They were getting absolutely nowhere. Harry was sure of it now, and he was just as sure that the fact he had no idea of how to find the next Horcrux was beginning to dawn on the other two inhabitants of the tent. Ron was becoming ever more cross, and Hermione had taken to lapsing into silent thought for hours at a time. Harry was hoping she might puzzle out the location of the next bit of Voldemort's soul. Of the three of them, she was easily the most likely to be able to solve the riddle, but the furrows in her brow told him that even if that was what she was attempting to do, she hadn't been successful.

He suspected they should try shifting their focus to destroying the Horcrux they already had, but he honestly had about as little an idea of how to do that as how to find the other missing ones. He'd thought that possibly they might try looking up Norbert in Romania. Dragon fire at least wouldn't do the ugly locket any good. He was just about to ask Hermione if she thought it was worth trying when Ron heaved a sigh. Here it comes, thought Harry. He's about to tell me that I have no idea what I'm doing.

"Is today Tuesday or Wednesday?" Ron asked, looking from one of them to the other.

"Actually, it's Thursday," Hermione said.

"Oh," Ron said, settling back against a cushion. "They're starting to run together. Are there any apples left?"

"No," Hermione said.

"Bread?"

"No."

"Chips?"

"No."

"Walnuts?"

"No."

"Filet mignon?"

"N-," Hermione began to reply automatically, then stopped. "We've never had any filet mignon out here, Ron."

"I know," he said, "but if I'm going to hear 'no' to every single thing I ask about anyway, then why not at least list off something really good?"

"Oh. Well then, your logic is irrefutable," Hermione said. "For the record, we also don't have any chocolate, bacon, pot roast, crepes, or fried chicken."

"Are you sure?" he asked, abruptly grabbing her little beaded bag from a nearby table.

"Do not open that!" Hermione yelled so loudly that Harry nearly fell off his chair. She swiped the bag out of Ron's hand and clutched it defensively.

"Okay, okay!" Ron said, looking taken aback. "It's just a purse, Hermione, not Merlin's wand. Why can't we poke around in it as well as you?"

"Because it happens to be my purse," Hermione said, setting her jaw with steely resolve, "and my private property is in there that I don't necessarily want the pair of you pawing about. Besides, it's all organized and you'll only put things out of order so I won't be able to find important items when we need them."

"Or you're hiding a giant bar of Honeyduke's in there," Ron said suspiciously.

"I am not!" Hermione said, looking livid.

"He's only joking," Harry said, hoping he was right. Sometimes it was very hard to tell if Ron was being serious, particularly about food. "We know you're not hoarding sweets."

"I should hope so," Hermione said, relinquishing her death grip on the bag a tiny bit. "The very last of the tinned food went a week ago Tuesday. Even the mints are gone."

"Fine, I believe you, but what else have you got in there? Well, aside from half of the library, a bevy of potions ingredients, and a few changes of clothes, obviously?" Ron asked.

"I think you're getting far too curious for your own good," Hermione said.

"So?" Ron said.

"Haven't you ever heard the old saying 'curiosity killed the cat'?" Hermione asked.

"No," Ron said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "That's a stupid saying. And also, sad."

"Wait, doesn't the other half go, 'but satisfaction brought it back'?" Harry said.

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted, "though that bit is usually forgot. Still, too much curiosity can lead to finding out things you don't want to learn."

"I don't suppose there would happen to be a story about that, now would there?" Ron asked.

Harry watched as Hermione seemed to flip through a mental catalogue of all the stories she knew, and he could nearly see the light bulb flip on over her head when she hit upon the right one.

"Technically it's not precisely about curiosity being bad, at least that shouldn't really be taken an as the story's moral, but I think the tale of 'Bluebeard' should suffice," Hermione said, assuming her usual cross-legged position as storyteller.

"Bluebeard?" Ron asked, perking up. "Is he a pirate?

"Now that you mention it, I'm not really sure. He's supposed to be a very wealthy nobleman, but there's really no telling how he got all his money. Privateering could be a highly lucrative career choice, so it's not impossible," Hermione said.

"Okay, then in my head, he's now a former pirate," Ron said, smiling. "So, go on. Once…"

"…upon a time," Hermione finished for him, and Harry realized that they'd actually switched places for that go, "there lived a very wealthy aristocrat who owned a fine castle, beautiful grounds, and all the comforts one could ask for."

"Sounds good," Ron said.

"At this point I'd settle for a decent bathroom," Harry said. "I miss the Prefect's Bathroom at Hogwarts."

"Yeah, I've got to admit, that thing was amazing," Ron said, a dreamy smile on his face. "Hot water, bubbles in every color of the rainbow, and that flirty mermaid."

Hermione frowned for a moment before shrugging and adding, "Oh, I suppose I miss that bit too. Not the mermaid, though, but the scented foam. I could never decide whether I liked the lilac tap or the rose one best."

Harry nodded, remembering the bubbles the size of Quaffles. When Cedric had first given him the password to even things up during the Triwizard Tournament, he'd thought he might never get the chance to swim laps in that gorgeous marble tub again. However, since he'd been made Quidditch captain in sixth year, he'd had access to the bath on his own merits, this time without the pressure of that shrieking egg or Moaning Myrtle and her prying eyes. At least he thought Myrtle had deserted the bathroom. Actually, hoped might be a better word. Just as he was beginning to get a queasy feeling from pondering whether or not Myrtle really had floated back to her own toilet, he noticed Ron's eyes looking rather glazed. Harry realized what Hermione had just been talking about, put two and two together as to the mental pictures Ron was drawing, and said very loudly, "So what's the pill in all the jam?"

"Huh!" Ron said, snapping back to himself. "Um, yeah, it's too good."

"You're quite right, for this man had a very ugly beard that was a dark, forbidding shade of blue. That's why everyone called him Bluebeard," Hermione said. "He was feared for his terrifying, inhuman looks, and all the people who lived nearby were frightened to talk to him."

"Why didn't he just shave?" Ron asked.

Hermione blinked at him.

"I don't know," she said. "I suppose that would have solved the problem, though it might have been highly unusual for a grown man not to have a beard in some cultures during various times in history. It may have made him look rather effeminate."

"Effeminate?" Ron asked.

"Feminine," Hermione explained. "It might emasculate him."

"Emasculate?" Ron asked.

"Feminize," Hermione said.

"Wait, effeminate and emasculate mean the same thing?" Ron said.

"Effectively, yes," Hermione said. "One's an adjective and the other's a verb, though, at least in this usage."

"Uh-huh. That makes absolutely no sense anyway," Ron said. "Stick an e on the front of masculine and feminine and they really should be opposites, shouldn't they?"

"I never exactly understood that either," Hermione admitted.

"Yes, but what's up with Bluebeard?" Harry said, trying to draw them back to the story.

"Oh, well, he'd been married several times, but no one knew what had happened to his previous wives," Hermione said.

"How many times?" Ron asked.

"About six or seven. No one was quite sure," Hermione said. "He kept pretty much to himself."

"Six or seven?" Harry said. "I wouldn't exactly call that keeping to himself. And nobody's noticed what's happened to all the former Mrs. Bluebeards?"

"Yeah, that's a rather large collection," Ron said. "Did they die or just get divorced?"

"Divorce would have been almost unheard of back then, so they most likely died," Hermione said.

"Poor guy. That's rotten luck," Ron said.

"Hmm," Hermione said, but left the comment at that before resuming the story. "Bluebeard wanted to marry again, so he tried to court a pair of sisters from a neighboring town, hoping one of them would accept him."

"After a half a dozen of so wives, you'd think this bloke would give up and just enjoy bachelorhood," Ron said. "But do the two sisters know about each other? I mean, that he's flirting about with both of them?"

"Yes, they both know," Hermione said.

"At least he's being above board with it," Ron said. "Playing one off the other would be a pretty stupid idea."

"Yes, but the problem was both sisters rejected him, terrified of his blue beard," Hermione said.

"That's a bit sad," Ron said. "Could he just dye it?"

"No, Ronald, he could not just dye it. That's the point! He is strange and other worldly and somewhat supernatural in appearance and it's highly off-putting to everyone around him," Hermione said.

"This is one of these things where I'm supposed to just go with it, right?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Well, I'll try," he said uncertainly, "but it seems to be a new level of stupid for these things. A blue beard, I ask you!"

Hermione sighed heavily, and Harry just scratched his head and attempted to look as though he didn't completely agree with Ron.

"After Bluebeard had been turned down by the sisters, he gave one last attempt at persuading them by hosting a lavish party at his home in their honor. Very few people had ever been inside his castle before, and he invited everyone in the town, high born and low, to attend. There were piles of food, roasts and fowls and fish, and vegetables and fruits arranged beautifully on silver platters, along with a countless assortment of tarts and cakes, biscuits and puddings of all kinds. The silver glowed in the warm firelight, rich tapestries in jewel bright colors hung from the walls, the marble floors glistened with intricate mosaics, and in short, there was not a single comfort that money could buy missing from the celebration," Hermione said.

Harry glanced over at Ron, and the look of unadulterated longing written across his face was certainly not the result of pondering Bluebeard's floor mosaics.

"That sounds incredible," Ron managed to say without quite drooling, though it was a near miss. "Sweet Merlin, I miss the feasts in the Great Hall."

"Me too," Hermione said to Harry's surprise, sounding nostalgic. "Oh, those morning kippers!"

"And here I thought you'd be too upset over Elf rights to enjoy that," Harry said.

"It does bother me, but refusing to eat what the Elves have worked so hard on just insults them," Hermione said primly. "It's more effective to lobby on behalf of better treatment."

"Uh-huh," Ron said, grinning. "Also, the kippers were really, really good."

"Oh, fine, yes, they were," Hermione admitted in a huff.

"I miss the treacle tart," Harry admitted.

"What is it with you and treacle tart, mate?" Ron asked. "I don't get the appeal."

"I don't know. I just like it," Harry said with a shrug. "Your mum's is even better than the one at Hogwarts."

"Weird," Ron said, and Harry thought it was rather rich of Ron to be criticizing anybody else's enthusiasm for food. "Anyway, did Bluebeard's smorgasbord get the job done?"

"Actually, yes," Hermione said. "While the elder daughter still refused him, the younger one decided that it would be silly of her to turn down a suitor who was obviously wealthy and treated his guests with such hospitality."

"She does have a bit of a point, but I'm not sure how good an idea it is to marry someone just because they can throw a good party," Harry said.

"True," Ron said, then got a dreamy look on his face and added, "but the food does sound amazing."

"Well, it's possible the two sisters were actually peasants and might well have been starving, so being able to eat regularly without fear of starving probably would be a very persuasive argument, particularly in a time period when there was much less emphasis placed on romantic feeling in marriage and more on the ability to provide for a family," Hermione said.

"I guess that does make sense," Harry said. "So then what?"

"Within a week, Bluebeard and the younger sister were married. All went very well for about a month, and then Bluebeard had to leave the castle for several days to conduct some business in a distant city," Hermione said.

"Probably going back to his pirate ship to pillage a bit for old time's sake," Ron said.

"Whatever his business might be, he gave the keys to the castle to his new bride and told her to amuse herself however she fancied and to invite her sister and any friends she wished to keep her company in his absence. She could use any of the fine dishes or food in the larder, and she could have as much money as she liked to do with as she pleased," Hermione said.

"That seems pretty generous," Harry said.

"Not really," Ron replied, and Harry and Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Well, if they're married, doesn't all of that belong to her now as much as it belongs to him? Or it should, at least. She shouldn't have to get special permission just to eat the food and use the silverware in her own house," Ron said.

"That's an excellent point," Hermione said, beaming at him. "Of course, during the era of this story, Muggle society didn't see things with as broadminded a view as you just did, so it would have been regarded as a special treat for a wife to have so much freedom back then."

"Mum would have a fit if Dad told her how to run her kitchen," Ron said, nodding. "He'd be sleeping in the broom shed for a month if he tried that, and for good reason."

Hermione nodded in agreement, and Harry had to admit that Ron had just scored more points with her than a Seeker catching a Snitch. He felt like applauding.

"However, amidst all of this, Bluebeard did give one warning to his new bride," Hermione said. "He told her what every key was for, but one in particular he pointed out to her. 'This unlocks a storeroom on the lowest level. Under no circumstances are you to open that door or you will risk my greatest displeasure. Any other door is open to you, save that one,'" Hermione said in what Harry thought was a rather too spooky voice.

"Okay, so how long is he gone before she heads directly to the forbidden storeroom like a Niffler after a Galleon?" Ron asked.

"Not long at all," Hermione said. "How did you guess?"

"Eh, women can never resist doing something they're told not to do," Ron said casually, and Harry watched as the scoreboard in the Great Ron and Hermione Quidditch Match of Love suddenly plunged into the negative digits for his side.

"Really?" Hermione said in a freezing cold tone.

"Ehm, well, not everyone?" Ron backpedaled, giving a weak smile as though he'd just realized what he'd said.

"Mm-hmm," Hermione said, fixing him with a look McGonagall would have envied and continuing onward. "The bride did give a feast, inviting all and sundry to another party, and musicians played, food was cooked, and games of all sorts amused the guests. But in spite of all the distractions, her mind was fixed on the forbidden key. Even before the partygoers went home, she had descended the winding stairs towards the lowest level of the castle."

"Didn't they wonder where she'd gone?" Harry asked.

"They were probably far too busy dancing and eating to notice," Hermione said.

"By the by, does the girl have a name in this?" Ron asked. "It's getting a bit annoying to keep calling her the bride."

"No, she doesn't, although her sister is called Anne," Hermione said, still sounding rather chilly towards him.

"Bit odd, that, since the other one hasn't done much, at least yet," Ron said.

"I suppose so," she said, then took a breath to continue.

"Calisto," Ron said suddenly.

"What?" Hermione said.

"I've decided to call her Calisto. It bothers me less that way," Ron said, folding his arms decidedly.

"Why Calisto?" Harry asked.

"Why not?" Ron said with a shrug.

"Regardless of the status of her nomenclature, the bride stood outside the door of what must be the storeroom, glancing between the great iron lock and the forbidden key in her hand. Finally, she put the key in the lock, turned it, and swung the door open," Hermione said.

"And?" Harry asked, more than a little curious himself.

"The light in the room was very dim, and she had to hold aloft the lantern she had brought with her to see at all, but when she did, she recoiled in such horror that she dropped the ring of keys on the floor with a deafening clatter," Hermione said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because the corpses of all of Bluebeard's previous wives were hanging on meathooks on the walls, and the floor was covered in their dried blood," Hermione said in her most terrifying voice.

"Now that's just outright disturbing," Ron said, shuddering. "I figured he might have offed them, what with the way these stories usually go, but the meat hook thing and the blood on the floor puts this very near the top of the list of deeply unpleasant images."

"I've got to agree there," Harry said. "Even if he did kill them, why keep all the bodies in the storeroom instead of getting rid of them?"

"Trophy room?" Ron said, looking sick.

"Probably," Hermione said. "In any case, the girl picked up the keys and fled from the room, locking the door behind her. She ran up the stairs to find that quite a bit of time had passed and the guests had all gone home. Terrified, she—"

"Got the police," Ron said.

"No," Hermione said.

"Ran home to her mum and dad and sister who actually has a name and told them what happened?" Ron asked.

"No," Hermione said.

"Left the country on the first available transportation, yes?" Ron suggested with a look of disbelief. "A broom, a train, a donkey, something!"

"No, she looked at the keys and realized that the forbidden key was stained with blood," Hermione said.

"All right, that's bad luck, but shouldn't she possibly be thinking of, oh, I don't know, running for it while her dear husband is safely away and she might be able to escape?" Ron said.

"True, but she thought she might be able to conceal that she'd ever been in the secret room and fool him into believing she knew nothing about the fate of the other wives," Hermione said.

"Yeah, because that'll end well," Harry said.

"Just like for wives one through six or seven," Ron said.

"The implication is he killed them for looking in the storeroom, so if she didn't let on that she knew, she thought she might be safe," Hermione said.

"What about the first one?" Ron asked. "She couldn't have gone poking about in the storeroom and found a previous wife's corpse hanging about in there if there weren't any before her, so he can't just be murdering them to protect his secret. He didn't have a secret yet with that one."

Hermione pondered this for a moment before she said, "I admit, it's a plot hole, and a rather large one at that, unless of course the room really was empty for the first wife and he was testing her obedience and simply not following his rules was enough for him to kill her. But whatever the reasoning was behind it, the current wife chose to stay and try to remove the blood stain from the keys. It's possible that she thought if he realized she'd been in the room, he would track her down anywhere, while if she was able to remove the evidence, she might be safe."

"So how'd that work out for her?" Ron asked.

"Not well, actually," Hermione said.

"Thought not," Ron said smugly to Harry.

"She tried everything she could think of to remove the blood from the key: water, soap, rubbing it in sand. Nothing worked, and if anything the stain became larger and more vividly red against the metal of the key," Hermione said.

"Sounds like there's some sort of spell on it," Ron said.

"It's a bit like the Permanent Sticking Charm some of the things at Sirius's house used to have so we couldn't pry them off the wall. Remember the Black Family Tree and Walpurga?" Harry asked.

"Oh, that dreadful old woman!" Hermione said, suddenly quite animated. "She was absolutely horrid! I don't know how Sirius managed with her in real life when just her portrait was so completely vile."

"Eh, she kind of liked me a bit," Ron said, and Hermione and Harry both stared at him. "What? I am a pureblood after all, and that's what she was so mad for."

"Yeah, but you're a blood traitor if ever there was one," Harry said, remembering what Sirius had told him.

"And proud of it," Ron said with a grin, "but somebody had to be able to get the old lady to stuff it, so I convinced her that I wasn't so bad and sure enough she'd nod off or give me a 'such a nice, sweet, dear pureblood boy in terrible company' and chat a bit, and it kept her from blowing everyone's eardrums inside out with her shrieking."

"How could you possibly stand her?" Hermione said, gaping at him.

"She was fairly awful, I grant you, but she had seen her husband and one son die before her, and the one still alive hated her, and she died while he was still in Azkaban so there was no chance to sort things out. Bit of a lonely life, really," Ron said with a shrug. "If you could befriend Kreacher after what he did to Sirius, it's not that odd."

Harry was completely stunned, and Hermione was blushing with what he was fairly sure was shame that she hadn't managed to be kind to the portrait. Personally, he thought they were both daft, Ron for pitying Mrs. Black and Hermione for feeling guilty about falling short of complete compassion for every living thing, even if the portrait wasn't technically alive.

"Well, that's… admirable," Hermione said.

"Insane, I think you mean," Harry said, rolling his eyes at Ron.

"Whatever," Ron said, looking uncomfortable. "So what went on next with Calisto and the key?"

"That would make a fair name for a rock band," Harry said.

"Yeah, not bad," Ron agreed, half-closing his eyes as though he were trying to picture it on a marquee. "I might need to patent that. Oh, go on, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, and Harry honestly couldn't tell if she was just being polite or still feeling rather ashamed from her overly formal tone. "By this time, all the party goers had long ago left, save for her sister Anne, when suddenly Bluebeard arrived home early."

"I bet he never went anywhere and was just lurking about, waiting for this whole thing to happen," Ron said.

"You're probably right," Hermione said. "As soon as he saw her, he asked for the keys, but she claimed that she'd lost them."

"That didn't work for me when Flitwick wanted the essay on Repelling Spells, and I'm guessing it didn't work any better for her," Ron said.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Bluebeard ordered her to return with the keys, and she did, but she'd taken the key to the storeroom off. Once again he ordered her to return with the key, and—"

"And she threw it out the window like any sane person would do?" Ron said.

"No," Hermione said.

"Of course not," he said. "She comes back with the blood-dipped key, right?"

"I'm afraid so, and Bluebeard, seeing the blood on the key, knew immediately what had happened. 'Having disobeyed me and opened the forbidden door, you must pay the penalty with your death!'" Hermione said this last sentence in such a forbidding tone that Harry's flesh crawled.

"About what I thought," Ron said, completely unfazed.

"However, she begged him to give her but a quarter of an hour to say her prayers before he killed her, and Bluebeard agreed, leaving her and her sister alone so that the wife could make her peace before her death," Hermione said.

"He's rather polite for a serial killer," Harry said.

"In some versions he says he gives her only half a quarter of an hour instead, but yes, it's an odd situation," Hermione said.

"Half a quarter of an hour? So seven minutes and thirty seconds exactly?" Ron asked.

"Apparently so," Hermione said.

"That's just odd. The poor kid probably spent half the time figuring out what a half a quarter of an hour even meant," Harry said.

"He could have said a tenth of a quarter of a half of an hour, just to really confuse her," Ron said.

"Forty-five seconds," Hermione answered immediately, and as Ron and Harry both opened their mouths to wonder for the millionth time how fast her brain worked, she continued on, unperturbed. "The wife sent her sister Anne to the top of a tower to see if their two brothers were on their way, for they had promised her they would attend the party but had not yet come, and she hoped they were merely very late."

"That'd be awfully late considering all the guests except her sister have left," Ron said. "Even Fred and George wouldn't be that tardy."

"True, but that's what she hoped. She told Anne that if she saw their horses in the distance, she should wave her scarf to signal to them to make haste," Hermione said. "Anne ran to the top of the tower, and her sister cried out to her from the window, 'Do you see our brothers?' but Anne responded that she saw nothing but the sun and the grass and a bit of dust blowing in the wind far off."

"That doesn't sound too promising," Harry said.

"The dust might," Ron said. "It could be horses' hooves kicking it up from a distance maybe."

"That's a possibility," Hermione said. "At that moment, Bluebeard called up to his wife, 'Come down at once!' but she begged, 'Pray you, give me but a moment longer!'"

"He's making her walk down to her own execution? It seems like he could at least trouble himself to walk up the stairs if he's going to kill her," Ron said.

"The wife used her time to call up again to her sister, 'Are our brothers in sight?' but Anne replied, 'I see a great movement of dust, but that is all.'"

"I'm telling you, it's the brothers," Ron said.

"The wife thought exactly the same thing, for she called, 'Is the dust from our brothers' horses?' but Anne replied, 'Nay, it's a great flock of sheep!'" Hermione said.

"Sheep?" Ron said, looking disappointed. "I don't think a big flock of sheep is going to save this girl."

"It'd be interesting if they did, though," Harry said. "A castled stormed by a group of irate Leicester Longwools would make a pretty good story."

"Yeah, maybe Bluebeard is allergic to wool," Ron said brightly.

"The sheep do not rescue the girl," Hermione said, obviously trying to remain calm. "The idiocy in these stories does have a limit, and that's it."

"Oh," Ron said, sounding disappointed. "Too bad."

"Once again Bluebeard called up, 'Come at once or I shall break down the door and fetch you to your death myself!' and the wife answered, 'But one moment more!'" Hermione said.

"This is getting pretty disturbing, really," Ron said, looking uncomfortable. "This bloke's a nutcase."

"I agree," Hermione said. "The wife called one last time to her sister 'Can you see our brothers now?' and Anne replied, 'Yes! I see them, but they are a long way off!'"

"About time. There's fashionably late, but this is ridiculous," Harry said, sounding relieved. "Wait, how far off are they?"

"Well, if they'd only just come into view from an elevated vantage point, they could be several miles away," Hermione said.

"No, they couldn't," Ron said.

"What do you mean 'no, they couldn't,'" Hermione said, an edge of annoyance in her voice.

"The party took place during the day, she found the key, looked in the hidden room, everybody left, and then she spent hours trying to get the blood off the key before Bluebeard came home," Ron said. "Shouldn't this be happening in the middle of the night?"

Harry watched as Hermione squinted, trying to figure this out.

"The sister did say she saw the sun and the grass in the first answer," she said slowly, "so it can't be the middle of the night. Granted, night must have passed in the interim. Now, if she said she saw the sun because it was just starting to dawn, then her view of the surrounding countryside might have been relatively impaired due to low levels of light. Her realization that she was merely seeing sheep would also make sense as the sun would be higher in the sky at that point, and then she was finally able to see the brothers on their way because the sun was higher. So no, Ronald, it couldn't be the middle of the night due to the sister specifically mentioning the sun, but the relatively weak light of the first part of sunrise would explain the difficulty in seeing objects and people that the sister has."

"Or she needs specs," Ron said.

"Or that," Hermione said with a shrug. "At this point Bluebeard bellowed, making the castle shake to its very foundations in the hidden room, and Anne and the wife shivered in fear at his anger. They heard him begin to climb the stairs to the room where the wife was, his great booted feet making a methodical thud on each tread."

"Bit of a drama queen, isn't he?" Ron said.

"Then he tore the door from the hinges, and the wife threw herself at his feet, begging for mercy. 'I will have none of that!' he yelled, 'You must die! Commend thyself to God!'" Hermione said.

"This really is disturbing," Harry said, grimacing.

"At that moment, the two brothers raced through the door, swords aloft, and struck Bluebeard's head off," Hermione said.

"Okay, exactly how did that happen? There wasn't any time for them to get there, dismount their horses, figure out what was happening, run up the stairs, and kill him," Ron said.

"It really doesn't make much sense, and most scholars think there's some sort of gap here with a missing event of some kind that would bridge the distance but was lost in retellings, but that's what happens," Hermione said.

"Or they Apparated," Harry said suddenly.

"Hmm," Hermione said. "Yes, that would work. They could have seen the sister's signal that something was wrong, then Apparated directly into the castle, saving a good deal of time."

"So the castle is definitely not Hogwarts, then," Ron said. "You can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds."

"By George, I think he's got it," Hermione said with a look of mock surprise.

"Why George? Why not Fred?" Ron asked.

"It's just a Muggle expression, although now that you've said that, I can't get the mental image of the brothers as Fred and George out of my head," Hermione said. "I think you might really be on to something there, though, Harry. If the brothers are wizards, it would stand to reason that the rest of the family might be as well, and so might Bluebeard, which means the key really could be enchanted with a Permanent Sticking Charm or some other spell."

"Maybe," Harry said.

"So Bluebeard loses his noggin. Now what?" Ron asked.

"Oh, as his sole beneficiary, the wife inherited all of her husband's estate," she said. "First she had the other wives given a decent burial."

"I should say so," Ron said. "You don't want that mess next to your larder."

"Then she gave money to her sister for her dowry, and used some more to buy captains' commissions for her brothers," Hermione said.

"Does it make it less of a misogynistic horror if the dowry is given by a sister to another sister so no men are involved?" Ron asked.

"Only moderately," Hermione said.

"It's a bit scary their army lets them just buy the ability to be in charge without any background," Harry said.

"Granted, they've got at least one beheading to their credit though, so there's that," Ron pointed.

"Fair enough," Harry said, "and what happened to the wife?"

"She married a kind and good man who helped her forget all about the horrors she had experienced, and I suppose they all lived happily every after," Hermione said. "So, what did you think?"

"Let's see: a room full of corpses on meat hooks, an attempted beheading, a real beheading, and a freakishly bloody key," Ron said, counting them off on his fingers. "What do I think? I think your lot are mental, that's what I think."

"I'm not so sure," Harry said.

"You don't think this was mental?" Ron asked.

"Oh, it's plenty mental," Harry said, "but I think it might not have been written by Muggles."

"The Apparition is a good point, if that's what it is," Hermione said, "so there could well be some involvement from wizards."

"Yeah, but where else?" Ron asked. "And if it really was Apparition and the bride's family are all wizards, why wouldn't the sisters just Apparate themselves out of there?"

"Because they're Squibs," Harry said. "That's why the one girl was desperate enough to take even Bluebeard as a husband."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other.

"You know, that would make sense," Hermione said.

"And then there's Bluebeard," Harry said. "Isn't it possible that he's a Metamophmagus and that's why his beard is a different color?"

"That would explain his outsider status as well since Metamorphmagi aren't regarded as being particularly acceptable in pureblood society, usually labeled as freakish aberrations," Hermione said. "Just like they hate anyone with less magical ability than themselves, they hate anyone who has a power they don't and pretend it means that group is somehow lesser. If that's the case, then the story is actually an indictment against them, suggesting they're unstable and unfit to marry into wizarding families, even at the level of Squibs. Oh, that is foul!"

Harry thought of Tonks, wondering how she was getting on, and remembered how cool he had thought it would be to be able to change his appearance at will. It turned out there were some definite drawbacks to it as well, though.

"So there are two morals to the story. Don't marry someone with blue hair, and don't go about unlocking secret rooms," Ron said. "Of course, if Calisto hadn't done either of those things, she never would have gotten the money and no one would have known about the dead wives, so that sort of undoes it a bit."

"It does rather, doesn't it?" Hermione said, deflating a little. "Well, in any case, it's far past midnight again, and we need to move in the morning, preferably before sun-up. I'm going to try to get a few hours of sleep. Night."

The boys wished her goodnight as she retired to the nook that served as her bedroom. Ron seemed to be counting in his head for about a minute, then he moved swiftly to the other side of the room and picked up Hermione's beaded bag.

"Ron, no," Harry said, looking aghast.

"I just want to see what she's got in here," he whispered to him. "It's not like I'm going to nick anything, even if I do find food."

"But that's not yours," Harry whispered back. "She said not to."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, or me for that matter," Ron said.

He pulled on the strings of the bag and peered inside, and within a second there was an ear-shattering wailing that filled the tent. Ron dropped it like a hot potato, but Hermione was already standing next to him, anger practically making her hair crackle.

"Um, hi?" he said looking a bit ill.

"I did not do that," Harry said, pointing in alarm at the bag. "Really, that was not me."

"I'm aware of that, Harry," she said, picking up her purse, her lips an extremely thin line. "As for you, Ronald, you're doing the dishes for the next month."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled.

"No, you're not," Hermione said. "You're only sorry you got caught."

"I really… oh," he said as the curtain over her bed swished shut. "Well, that was stupid of me."

"You might say that," Harry said, then, double-checking that Hermione wasn't listening, he added, "So, what's in there? You got a quick look."

"She's got her laundry hanging out on a line," Ron said, then added, "including her knickers. That's probably what set her off."

"I don't think there's any probably about it," Harry said. "None of us has got much privacy out here."

"Yeah, mate, I know," Ron said with a sigh. "I fumbled that Quaffle spectacularly."

Harry nodded and headed to bed himself, leaving Ron to sit up for a while alone. They really were starting to step on one another's toes the longer the journey lasted, and it was no help at all that he had no idea where they were going or how long it would take. That night he dreamed of Ginny in Gryffindor Tower again, and this time the lurking figure of Snape stood over her, a sword outstretched, and his beard as dark blue as the ocean on a moonless night. He hoped her other brothers were indeed keeping an eye out for her in the very dangerous place that Hogwarts had undoubtedly become.