out ridiculous amounts of filthy water onto the floor, immediately syphoning it away with her wand. “Of course it was a cover story!”
“Good cover,” Ron said.
“An erupting volcano,” Hermione said, snorting at herself. “Right, because that was likely!”
“A lot more likely than a whole bunch of nesting dragons,” Harry said.
“What were those, anyway?” Ron asked.
“Peruvian Vipertooths,” Hermione said immediately. “They’re one of the most lethal species of dragons. We read about them in The Monster Book of Monsters.”
“You read about them,” Ron said. “I never even tried to open that books after it nearly tore off my big toe. I’ve still got a scar there that looks like a demented woodpecker.”
“Want to trade?” Harry asked, pointing at his forehead.
“No thanks, mate,” Ron said. “So if they’re Peruvian, what are they doing in Montserrat?”
“Good question. If I had to make a guess, I’d say they came here en masse at some point during the late nineteenth century when the International Confederation of Wizards sent in exterminators to kill them off because they were attacking humans at a very alarming rate,” Hermione said. “I remember Hagrid was in tears over it when we talked about it once over tea in third year.”
“I don’t remember that,” Ron said, looking at Harry quizzically. “Do you?”
Harry shook his head.
“That would be during the time you weren’t speaking to me because of the broom Sirius sent you,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking uncomfortable. “Right. Hagrid mentioned you’d dropped round for tea a few times during that… thing. So how many people did the Vipertooths kill? Or is it Viperteeth?”
“Vipertooths is indeed correct, and they wiped out roughly twenty villages,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, time to put out some traps and cheese,” Harry said.
“It appears at least one colony left and headed northeast, though,” Hermione said. “Dragons live such long lives that they might well be the same ones who were driven out a century ago.”
“It took them this long to find a new spot?” Harry asked.
“Possibly,” Hermione said. “Most likely they’ve been moving from place to place for a while, then took up residence in Montserrat’s volcano for a bit, bred, laid eggs, and when they realized they were going to need a nursery—“
“They burned down everything in sight and took over the island,” Ron finished. “You’ve got to hand it to them. Get driven out of Peru, then go take over most of a Caribbean island to replace it. That’s an upgrade, I suppose.”
“Yes, Hagrid might be pleased,” Hermione said sourly, “but they did cause terrible damage and killed nineteen people a few months ago.”
Ron grimaced as he tried to remove his soggy boots, but the sodden laces were stuck together.
Hermione took out her wand and murmured, “Renodo,” at which the laces unwound themselves.
“So, now that we’ve made roughly fifty dragons furious at us—” Ron started.
“Seventy,” Harry corrected him. “I counted.”
“Right then, seventy gigantic copper dragons are now more than a bit miffed at us, what do we do?” Ron asked.
“Nothing,” Hermione said. “There’s too many of them to try to undo the Horcrux, and it’s far too dangerous. We were lucky to Apparate out of there alive.”
“And right into the ocean,” Ron pointed out.
Once it had become obvious that the volcanic eruption was a cover story for Muggles to hide the presence of dragons, they had considered the possibility of trying to use dragon fire to destroy the locket, but the sheer number of dragons was impossible to deal with, and Hermione had eventually Apparated them back to the beach on Antigua where they had set up their secured and warded tent. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to compensate for the change in the tide, and they wound up drenched to their waists in the Caribbean Sea, roughly thirty feet from the tent.
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled.
“Between getting soaked or being fried, I’ll definitely go with this option,” Harry said, still trying to dry off his socks.
“Not so sure about that,” Ron said, pulling off his sopping socks and throwing them over his shoulder. “At least fried we’d be warm, wouldn’t we.”
“I did say I was sorry,” Hermione, an edge forming in her voice. “Anyone can make a mistake, after all, and I did get us away from a flight of dragons undetected. Being rather soggy is a minor inconvenience considering the alternative.”
“I suppose, but be more careful next time,” Ron said, using his wand to send a jet of warm air over his rather blue toes.
“Perhaps next time you can fix it yourself if you’re inclined to be so picky about how you’re saved,” Hermione said, then paused and started to grin.
“What?” Harry asked. “You can’t possibly know a story about dragons and landing in the Caribbean Sea, can you?”
“No, but I do know one about a highly ungrateful dwarf,” Hermione said.
“Hey! I’m taller than either of you two by a good margin!” Ron said.
“True enough,” Harry agreed quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “Still, after today, I’d rather not have the last thing I think about before bed be those things on the other island. I’ve had enough nightmares.”
“Fair point,” Ron admitted. “Okay, I agree to listen to Hermione’s story.”
Hermione gave him a look Harry thought she might have picked up from one of the dragons, but Ron missed it as he was too busy drying off his cuffs.
“Fine. Once—“
“--upon a time, yeah, we get that bit by now,” Ron said, still not looking up as Harry noticed what certainly looked like small sparks come out of her eyes.
“There lived two sisters. One was dark haired with ruddy cheeks and merry as a robin in spring, and the other was fair haired with very pale skin and gentle as a soft rain,” Hermione said.
“And they’re related? Bit odd, that. I suppose one must look like their father and the other like their mum,” Ron said.
“Perhaps so,” Hermione said, glancing at Harry, whose resemblance to his father (with the constantly remarked upon exception of his mother’s eyes) had become something of a cliché by now. “In any case, the girl with red cheeks was called Rose Red, and her sister was Snow White.”
“Seriously?” Ron asked. “I thought she had dark hair and red lips or something.”
“This is a different Snow White,” Hermione said.
“More than one poor girl got stuck with that name?” Ron said, looking horrified. “Next you’ll tell me there are a bunch of Turnipheads walking around, or maybe Ashyweeper was the most popular name for girl Muggles for a few decades.”
“No,” Hermione said, and the faint quaver in her voice told Harry that her control was near snapping. “Granted, names like Blanche or Bianca or Alba or the like are possible, and all of them refer to something being white, but Snow White showing up in two different stories as a name appears to be a fluke.”
“Too bad,” Ron said. “Turniphead actually has a nice ring to it, really, rather unique. Anyway, what’s up with the sisters? Is one evil?”
“No, they actually get along splendidly and are very close. They lived with their mother, who was a widow, in a poor little cottage on the edge of the forest,” Hermione said.
“Sorry to hear that,” Ron said, looking appropriately apologetic. “Poor kids with stupid names.”
“Rose Red isn’t so bad,” Harry said.
“I grant you, of the two, Rose Red isn’t horrendous,” Ron said. “Maybe drop the ‘red’ bit, though. Too redundant.”
“As I said, they lived with their mother, who had two rose bushes planted in front of the cottage, one on either side of the door, and the flowers of one were red while the other were white,” Hermione said.
“I wonder what they might possibly be meant to symbolize,” Ron said, sarcasm dripping from the words. “Couldn’t possibly be the girls, could it?”
“Your astute observation is correct,” Hermione said. “The girls were very good friends, never bickering and always together, though Snow White preferred to be home, reading and tidying the house, particularly in the chill of winter, while Rose Red loved to roam the fields and hillsides, preferring the warmth of summer, but each found joy in the other’s happiness.”
“Siblings who always get along?” Ron said, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s likely. Wait, are the girls twins?”
“It’s never said one way or the other, but they’re at least very close in age,” Hermione said after thinking a moment. “It’s certainly possible, though.”
“Then it might be a bit more likely they don’t fight all the time, I guess,” Ron said. “Fred and George do get on well, though even they’ll argue. Not like they do with Percy the Prat, but still some.”
“Well, whether they were twins or not—” Hermione began.
“They are,” said Ron, turning to Harry. “Just feels like it.”
“Fine, then, they’re twins!” Hermione said, her nostrils flaring in suppressed rage at the incessant interruptions. “Anyway, they would go out into the forest and wander about, hand in hand, for hours at a time, and all the beasts were tame to them. Deer would come up to them to be stroked, rabbits would hop about their feet, and the birds of the air would sing them sweet songs as they walked beneath the trees in perfect accord.”
“That’s not normal,” Ron said, frowning.
“No, obviously,” Hermione said. “It’s meant to show they’re innocent and good-natured.”
“I’m innocent and good-natured and birds don’t whistle along after me while rabbits play hopscotch around my feet,” Ron said.
Both Hermione and Harry gave him looks of extreme disbelief.
“Okay, maybe innocent is an overstatement, but it’s not like I’ve ever killed anybody either,” Ron said.
“Yes, well, let’s simply say the sisters were truly extraordinary in their goodness, far above the average,” Hermione said.
“I think I’m pretty good-natured,” Ron muttered to himself, and Harry thumped him on the back of the head with a cushion.
“Go on, Hermione,” Harry prompted her.
With a nod, she continued, saying, “One day, they stayed so late in the forest that darkness fell, and they both lay down to sleep on the green moss until morning with no fear at all.”
“Bet their mum wasn’t best pleased with that,” Ron said.
“She doesn’t seem to have had much cause for worry, for when they awoke, they saw a beautiful child dressed in shining white sitting a few feet from them,” Hermione said.
“And that would be who? Ehm, whom? Whichever. Both. Neither,” he said, grimacing. “For pity’s sake, sometimes I wish I just spoke Mermish! It’d be a good sight easier than this mess.”
“You were right the first time with who,” Hermione said. “Apparently it was their guardian angel, who smiled kindly at them and disappeared. By the morning light, they could see they had slept right next to a steep precipice, and in only a few more steps they would have fallen to their deaths, but instead they were kept safe.”
“How exactly did they miss they were sleeping right by a great ruddy cliff?” Ron asked.
“In the dark it wouldn’t be too difficult,” Hermione said.
“Idiot children,” Ron said, shaking his head. “That guardian angel should have smacked them about the head with his halo.”
“Or her halo,” Hermione said. “It might have been a girl, though technically angels are probably non-gendered.”
“Whatever. Shrimpy Pinky and Banana Yellow manage not to fall to their deaths, which is a good thing, and go back home to their mum, right,” Ron said.
“Shrimpy Pinky and Banana Yellow?” Hermione enunciated slowly, disbelief coloring every word. “Ron, just how hard did Fred and George used to hit you when you were a child?”
“Fairly hard, fairly often,” he said with a shrug. “Why?”
“I’m starting to wonder how much permanent damage was done,” she said. “Anyway, yes, they went home to their mother. Time passed, and winter came. One cold and snowy night there was a knock at the door, and being hospitable and unafraid of strangers due to innocence, Rose Red sprang forward and opened the door.”
“Stupid on their mum’s part. She really should have taught them to check who was there first. Whom was there first?” Ron gave a look of pained confusion and tried again. “They should know better than to unlock the door without looking first!”
“The Dursleys would have taken away dinner for a month if I’d done that,” Harry said.
“Never ceases to amaze me how pathetic your childhood was,” Ron said, giving Harry a sympathetic look. “I did that once when I was about seven. Thankfully it was only old Xeno Lovegood. Granted, he was wearing his pants on his head, carrying a bucket full of frog spawn, had painted his face in purple and orange stripes, and greeted me by yelling, ‘Those who offend the dirigible plums shall perish at the hand of the Gernumblies!’”
Harry and Hermione stared at him.
“Yeah, never opened the door without seeing who it was first again,” Ron said.
“But what on earth was he doing?” Hermione asked.
“No idea. That’s just Xeno,” Ron said. “Rather off-putting, though, especially at six in the morning.”
Harry silently thought that if Ron had told this story about anyone else, he’d have no doubt it was made up, but with Luna’s father practically anything seemed possible.
“Yes, well,” Hermione said, still looking both perturbed and deeply uncomfortable, “you’re quite right as what bolted through the door was a huge black bear.”
“Did it want porridge?” Ron asked.
“What?”
“Did it have a wife and a gigantic baby and want porridge, like in the story about the brunette kid who was a housebreaker?” Ron asked, and though he sounded entirely sincere, his eyes were dancing with suppressed glee.
“Goldilocks? No, no, this was a completely different bear,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said. “Too bad. I was rather hoping the mum and daughters would fix him up with some take away. They never did get their breakfast. Well, except in the version where they ate the little girl.”
“The bear did ask to be allowed into the house, though, as it was bitter cold outside and he was freezing to death,” Hermione said.
“Talking bear. Lovely,” Ron replied. “It’s going to be one of those ones. So, what do Mum and Raspberry Red and Meringue White decide?”
Hermione stared at him again.
“What? I’m hungry,” Ron said. “You can’t eat flowers and snow. Or you can, but I don’t want to.”
“They invited him in and the bear lay before the fire until the snow melted from his coat and he was once more warm, and he was a very good guest indeed,” Hermione said.
“A polite bear. Well, that’s much better than being mauled to death,” Ron said.
“In the morning, the bear left, but he returned again that night, and each night thereafter. Soon Snow White and Rose Red lost their first fear of him and began to play with him, riding him like a great horse about their kitchen and playing all sorts of games with him, even hitting him with the fire poker so that the bear cried out in mock-pain, ‘Snow White and Rose Red, do not beat your lover dead!’” Hermione said, giving the bear an especially grumbly voice that Harry thought sounded more like she was coming down with a cold.
“There is so much wrong in that statement that I don’t even know where to start,” Ron said, sighing.
“Let me try?” Harry said. “Okay, a talking bear is playing games inside a house with two girls, which is not safe, and then it starts spouting bad poetry and refers to itself as a romantic interest for both of them?”
“Very good,” Ron said, “but you forgot the bit about the poker. Fun game, that. I doubt that was mock-pain the bear was yelling in.”
Harry bowed slightly in recognition that he has skipped that particular issue, and Hermione just put her face in her hands and drew a deep breath.
“Yes, quite, fine,” she said. “Everything both of you have said is indeed a valid, logical, and dare I say sane point about this story, but just go with it, will you?”
“Fine,” Harry and Ron chorused together.
“When spring came again, the bear said to them, ‘I thank you for your kindness and shall not forget it. I will not return tonight, for now that the snow has melted, I must protect my treasure from the gnome who would steal it, and I dare not leave it unwatched by night. Fare thee well!’ and as Rose Red opened the door for him, the edge of it caught on his fur, and for one moment she thought she saw a gleam of gold beneath it, but that might have been her imagination,” Hermione told them.
“So it’s a bear with financial assets and no access to a bank,” Ron said.
“And one who apparently is wearing a gold coat under his fur,” Harry added.
Ron nodded, saying, “Obviously it’s not her imagination. Far too convenient.”
“Yes, well, the bear did indeed not return that night. Days passed, and the mother sent the girls into the forest to gather some firewood,” Hermione said.
“They’re not going to wind up in the freakish gingerbread house of a cannibalistic, pro-patriarchy, anti-feminist stereotype of ancient wise women under the guise of the crone figure, are then?” Ron said, looking concerned.
Hermione looked duly impressed before saying, “No, though that was very well remembered. The mother isn’t attempting to lose the children in the forest. She really does just need some firewood.”
“Oh,” Ron said, smiling, “that’s all right, then.”
Harry pondered for a moment just how long it had taken Ron to come up with that combination of words and insert it into a conversation, and he had to tip his hat to his friend’s patience at waiting for the right opportunity.
“In any case, as the sisters walked deep into the woods, they heard shouting and calls for help ahead, so they ran towards the sounds,” Hermione said.
“Was it the bear?” Harry asked.
“No,” Hermione said.
“A talking goose?” Ron suggested.
“A what?” Hermione asked.
“There’ve been loads of geese lately,” Ron said nonchalantly. “Why can’t one talk? We’ve already got a talking bear in this one, haven’t we?”
“Yes, but…”
“Or if not a talking goose, how about a talking moose?” Harry suggested, trying to sound serious.
“Right,” Ron said, nodding as though this were the most logical thing in the world. “A talking moose. Or goose.”
“Or a spruce? Wait, have we had a talking tree?” Harry asked.
“Not yet. If it isn’t a goose, moose, or spruce, it could be a chartreuse mongoose named Bruce who got loose.”
“Oh, then why not an animate talking caboose!” Hermione yelled, throwing her hands in the air in fury over the pair of them. “Do you want to hear the story or not!”
Harry and Ron looked at one another.
“Got any better rhymes for goose?” Ron asked.
“Sluice? Juice? Puce? Noose? Vamoose?” Harry suggested.
“Nah, better call a truce,” Ron said, and Hermione groaned. “So what was it?”
“A dwarf with his beard stuck in a crack in a log,” Hermione said in a flat voice, obviously becoming tired of them.
“Okay, I wouldn’t have guessed that particular image,” Ron said. “How’d that happen?”
“He wouldn’t say, but the harder he tugged at his beard, the louder he cried, and when he saw the two girls, he called out to them, calling them lazy, good-for-nothing dimwits for standing about gawking at him rather than trying to help,” Hermione said.
“Nice fellow,” Harry said. “I hope they kept walking.”
“No, they felt sorry for him, and they stopped to try to help free his beard from the tree, but nothing helped,” Hermione said. “Everything they did prompted the dwarf to call them ever worse names.”
“So they left his verbally abusive nastiness behind and went to get firewood for their mum?” Ron suggested.
“No, Snow White, who had been doing the mending before she left, still had her sewing scissors in her apron pocket, and she used them to cut off just the tip of the dwarf’s beard, freeing him from the log,” Hermione said.
“Somehow, I doubt he’ll be grateful,” Harry said.
“You’re quite right. He accused them of spoiling his beard, though barely an inch of it had been sacrificed, and threatened them with all manner of violence if he ever saw them again,” Hermione said. “But then a strange thing happened. He reached down into the crack in the log and pulled out a great sack, and the sisters could see it was filled to the brim with jewels of all kinds. Then, with a pop, he and the bag both disappeared.”
“Apparated,” Ron said firmly. “Also, someone put protective wards around that tree to keep the jewels from being stolen.”
“He was definitely caught in a burglar trap,” Harry agreed.
“Which means the girls just helped him steal someone’s treasure,” Ron said.
“Not on purpose!” Hermione said, looking horrified. “They were trying to do something good!”
“Yeah,” Ron said, “but it still didn’t turn out well.”
“I suppose not,” Hermione said. “Anyway, several months passed.”
“During which the rude dwarf probably spent all that poor bloke’s gems on fire whiskey and betting on Quidditch,” Ron added.
“And the girls were walking along the river that ran through the forest when once more they heard cries for help,” Hermione said, ignoring his interruption.
“I don’t suppose it was the dwarf again,” Ron said.
“It was,” Hermione replied.
“I am deeply shocked,” Ron said, looking anything but. “What’s he got his beard stuck in this time? Another log?”
“No, it had gotten tangled in his fishing line,” Hermione said.
“Wild guess. The girls save him by cutting off the tip of his beard, he yells a bunch more verbal abuse at them the whole time, and he winds up disappearing with another sack of diamonds and suchlike?” Ron asked innocently.
“No,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said.
“It’s a bag of pearls this time,” Hermione said, “but you got the rest pretty much right.”
“So, aiding and abetting thievery, second instance,” Harry said.
“Get a few years for that in Azkaban, possibly. Oh, wait, they’re kids, aren’t they? Probably not, then,” Ron said.
“Actually, their specific age isn’t mentioned,” Hermione said. “They could be over eighteen.”
“Seventeen,” Ron corrected her.
“Muggles use eighteen,” Hermione said.
“They do?” Ron asked, looking confused. “Why?”
“Why do wizards use seventeen?” Hermione said.
“Because it’s the first prime number after thirteen, and thirteen’s obviously too young,” Ron said firmly.
“What does its being prime have to do with anything?” Hermione asked. “That’s a ridiculous reason.”
“At least we have a reason, even if it’s a bit daft,” Ron said. “Why eighteen?”
“Because… it’s… Harry, a bit of help?” Hermione said.
“No idea,” Harry said.
“See? Arbitrary. Anyway, as things tend to happen in threes in these things, I’m going to assume the girls happen on the dwarf again with his beard stuck in a sewer or a brick wall or a Bludger or something,” Ron said.
“Stuck in a Bludger?” Harry said, looking at Ron as though he were crazy.
“Snitch seemed too small, and the Quaffle wouldn’t move on its own, so getting his beard stuck in a Bludger means he’d be swooping around all over the place, banging into things,” Ron said.
“Yes, but is there even an inside to a Bludger for his beard to be stuck in?” Harry asked.
“Of course. They’re hollow, you know. So are Snitches, actually. Sometimes they have to be opened up by referees to be tested for any illegal modifications. They found one once with a whole colony of miniaturized wasps inside it that the Luxembourg team had put there as revenge against the Greek team. The idea was the Greek beater would smack the Bludger, it would break open, and the wasps would come out, go back to normal size, and sting the other team. Luxembourg were disqualified for two seasons after that. Rotten sportsmanship,” Ron said.
“I should say so,” Hermione said, her eyes enormous. “Well, in any case, his beard actually wasn’t stuck in anything this time.”
“No?” Harry said, still mentally reminding himself never to make an enemy of the Luxembourg Quidditch team.
“No, instead a gigantic bird was trying to carry him off to feed him to its young,” Hermione said. “It had caught hold of him, and he was struggling to keep himself on the ground by clutching at anything around him and failing miserably.”
“Okay, that does seem like an actual emergency this time,” Ron said. “What did they do?”
“As the dwarf called them block headed fools and addle pated nitwits, they grabbed onto his coat and pulled hard until he slipped from the bird’s talons and fell back to earth,” Hermione said.
“Well, not polite, but at least he’s alive,” Ron said.
“The dwarf, however, was angry at them for tearing his coat to shreds, calling them names and otherwise just generally being horrid. Then he took a bag from a hiding place under a rock and pawed through it, and they saw that it was filled with golden coins,” Hermione said.
“Again? For crying out loud, how much dosh has he got from stealing?” Ron said.
“Just at that moment, a bear, fury written on its face, charged into the forest clearing, terrifying all three of them. The dwarf said, ‘Don’t eat me! I’m too small! Eat these two useless, plump hussies instead!’ but the bear cuffed him once with its great paw, and the dwarf lay dead,” Hermione said.
“Ursa ex machina,” Ron mumbled.
“Huh?” Hermione said, bewildered.
“Well, the bear isn’t a god, so deus ex machina really wouldn’t work there, would it? So what happens now?” Ron said.
Harry noted Ron seemed to be working rather hard to keep a straight face.
“Where did you learn about the concept of deus ex machina?” Hermione asked, sounding very confused.
“What, the idea of introducing a random event in a story to bring about the desired conclusion even though it has little to do with the characters’ actions, originally derived from ancient Greek plays that brought in a god character dangling from a machine—” Ron turned briefly to Harry, “that’s the machina part—to wrap up the story? Doesn’t everyone know that?”
“No,” Hermione answered.
“Oh,” Ron said, shrugging. “Well, I think Percy mentioned it once. Anyway, bear.”
“Huh?” Hermione said intelligently.
“Bear. One just showed up and killed the dwarf. What happens next?” Ron asked.
“Oh, right, yes, bear,” Hermione said, sounding like she was still trying to adjust her world view. “All at once, there was a blinding flash of light, and the bear turned into a handsome prince.”
“Because he killed some bloke?” Ron asked.
“Actually, sort of, but not just anyone. The prince explained that the dwarf had wanted to steal his treasure and had turned him into a bear, and only when the bear was able to find him and kill him would be become human again,” Hermione said.
Harry and Ron looked at one another.
“Okay, so I’m assuming this is the same bear they were playing with all winter, right?” Harry said.
“Exactly,” Hermione said.
“So why didn’t the talking bear tell them about this whole mess?” Ron asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s possible he wasn’t able to speak about it as part of the enchantment,” Hermione said.
“Okay, so someone transfigures a prince into a bear, which, really, is fairly stupid. Why not make him a toad or a housefly or—“ Ron started.
“Or a ferret?” Harry suggested.
“Best day of my life,” Ron said nostalgic, a dreamy look in his eyes before coming back to himself. “Right, though, or a ferret, when the spell can be reversed by killing the dwarf. A bear could kill a dwarf without much problem, but how would a bunny rabbit manage it?”
“Bite him in the carotid artery while he’s asleep?” Hermione suggested.
“Okay, now I have horrifying bunny images in my head,” Ron said, turning pale. “But, say, a guppy?”
“Wait until the dwarf is swimming and swim up his nose, choking him?” Hermione said.
“Housefly?”
“Find a lethal disease, become a carrier, and bite the dwarf,” Hermione said.
“Three-toed sloth?” Ron finally tried.
“Oh, I’m sure they can be rabid or something, though admittedly trying to catch the dwarf would be somewhat of a problem,” Hermione said. “Probably it could just hang in a tree, wait for the dwarf to walk under it, then drop on it and break its spine from the impact, provided the distance was significant enough. There would be some maths involved for that one to work properly, though.”
“You know, we’re lucky you’re on our side,” Ron said, looking at her with a mixture of respect and fear. “You can come up with a lot of ways to kill someone without much to start on.”
“Thank you, I think,” Hermione said. “In any case, the bear explained the situation, and at once proposed marriage to Rose Red, who accepted.”
“Now I have absolutely no idea how old these two are,” Ron said.
“Post-puberty, we’ll assume,” Hermione said.
“What about Snow White?” Harry asked.
“Oh, she moves in with her dead dad’s second wife and develops an allergy to apples, but this time she meets nice dwarfs,” Ron said, smirking.
“No, although the idea both stories involve dwarfs of one kind or another is odd now that you mention it,” Hermione said. “The prince has a brother, and he marries Snow White.”
“Convenient. And where has he been hiding? Was he turned into a carnivorous rabbit?” Ron asked.
“With nasty, pointy teeth,” Hermione said, but when neither of them got the joke she sighed and muttered, “I’m wasted on this lot. He was just back in the kingdom, waiting for his older brother to return, I suppose.”
“And poor Snow White just automatically marries him? What if he’s horrible?” Ron asked.
“Supposedly, she’s very happy, as is Rose Red, and she and her sister move into the castle together with their mother, who takes the rose bushes with her, which grow to enormous size and produce many blooms,” Hermione said.
“And that’s the end?” Ron said.
“Yes,” Hermione said.
“Okay, so the dwarf is an ungrateful little pig and ignores the kindness the girls do for him by complaining about being mildly inconvenienced in return for saving his life,” Ron said. “This is supposed to line up with you getting us away from an island full of dragons but accidentally dropping us into a couple feet of water in the process, right?”
“Well, yes,” Hermione said.
“Point noted,” Ron said. “Fine. But if I ever grow a magnificent beard, don’t go chopping off the bottom of it if I get it stuck in a log or fishing line or something.”
“And I shall also let birds of prey take you for a ride without intervening on your behalf,” Hermione said primly.
“Dare I ask where we’re off to next?” Harry said.
“Whose turn is it now, anyway?” Ron asked.
“I picked You-Know-Who’s old flat, and Harry wanted to try a volcano,” Hermione said.
“Then it’s me,” Ron said, looking glum. “Okay, give me a second.”
Harry and Hermione sat quietly as Ron mumbled to himself.
“Right, so in order for He Who Must Not Be Named to get from Albania to England, he must have travelled somehow, right?” Ron ventured.
“Yes, and I doubt he was in any condition for Apparition, even Side-Along,” Hermione said.
“So he and Wormtail either went by land or boat. What do you two think he picked?” Ron said.
“If it were me, I’d go by land,” Harry said. “A boat is too dangerous. If an enemy attacked, he’d have nowhere to go.”
“Yes, I agree,” Hermione said. “He probably went overland by the most direct route he could safely.”
“There’s a lot of space between Albania and England, and he could have picked loads of different routes, but I think he’d have to cross at the Channel, wouldn’t he?” Ron asked.
“Most likely,” Hermione said, and Harry nodded.
“So let’s check the Dover coast,” Ron said. “I think it would be the spot he’d probably have come ashore. Maybe we’ll find something.”
“It’s a possibility, at any rate,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, decent plan, Ron,” Harry said.
“Thanks. Shall we turn in, then?” Ron said.
“I’m exhausted,” Hermione agreed. “Is everyone properly dry again?”
“Yeah, no harm done,” Harry said.
“Better to be dunked than roasted,” Ron agreed. “Thanks for that.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hermione said as she slipped behind the curtain where she slept.
“Percy mentioned deus ex machi-whatsit?” Harry whispered as he and Ron made up beds on the two couches.
“Okay, okay, so I read a book on Greek drama once,” Ron said. “I was really bored during the weeks going up to the Triwizard Tournament when we weren’t talking, so bored I started reading random books in the library. That one and 1001 Ways to Cook Radishes. I actually counted. There were only 927. I owled the author a complaint and got twenty pounds of radishes as an apology. Poor old witch said no one else had ever caught it. Probably because no one else ever read it, I’d wager.”
“You really were bored,” Harry said, mildly impressed.
In an hour, Ron and Hermione were both soundly asleep, but Harry just couldn’t seem to doze off. Instead, he quietly got up and opened the tent flap, peering out at the thousands of stars in the sky and mirrored in the sea. Far off, he could just barely see an occasional flash of brilliant orange and red fire. Most people might think it was only the restless volcano, but Harry was no Muggle. He knew better.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Ron said as all three of them collapsed onto the couches inside the tent.
“We walked directly into that one,” Harry said, wondering if he would ever have full use of his limbs again after that much running.
“I am such an absolute moronic fool!” Hermione cried as she pulled off her shoes and poured out ridiculous amounts of filthy water onto the floor, immediately syphoning it away with her wand. “Of course it was a cover story!”
“Good cover,” Ron said.
“An erupting volcano,” Hermione said, snorting at herself. “Right, because that was likely!”
“A lot more likely than a whole bunch of nesting dragons,” Harry said.
“What were those, anyway?” Ron asked.
“Peruvian Vipertooths,” Hermione said immediately. “They’re one of the most lethal species of dragons. We read about them in The Monster Book of Monsters.”
“You read about them,” Ron said. “I never even tried to open that books after it nearly tore off my big toe. I’ve still got a scar there that looks like a demented woodpecker.”
“Want to trade?” Harry asked, pointing at his forehead.
“No thanks, mate,” Ron said. “So if they’re Peruvian, what are they doing in Montserrat?”
“Good question. If I had to make a guess, I’d say they came here en masse at some point during the late nineteenth century when the International Confederation of Wizards sent in exterminators to kill them off because they were attacking humans at a very alarming rate,” Hermione said. “I remember Hagrid was in tears over it when we talked about it once over tea in third year.”
“I don’t remember that,” Ron said, looking at Harry quizzically. “Do you?”
Harry shook his head.
“That would be during the time you weren’t speaking to me because of the broom Sirius sent you,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking uncomfortable. “Right. Hagrid mentioned you’d dropped round for tea a few times during that… thing. So how many people did the Vipertooths kill? Or is it Viperteeth?”
“Vipertooths is indeed correct, and they wiped out roughly twenty villages,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, time to put out some traps and cheese,” Harry said.
“It appears at least one colony left and headed northeast, though,” Hermione said. “Dragons live such long lives that they might well be the same ones who were driven out a century ago.”
“It took them this long to find a new spot?” Harry asked.
“Possibly,” Hermione said. “Most likely they’ve been moving from place to place for a while, then took up residence in Montserrat’s volcano for a bit, bred, laid eggs, and when they realized they were going to need a nursery—“
“They burned down everything in sight and took over the island,” Ron finished. “You’ve got to hand it to them. Get driven out of Peru, then go take over most of a Caribbean island to replace it. That’s an upgrade, I suppose.”
“Yes, Hagrid might be pleased,” Hermione said sourly, “but they did cause terrible damage and killed nineteen people a few months ago.”
Ron grimaced as he tried to remove his soggy boots, but the sodden laces were stuck together.
Hermione took out her wand and murmured, “Renodo,” at which the laces unwound themselves.
“So, now that we’ve made roughly fifty dragons furious at us—” Ron started.
“Seventy,” Harry corrected him. “I counted.”
“Right then, seventy gigantic copper dragons are now more than a bit miffed at us, what do we do?” Ron asked.
“Nothing,” Hermione said. “There’s too many of them to try to undo the Horcrux, and it’s far too dangerous. We were lucky to Apparate out of there alive.”
“And right into the ocean,” Ron pointed out.
Once it had become obvious that the volcanic eruption was a cover story for Muggles to hide the presence of dragons, they had considered the possibility of trying to use dragon fire to destroy the locket, but the sheer number of dragons was impossible to deal with, and Hermione had eventually Apparated them back to the beach on Antigua where they had set up their secured and warded tent. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to compensate for the change in the tide, and they wound up drenched to their waists in the Caribbean Sea, roughly thirty feet from the tent.
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled.
“Between getting soaked or being fried, I’ll definitely go with this option,” Harry said, still trying to dry off his socks.
“Not so sure about that,” Ron said, pulling off his sopping socks and throwing them over his shoulder. “At least fried we’d be warm, wouldn’t we.”
“I did say I was sorry,” Hermione, an edge forming in her voice. “Anyone can make a mistake, after all, and I did get us away from a flight of dragons undetected. Being rather soggy is a minor inconvenience considering the alternative.”
“I suppose, but be more careful next time,” Ron said, using his wand to send a jet of warm air over his rather blue toes.
“Perhaps next time you can fix it yourself if you’re inclined to be so picky about how you’re saved,” Hermione said, then paused and started to grin.
“What?” Harry asked. “You can’t possibly know a story about dragons and landing in the Caribbean Sea, can you?”
“No, but I do know one about a highly ungrateful dwarf,” Hermione said.
“Hey! I’m taller than either of you two by a good margin!” Ron said.
“True enough,” Harry agreed quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “Still, after today, I’d rather not have the last thing I think about before bed be those things on the other island. I’ve had enough nightmares.”
“Fair point,” Ron admitted. “Okay, I agree to listen to Hermione’s story.”
Hermione gave him a look Harry thought she might have picked up from one of the dragons, but Ron missed it as he was too busy drying off his cuffs.
“Fine. Once—“
“--upon a time, yeah, we get that bit by now,” Ron said, still not looking up as Harry noticed what certainly looked like small sparks come out of her eyes.
“There lived two sisters. One was dark haired with ruddy cheeks and merry as a robin in spring, and the other was fair haired with very pale skin and gentle as a soft rain,” Hermione said.
“And they’re related? Bit odd, that. I suppose one must look like their father and the other like their mum,” Ron said.
“Perhaps so,” Hermione said, glancing at Harry, whose resemblance to his father (with the constantly remarked upon exception of his mother’s eyes) had become something of a cliché by now. “In any case, the girl with red cheeks was called Rose Red, and her sister was Snow White.”
“Seriously?” Ron asked. “I thought she had dark hair and red lips or something.”
“This is a different Snow White,” Hermione said.
“More than one poor girl got stuck with that name?” Ron said, looking horrified. “Next you’ll tell me there are a bunch of Turnipheads walking around, or maybe Ashyweeper was the most popular name for girl Muggles for a few decades.”
“No,” Hermione said, and the faint quaver in her voice told Harry that her control was near snapping. “Granted, names like Blanche or Bianca or Alba or the like are possible, and all of them refer to something being white, but Snow White showing up in two different stories as a name appears to be a fluke.”
“Too bad,” Ron said. “Turniphead actually has a nice ring to it, really, rather unique. Anyway, what’s up with the sisters? Is one evil?”
“No, they actually get along splendidly and are very close. They lived with their mother, who was a widow, in a poor little cottage on the edge of the forest,” Hermione said.
“Sorry to hear that,” Ron said, looking appropriately apologetic. “Poor kids with stupid names.”
“Rose Red isn’t so bad,” Harry said.
“I grant you, of the two, Rose Red isn’t horrendous,” Ron said. “Maybe drop the ‘red’ bit, though. Too redundant.”
“As I said, they lived with their mother, who had two rose bushes planted in front of the cottage, one on either side of the door, and the flowers of one were red while the other were white,” Hermione said.
“I wonder what they might possibly be meant to symbolize,” Ron said, sarcasm dripping from the words. “Couldn’t possibly be the girls, could it?”
“Your astute observation is correct,” Hermione said. “The girls were very good friends, never bickering and always together, though Snow White preferred to be home, reading and tidying the house, particularly in the chill of winter, while Rose Red loved to roam the fields and hillsides, preferring the warmth of summer, but each found joy in the other’s happiness.”
“Siblings who always get along?” Ron said, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s likely. Wait, are the girls twins?”
“It’s never said one way or the other, but they’re at least very close in age,” Hermione said after thinking a moment. “It’s certainly possible, though.”
“Then it might be a bit more likely they don’t fight all the time, I guess,” Ron said. “Fred and George do get on well, though even they’ll argue. Not like they do with Percy the Prat, but still some.”
“Well, whether they were twins or not—” Hermione began.
“They are,” said Ron, turning to Harry. “Just feels like it.”
“Fine, then, they’re twins!” Hermione said, her nostrils flaring in suppressed rage at the incessant interruptions. “Anyway, they would go out into the forest and wander about, hand in hand, for hours at a time, and all the beasts were tame to them. Deer would come up to them to be stroked, rabbits would hop about their feet, and the birds of the air would sing them sweet songs as they walked beneath the trees in perfect accord.”
“That’s not normal,” Ron said, frowning.
“No, obviously,” Hermione said. “It’s meant to show they’re innocent and good-natured.”
“I’m innocent and good-natured and birds don’t whistle along after me while rabbits play hopscotch around my feet,” Ron said.
Both Hermione and Harry gave him looks of extreme disbelief.
“Okay, maybe innocent is an overstatement, but it’s not like I’ve ever killed anybody either,” Ron said.
“Yes, well, let’s simply say the sisters were truly extraordinary in their goodness, far above the average,” Hermione said.
“I think I’m pretty good-natured,” Ron muttered to himself, and Harry thumped him on the back of the head with a cushion.
“Go on, Hermione,” Harry prompted her.
With a nod, she continued, saying, “One day, they stayed so late in the forest that darkness fell, and they both lay down to sleep on the green moss until morning with no fear at all.”
“Bet their mum wasn’t best pleased with that,” Ron said.
“She doesn’t seem to have had much cause for worry, for when they awoke, they saw a beautiful child dressed in shining white sitting a few feet from them,” Hermione said.
“And that would be who? Ehm, whom? Whichever. Both. Neither,” he said, grimacing. “For pity’s sake, sometimes I wish I just spoke Mermish! It’d be a good sight easier than this mess.”
“You were right the first time with who,” Hermione said. “Apparently it was their guardian angel, who smiled kindly at them and disappeared. By the morning light, they could see they had slept right next to a steep precipice, and in only a few more steps they would have fallen to their deaths, but instead they were kept safe.”
“How exactly did they miss they were sleeping right by a great ruddy cliff?” Ron asked.
“In the dark it wouldn’t be too difficult,” Hermione said.
“Idiot children,” Ron said, shaking his head. “That guardian angel should have smacked them about the head with his halo.”
“Or her halo,” Hermione said. “It might have been a girl, though technically angels are probably non-gendered.”
“Whatever. Shrimpy Pinky and Banana Yellow manage not to fall to their deaths, which is a good thing, and go back home to their mum, right,” Ron said.
“Shrimpy Pinky and Banana Yellow?” Hermione enunciated slowly, disbelief coloring every word. “Ron, just how hard did Fred and George used to hit you when you were a child?”
“Fairly hard, fairly often,” he said with a shrug. “Why?”
“I’m starting to wonder how much permanent damage was done,” she said. “Anyway, yes, they went home to their mother. Time passed, and winter came. One cold and snowy night there was a knock at the door, and being hospitable and unafraid of strangers due to innocence, Rose Red sprang forward and opened the door.”
“Stupid on their mum’s part. She really should have taught them to check who was there first. Whom was there first?” Ron gave a look of pained confusion and tried again. “They should know better than to unlock the door without looking first!”
“The Dursleys would have taken away dinner for a month if I’d done that,” Harry said.
“Never ceases to amaze me how pathetic your childhood was,” Ron said, giving Harry a sympathetic look. “I did that once when I was about seven. Thankfully it was only old Xeno Lovegood. Granted, he was wearing his pants on his head, carrying a bucket full of frog spawn, had painted his face in purple and orange stripes, and greeted me by yelling, ‘Those who offend the dirigible plums shall perish at the hand of the Gernumblies!’”
Harry and Hermione stared at him.
“Yeah, never opened the door without seeing who it was first again,” Ron said.
“But what on earth was he doing?” Hermione asked.
“No idea. That’s just Xeno,” Ron said. “Rather off-putting, though, especially at six in the morning.”
Harry silently thought that if Ron had told this story about anyone else, he’d have no doubt it was made up, but with Luna’s father practically anything seemed possible.
“Yes, well,” Hermione said, still looking both perturbed and deeply uncomfortable, “you’re quite right as what bolted through the door was a huge black bear.”
“Did it want porridge?” Ron asked.
“What?”
“Did it have a wife and a gigantic baby and want porridge, like in the story about the brunette kid who was a housebreaker?” Ron asked, and though he sounded entirely sincere, his eyes were dancing with suppressed glee.
“Goldilocks? No, no, this was a completely different bear,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said. “Too bad. I was rather hoping the mum and daughters would fix him up with some take away. They never did get their breakfast. Well, except in the version where they ate the little girl.”
“The bear did ask to be allowed into the house, though, as it was bitter cold outside and he was freezing to death,” Hermione said.
“Talking bear. Lovely,” Ron replied. “It’s going to be one of those ones. So, what do Mum and Raspberry Red and Meringue White decide?”
Hermione stared at him again.
“What? I’m hungry,” Ron said. “You can’t eat flowers and snow. Or you can, but I don’t want to.”
“They invited him in and the bear lay before the fire until the snow melted from his coat and he was once more warm, and he was a very good guest indeed,” Hermione said.
“A polite bear. Well, that’s much better than being mauled to death,” Ron said.
“In the morning, the bear left, but he returned again that night, and each night thereafter. Soon Snow White and Rose Red lost their first fear of him and began to play with him, riding him like a great horse about their kitchen and playing all sorts of games with him, even hitting him with the fire poker so that the bear cried out in mock-pain, ‘Snow White and Rose Red, do not beat your lover dead!’” Hermione said, giving the bear an especially grumbly voice that Harry thought sounded more like she was coming down with a cold.
“There is so much wrong in that statement that I don’t even know where to start,” Ron said, sighing.
“Let me try?” Harry said. “Okay, a talking bear is playing games inside a house with two girls, which is not safe, and then it starts spouting bad poetry and refers to itself as a romantic interest for both of them?”
“Very good,” Ron said, “but you forgot the bit about the poker. Fun game, that. I doubt that was mock-pain the bear was yelling in.”
Harry bowed slightly in recognition that he has skipped that particular issue, and Hermione just put her face in her hands and drew a deep breath.
“Yes, quite, fine,” she said. “Everything both of you have said is indeed a valid, logical, and dare I say sane point about this story, but just go with it, will you?”
“Fine,” Harry and Ron chorused together.
“When spring came again, the bear said to them, ‘I thank you for your kindness and shall not forget it. I will not return tonight, for now that the snow has melted, I must protect my treasure from the gnome who would steal it, and I dare not leave it unwatched by night. Fare thee well!’ and as Rose Red opened the door for him, the edge of it caught on his fur, and for one moment she thought she saw a gleam of gold beneath it, but that might have been her imagination,” Hermione told them.
“So it’s a bear with financial assets and no access to a bank,” Ron said.
“And one who apparently is wearing a gold coat under his fur,” Harry added.
Ron nodded, saying, “Obviously it’s not her imagination. Far too convenient.”
“Yes, well, the bear did indeed not return that night. Days passed, and the mother sent the girls into the forest to gather some firewood,” Hermione said.
“They’re not going to wind up in the freakish gingerbread house of a cannibalistic, pro-patriarchy, anti-feminist stereotype of ancient wise women under the guise of the crone figure, are then?” Ron said, looking concerned.
Hermione looked duly impressed before saying, “No, though that was very well remembered. The mother isn’t attempting to lose the children in the forest. She really does just need some firewood.”
“Oh,” Ron said, smiling, “that’s all right, then.”
Harry pondered for a moment just how long it had taken Ron to come up with that combination of words and insert it into a conversation, and he had to tip his hat to his friend’s patience at waiting for the right opportunity.
“In any case, as the sisters walked deep into the woods, they heard shouting and calls for help ahead, so they ran towards the sounds,” Hermione said.
“Was it the bear?” Harry asked.
“No,” Hermione said.
“A talking goose?” Ron suggested.
“A what?” Hermione asked.
“There’ve been loads of geese lately,” Ron said nonchalantly. “Why can’t one talk? We’ve already got a talking bear in this one, haven’t we?”
“Yes, but…”
“Or if not a talking goose, how about a talking moose?” Harry suggested, trying to sound serious.
“Right,” Ron said, nodding as though this were the most logical thing in the world. “A talking moose. Or goose.”
“Or a spruce? Wait, have we had a talking tree?” Harry asked.
“Not yet. If it isn’t a goose, moose, or spruce, it could be a chartreuse mongoose named Bruce who got loose.”
“Oh, then why not an animate talking caboose!” Hermione yelled, throwing her hands in the air in fury over the pair of them. “Do you want to hear the story or not!”
Harry and Ron looked at one another.
“Got any better rhymes for goose?” Ron asked.
“Sluice? Juice? Puce? Noose? Vamoose?” Harry suggested.
“Nah, better call a truce,” Ron said, and Hermione groaned. “So what was it?”
“A dwarf with his beard stuck in a crack in a log,” Hermione said in a flat voice, obviously becoming tired of them.
“Okay, I wouldn’t have guessed that particular image,” Ron said. “How’d that happen?”
“He wouldn’t say, but the harder he tugged at his beard, the louder he cried, and when he saw the two girls, he called out to them, calling them lazy, good-for-nothing dimwits for standing about gawking at him rather than trying to help,” Hermione said.
“Nice fellow,” Harry said. “I hope they kept walking.”
“No, they felt sorry for him, and they stopped to try to help free his beard from the tree, but nothing helped,” Hermione said. “Everything they did prompted the dwarf to call them ever worse names.”
“So they left his verbally abusive nastiness behind and went to get firewood for their mum?” Ron suggested.
“No, Snow White, who had been doing the mending before she left, still had her sewing scissors in her apron pocket, and she used them to cut off just the tip of the dwarf’s beard, freeing him from the log,” Hermione said.
“Somehow, I doubt he’ll be grateful,” Harry said.
“You’re quite right. He accused them of spoiling his beard, though barely an inch of it had been sacrificed, and threatened them with all manner of violence if he ever saw them again,” Hermione said. “But then a strange thing happened. He reached down into the crack in the log and pulled out a great sack, and the sisters could see it was filled to the brim with jewels of all kinds. Then, with a pop, he and the bag both disappeared.”
“Apparated,” Ron said firmly. “Also, someone put protective wards around that tree to keep the jewels from being stolen.”
“He was definitely caught in a burglar trap,” Harry agreed.
“Which means the girls just helped him steal someone’s treasure,” Ron said.
“Not on purpose!” Hermione said, looking horrified. “They were trying to do something good!”
“Yeah,” Ron said, “but it still didn’t turn out well.”
“I suppose not,” Hermione said. “Anyway, several months passed.”
“During which the rude dwarf probably spent all that poor bloke’s gems on fire whiskey and betting on Quidditch,” Ron added.
“And the girls were walking along the river that ran through the forest when once more they heard cries for help,” Hermione said, ignoring his interruption.
“I don’t suppose it was the dwarf again,” Ron said.
“It was,” Hermione replied.
“I am deeply shocked,” Ron said, looking anything but. “What’s he got his beard stuck in this time? Another log?”
“No, it had gotten tangled in his fishing line,” Hermione said.
“Wild guess. The girls save him by cutting off the tip of his beard, he yells a bunch more verbal abuse at them the whole time, and he winds up disappearing with another sack of diamonds and suchlike?” Ron asked innocently.
“No,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said.
“It’s a bag of pearls this time,” Hermione said, “but you got the rest pretty much right.”
“So, aiding and abetting thievery, second instance,” Harry said.
“Get a few years for that in Azkaban, possibly. Oh, wait, they’re kids, aren’t they? Probably not, then,” Ron said.
“Actually, their specific age isn’t mentioned,” Hermione said. “They could be over eighteen.”
“Seventeen,” Ron corrected her.
“Muggles use eighteen,” Hermione said.
“They do?” Ron asked, looking confused. “Why?”
“Why do wizards use seventeen?” Hermione said.
“Because it’s the first prime number after thirteen, and thirteen’s obviously too young,” Ron said firmly.
“What does its being prime have to do with anything?” Hermione asked. “That’s a ridiculous reason.”
“At least we have a reason, even if it’s a bit daft,” Ron said. “Why eighteen?”
“Because… it’s… Harry, a bit of help?” Hermione said.
“No idea,” Harry said.
“See? Arbitrary. Anyway, as things tend to happen in threes in these things, I’m going to assume the girls happen on the dwarf again with his beard stuck in a sewer or a brick wall or a Bludger or something,” Ron said.
“Stuck in a Bludger?” Harry said, looking at Ron as though he were crazy.
“Snitch seemed too small, and the Quaffle wouldn’t move on its own, so getting his beard stuck in a Bludger means he’d be swooping around all over the place, banging into things,” Ron said.
“Yes, but is there even an inside to a Bludger for his beard to be stuck in?” Harry asked.
“Of course. They’re hollow, you know. So are Snitches, actually. Sometimes they have to be opened up by referees to be tested for any illegal modifications. They found one once with a whole colony of miniaturized wasps inside it that the Luxembourg team had put there as revenge against the Greek team. The idea was the Greek beater would smack the Bludger, it would break open, and the wasps would come out, go back to normal size, and sting the other team. Luxembourg were disqualified for two seasons after that. Rotten sportsmanship,” Ron said.
“I should say so,” Hermione said, her eyes enormous. “Well, in any case, his beard actually wasn’t stuck in anything this time.”
“No?” Harry said, still mentally reminding himself never to make an enemy of the Luxembourg Quidditch team.
“No, instead a gigantic bird was trying to carry him off to feed him to its young,” Hermione said. “It had caught hold of him, and he was struggling to keep himself on the ground by clutching at anything around him and failing miserably.”
“Okay, that does seem like an actual emergency this time,” Ron said. “What did they do?”
“As the dwarf called them block headed fools and addle pated nitwits, they grabbed onto his coat and pulled hard until he slipped from the bird’s talons and fell back to earth,” Hermione said.
“Well, not polite, but at least he’s alive,” Ron said.
“The dwarf, however, was angry at them for tearing his coat to shreds, calling them names and otherwise just generally being horrid. Then he took a bag from a hiding place under a rock and pawed through it, and they saw that it was filled with golden coins,” Hermione said.
“Again? For crying out loud, how much dosh has he got from stealing?” Ron said.
“Just at that moment, a bear, fury written on its face, charged into the forest clearing, terrifying all three of them. The dwarf said, ‘Don’t eat me! I’m too small! Eat these two useless, plump hussies instead!’ but the bear cuffed him once with its great paw, and the dwarf lay dead,” Hermione said.
“Ursa ex machina,” Ron mumbled.
“Huh?” Hermione said, bewildered.
“Well, the bear isn’t a god, so deus ex machina really wouldn’t work there, would it? So what happens now?” Ron said.
Harry noted Ron seemed to be working rather hard to keep a straight face.
“Where did you learn about the concept of deus ex machina?” Hermione asked, sounding very confused.
“What, the idea of introducing a random event in a story to bring about the desired conclusion even though it has little to do with the characters’ actions, originally derived from ancient Greek plays that brought in a god character dangling from a machine—” Ron turned briefly to Harry, “that’s the machina part—to wrap up the story? Doesn’t everyone know that?”
“No,” Hermione answered.
“Oh,” Ron said, shrugging. “Well, I think Percy mentioned it once. Anyway, bear.”
“Huh?” Hermione said intelligently.
“Bear. One just showed up and killed the dwarf. What happens next?” Ron asked.
“Oh, right, yes, bear,” Hermione said, sounding like she was still trying to adjust her world view. “All at once, there was a blinding flash of light, and the bear turned into a handsome prince.”
“Because he killed some bloke?” Ron asked.
“Actually, sort of, but not just anyone. The prince explained that the dwarf had wanted to steal his treasure and had turned him into a bear, and only when the bear was able to find him and kill him would be become human again,” Hermione said.
Harry and Ron looked at one another.
“Okay, so I’m assuming this is the same bear they were playing with all winter, right?” Harry said.
“Exactly,” Hermione said.
“So why didn’t the talking bear tell them about this whole mess?” Ron asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s possible he wasn’t able to speak about it as part of the enchantment,” Hermione said.
“Okay, so someone transfigures a prince into a bear, which, really, is fairly stupid. Why not make him a toad or a housefly or—“ Ron started.
“Or a ferret?” Harry suggested.
“Best day of my life,” Ron said nostalgic, a dreamy look in his eyes before coming back to himself. “Right, though, or a ferret, when the spell can be reversed by killing the dwarf. A bear could kill a dwarf without much problem, but how would a bunny rabbit manage it?”
“Bite him in the carotid artery while he’s asleep?” Hermione suggested.
“Okay, now I have horrifying bunny images in my head,” Ron said, turning pale. “But, say, a guppy?”
“Wait until the dwarf is swimming and swim up his nose, choking him?” Hermione said.
“Housefly?”
“Find a lethal disease, become a carrier, and bite the dwarf,” Hermione said.
“Three-toed sloth?” Ron finally tried.
“Oh, I’m sure they can be rabid or something, though admittedly trying to catch the dwarf would be somewhat of a problem,” Hermione said. “Probably it could just hang in a tree, wait for the dwarf to walk under it, then drop on it and break its spine from the impact, provided the distance was significant enough. There would be some maths involved for that one to work properly, though.”
“You know, we’re lucky you’re on our side,” Ron said, looking at her with a mixture of respect and fear. “You can come up with a lot of ways to kill someone without much to start on.”
“Thank you, I think,” Hermione said. “In any case, the bear explained the situation, and at once proposed marriage to Rose Red, who accepted.”
“Now I have absolutely no idea how old these two are,” Ron said.
“Post-puberty, we’ll assume,” Hermione said.
“What about Snow White?” Harry asked.
“Oh, she moves in with her dead dad’s second wife and develops an allergy to apples, but this time she meets nice dwarfs,” Ron said, smirking.
“No, although the idea both stories involve dwarfs of one kind or another is odd now that you mention it,” Hermione said. “The prince has a brother, and he marries Snow White.”
“Convenient. And where has he been hiding? Was he turned into a carnivorous rabbit?” Ron asked.
“With nasty, pointy teeth,” Hermione said, but when neither of them got the joke she sighed and muttered, “I’m wasted on this lot. He was just back in the kingdom, waiting for his older brother to return, I suppose.”
“And poor Snow White just automatically marries him? What if he’s horrible?” Ron asked.
“Supposedly, she’s very happy, as is Rose Red, and she and her sister move into the castle together with their mother, who takes the rose bushes with her, which grow to enormous size and produce many blooms,” Hermione said.
“And that’s the end?” Ron said.
“Yes,” Hermione said.
“Okay, so the dwarf is an ungrateful little pig and ignores the kindness the girls do for him by complaining about being mildly inconvenienced in return for saving his life,” Ron said. “This is supposed to line up with you getting us away from an island full of dragons but accidentally dropping us into a couple feet of water in the process, right?”
“Well, yes,” Hermione said.
“Point noted,” Ron said. “Fine. But if I ever grow a magnificent beard, don’t go chopping off the bottom of it if I get it stuck in a log or fishing line or something.”
“And I shall also let birds of prey take you for a ride without intervening on your behalf,” Hermione said primly.
“Dare I ask where we’re off to next?” Harry said.
“Whose turn is it now, anyway?” Ron asked.
“I picked You-Know-Who’s old flat, and Harry wanted to try a volcano,” Hermione said.
“Then it’s me,” Ron said, looking glum. “Okay, give me a second.”
Harry and Hermione sat quietly as Ron mumbled to himself.
“Right, so in order for He Who Must Not Be Named to get from Albania to England, he must have travelled somehow, right?” Ron ventured.
“Yes, and I doubt he was in any condition for Apparition, even Side-Along,” Hermione said.
“So he and Wormtail either went by land or boat. What do you two think he picked?” Ron said.
“If it were me, I’d go by land,” Harry said. “A boat is too dangerous. If an enemy attacked, he’d have nowhere to go.”
“Yes, I agree,” Hermione said. “He probably went overland by the most direct route he could safely.”
“There’s a lot of space between Albania and England, and he could have picked loads of different routes, but I think he’d have to cross at the Channel, wouldn’t he?” Ron asked.
“Most likely,” Hermione said, and Harry nodded.
“So let’s check the Dover coast,” Ron said. “I think it would be the spot he’d probably have come ashore. Maybe we’ll find something.”
“It’s a possibility, at any rate,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, decent plan, Ron,” Harry said.
“Thanks. Shall we turn in, then?” Ron said.
“I’m exhausted,” Hermione agreed. “Is everyone properly dry again?”
“Yeah, no harm done,” Harry said.
“Better to be dunked than roasted,” Ron agreed. “Thanks for that.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hermione said as she slipped behind the curtain where she slept.
“Percy mentioned deus ex machi-whatsit?” Harry whispered as he and Ron made up beds on the two couches.
“Okay, okay, so I read a book on Greek drama once,” Ron said. “I was really bored during the weeks going up to the Triwizard Tournament when we weren’t talking, so bored I started reading random books in the library. That one and 1001 Ways to Cook Radishes. I actually counted. There were only 927. I owled the author a complaint and got twenty pounds of radishes as an apology. Poor old witch said no one else had ever caught it. Probably because no one else ever read it, I’d wager.”
“You really were bored,” Harry said, mildly impressed.
In an hour, Ron and Hermione were both soundly asleep, but Harry just couldn’t seem to doze off. Instead, he quietly got up and opened the tent flap, peering out at the thousands of stars in the sky and mirrored in the sea. Far off, he could just barely see an occasional flash of brilliant orange and red fire. Most people might think it was only the restless volcano, but Harry was no Muggle. He knew better.
