The Go(on with You, Now!)ose Girl
"I miss Hogwarts," Hermione said, breaking the comfortable post-dinner silence in the tent so suddenly that she put a hand to her mouth apologetically.
It had actually been a decent day for once. While they still hadn't settled on a plan to destroy the locket or found another Horcrux, they'd decided they needed a day off. This had actually been Hermione's idea, to Harry's complete surprise, but he had to admit it was a brilliant one. The day before, she had found nearly thirty pounds in Muggle money that someone had just left lying on a park bench, and they'd split it evenly among the three of them before setting out on their holiday. The only rule, besides obviously not doing anything stupid, was they weren't allowed to think about anything to do with the Horcrux hunt for the next several hours. Harry wasn't sure about the other two, but he certainly felt worlds better for it.
Harry had chosen to take a walk through the nearest town, having taken Polyjuice first to avoid being recognized, and had simply enjoyed a few hours of solitude, sipping tea in a little shop while people watching, listening to a rather horrible children's chorus singing in a park, and catching an excellent football match on a pub's telly. He'd even bought a good take away from a curry restaurant, and when he'd arrived back at the tent, the others had actually applauded the dinner.
As they'd devoured the lovely food, Ron had talked about his own mini-holiday, a stroll down a country road while watching some sheep graze, followed by a visit to an ice cream shop and then playing chess in the park (apparently just having missed both Harry and the off-key choir) with a Muggle pensioner who regaled him with stories from his time in World War II. Ron was more than a little stunned by what the old man had gone through in his younger days.
The two of them asked Hermione more than once what she had been up to before she sheepishly took off her shoes and socks to reveal bright pink toenails.
"You got a pedicure?" Ron said, looking confused.
"Yes," Hermione said, and Harry was stunned he'd even known the word.
"But… that's a girl thing," Ron said, wrinkling his nose. "I thought you didn't like that kind of stuff."
"It may be difficult for you to believe, Ronald, but it is possible to be female, intelligent, brave, and like the occasional pretty nail varnish," Hermione had said defensively. "They aren't incompatible qualities."
"I guess," Ron said, still looking like he was on the other side of the looking glass. "Is that all you did today?"
"No," Hermione said. "I also read for a while."
"Now that's more normal for you," Ron said, and then quickly added, "unless it was one of those beauty magazine things."
"It was not, though my choice of reading material in my own leisure time isn't really your affair," Hermione said primly.
"Uh-huh," Ron said. "What'd you read?"
"Pride and Prejudice, if you must know," Hermione said.
"What's that? An exposé on pureblood culture?" Ron asked.
"No, though I admit that would be an apt title," Hermione said. "It's a novel by a Muggle author named Jane Austen."
"Oh," Ron said. "Any good?"
"I like it. I think this is the fifth time I've read it, actually," Hermione said.
Ron raised his eyebrows. "Did you get hit on the head or something?"
Hermione sighed before asking, "And what precisely is that supposed to mean?"
"Because memory damage is the only reason I can think of that someone would want to read the same book more than once. You already know how it ends, so what's the point?" Ron asked.
"The point is that I love the story," Hermione said. "It's fun to pick up the book and visit with Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy and all the rest of them even if I know what's going to happen. It's not the ending that's the point, really, but the journey to get there."
"Whatever floats your Fizzing Whizzbee, I guess," Ron said, shrugging but looking like he was still concerned for her sanity.
"Look, you know how with the Omnioculars at the Quidditch World Cup you could watch the exact same play over and over again, even though you knew whether it was going to work or not?" Hermione said.
"Oh, yeah!" Ron said, smiling broadly. "That was great, that was."
"It's much the same thing," Hermione said.
"I guess," Ron said, but he looked doubtful. Silently, Harry despaired that the two of them were ever going to be on the same page about much of anything. "I mean, okay, if there were a test on it or something, I could see it, but still."
Harry thought Hermione looked wistful for a moment, and he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Seriously, Hermione, you're not getting nostalgic over taking tests, are you?"
"What? No!" Hermione said a bit too quickly. "No, not sitting exams or anything, just, well, I do miss class and mastering new things and learning from the teachers. Like I said, I miss Hogwarts."
"Yeah," Ron said, his expression rather wistful as well. "Me too."
"Really?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah," Ron said. "I miss the bangers and mash the kitchens used to send up for dinner every second Tuesday. Oh, and the chocolate gateau and the porridge with cream and sultanas, and the corned beef sandwiches for lunch on Wednesdays. Say what you want about the dangerous stuff at Hogwarts and the number of kids in the Hospital Wing at any given time, but the food is bloody amazing."
Hermione stared at him.
"How do you not weight more than a Hippogriff?" she finally said.
"I fidget a lot," Ron said with a shrug. "I miss other things too, though."
"Quidditch," Hermione said.
"Obviously, yeah, but visiting with Hagrid too, and sitting around the fire in the common room while playing chess," Ron said.
"I miss the Fat Lady," Harry said. "I wonder what her portrait's been up to."
"Oh, I do hope she's managed to keep the passwords from any of the horrid people who are running the school now so Gryffindor can get a little peace at least," Hermione said.
"Yeah, she's good fun and a decent guard as well," Ron said. "Who was she anyway?"
"You know, I have no idea," Hermione said, looking surprised. "I never thought of it, but all the portraits are based on real people, aren't they?"
"I think so," Harry said.
"Do you suppose all of them are, you know, dead?" Ron asked.
"Dumbledore's portrait appeared in his office after he died," Harry said slowly. "So do all the other Headmasters'. I never really thought about it, but I guess they must be."
"We don't even know her right name, do we?" Ron said. "I mean, her parents didn't name her Fat Lady, or if they did they were a couple of rotters."
"Oh, now this is going to bother me," Hermione said.
"Well, when we get back to Hogwarts, we'll just have to ask her," Harry said. "I bet she'll be right pleased to have something to talk about other than which password Neville's forgot that week."
"I do hope he's okay," Hermione said. "I worry about him. I miss all the Gryffindors, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, really, when it comes to it. It's a bit lonely out here with just the three of us."
"Yeah. I think I'd even be happy to see Millicent Bulstrode at this point," Harry said.
"You really must be homesick," Ron said, looking disgusted.
Harry nodded, and Hermione rested her chin in her hand and looked thoughtful.
"Hermione, can you tell us a story with loads of magic in it?" Ron finally asked, breaking the silence again. "The last few haven't really had much of it in them, and I miss how nutty the Muggles get things."
"I think I can come up with one," Hermione said, wiggling her freshly painted toes as she thought. "Yes, there's one that's fairly dripping with it, but there are some connections to real spells in there somewhere, though of course the Muggles don't quite understand what's happening."
"As usual," Ron said, then added quickly, "oh, not that I blame them. So does it start with 'once upon a time'?"
"It does indeed," Hermione said, snuggling back against her cushion, and Harry relaxed as well. Dinner and a story. It was turning into rather a good day.
"Once upon a time," Hermione said, "there lived a princess who was engaged to be married to a prince in a far off kingdom."
"Why?" Ron asked promptly. "Had she ever met him?"
"No, and that's part of the problem in the story. They've never set eyes on each other," Hermione explained. "Royal children were often betrothed practically since birth to other royal children to help secure trade routes or treaties or alliances between their respective countries."
"I don't get it. How does a baby put together a treaty?" Ron said.
"Well, obviously, the baby doesn't, but the idea is if you're the king of Country A and you've married your daughter off to the king of Country B, you most likely aren't going to invade Country B since you might harm your daughter or your grandchildren in the process," Hermione said.
"Muggles really are weird," Ron said. "But why haven't any of the princes and princesses in the other stories been engaged to other people in their stories since they were kids too?"
"It's an oversight, certainly," Hermione agreed. "Particularly in the case of 'Cinderella,' where the prince is looking for a bride when his parents actually should have been using his marriage as a political bargaining chip for years. I suppose Sleeping Beauty might have been betrothed, but over the course of a hundred years her intended would certainly have died, releasing her from the contract."
"One would hope," Ron said. "Otherwise, you'd have somebody Ginny's age marrying somebody about Dumbledore's."
"Yes, well, Muggles don't tend to live anywhere near that long," Hermione said. "Really, practically every royal character in most of the stories probably would have at least had major pressure from the families to wed a particular person for political reasons."
"Makes it a lot less romantic, not that these toe-chopping, spindle-stabbing, kidnapping, and foot-mutilation obsessing stories really were in the first place," Ron said. "Anyway, does this girl who's marrying someone she's never even gotten a good look at have a name?"
"No," Hermione said.
"Does the prince?" Ron asked.
"No," Hermione said.
"Does anyone?" Ron asked, looking a bit desperate.
"No. Oh, wait, yes! Her horse has a name, but that doesn't come into the story yet," Hermione said.
"Her horse. Well, I guess that's something anyway," Ron said, looking weary. "If somebody has to have a name, give it to the horse. Okay, go on. I let you get one whole sentence into the story this time before I had to ask you a question about the mad goings-on."
"Thank you," Hermione said primly before continuing. "The queen was about to bid her daughter farewell, but she wanted to give her a parting gift before she left."
"That makes sense and also suggests that she actually likes the girl, a combination which is practically a novelty for parents in these things," Ron said. "Okay, despite the weird matrimonial tradition and the lack of names, this is actually going okay so far. So what does she give her?"
"The queen took a knife and…" Hermione started.
"There is no way that sentence can end well," Ron interrupted.
"And sliced her a piece of cake?" Harry suggested.
"Oh. Okay, I guess it could," Ron admitted.
"…and sliced one of her own fingers until it bled," Hermione said.
"So no cake then," Ron said. "At least I hope not. Why would she do a stupid thing like that?"
"She took three drops of blood and put them on a handkerchief, then gave it to her daughter to keep her well and safe from danger," Hermione said. "It was supposed to act as a sort of good luck charm. The daughter tucked it into the bosom of her dress, promising to keep it safe."
Ron grimaced and said, "That's just disgusting. 'Here you go, precious popkins! A bloody handkerchief that will do nothing at all to keep you safe! Now stick it down your jumper and have a good life married to a bloke you've never met before in a country far away! Here's hoping he's not a homicidal nutter like the one with the blue beard!' Hermione, your lot really are completely bizarre."
"Actually, I'm not so sure about that," Harry said, and both Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise.
"Huh?" Ron asked intelligently.
"Well, it's not a perfect connection, but the mother sacrifices a bit of herself to keep her child safe, and the child keeps the marks from it with her. Is it really all that different than what my mum did, only on a smaller scale?" Harry said.
Hermione's jaw dropped open for nearly a full ten seconds before she said with stunning enthusiasm, "That's brilliant! I chose this story because it really is just filled with bizarre charms and things, but this one does seem to have a basis in the wizarding world. I wonder, if the queen really is a witch, then it's highly likely the daughter is as well, but regardless it could be a less potent, though still effective, form of the protection your mother put on you, Harry! Oh, that is just wildly interesting! And here I thought it was mostly a symbolic passing on of the puberty rights via a napkin that could represent the onset of adolescence via the menstrual cycle, but—"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Can you not talk about that!" Ron said, looking like he was in danger or running out of the tent in a blind panic, Death Eaters or not.
"It's a perfectly normal thing for roughly half the population of the planet, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"And I'm sure a big portion of the planet has diarrhea as well, but I don't want to hear about it!" Ron said, and Harry wondered if he really should lock the tent's door as a precaution against him fleeing.
"You can't catch it," Hermione said, and Harry heard her mutter under her breath "more's the pity" before she sighed and said, "Fine. Besides, Harry's connection is a very good one."
"Yeah, that's better," Ron said, and his expression of dire panic reduced to vague unease. "So she goes off to the prince with a big retinue, right?"
"No, actually," Hermione said. "She leaves only with her servant maid, each of them riding a horse. I assume she would have a dowry with her as well, but it may have been sent in advance."
"That doesn't seem very safe," Harry said.
"No, it actually doesn't. It would have been highly unusual for two lone women to travel by themselves back then, particularly for a long journey, but that's what happens. Still, the princess's horse was unusual," Hermione said.
"How so?" Ron asked.
"Well, he could talk," Hermione said.
"Oh, one of those talking-animal-whatsits," Ron said.
"Sort of, but he's the only animal in the whole story who talks, and it's regarded as being a marvelous thing, so it's a bit more magical than just a talking beast tale like 'The Tortoise and the Hare,'" Hermione said.
"I'm guessing he's the one with the name, then?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione said.
"Can I guess?" Ron asked.
"What is this? 'Rumpelstiltskin'?" Harry said with a laugh.
"I don't think you're going to get it even with a thousand guesses," Hermione said.
"It's that weird?" Ron said with a note of trepidation in his voice.
"It's Falada," Hermione said.
"It's that weird," Ron said firmly. "Tell me, is this a common horse name among your people?"
"No, but it's also not common for horses to talk either," Hermione said. "I think it's supposed to sound musical, like do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti."
"Like what now?" Ron said.
"Oh, like that one with the singing almost-nun!" Harry said, thrilled that for once he actually had a cultural reference that the Dursleys hadn't forbidden him from seeing. Apparently Aunt Petunia found Christopher Plummer handsome, and to Dudley's and Uncle Vernon's disgust she had made them watch around every Easter. Harry had always thought it was fairly all right, though he always worried it would give his aunt ideas and he'd wind up wearing clothes made of their old curtains.
"Yes! Oh, I loved that movie when I was little. Still do, really. Maria and Captain Von Trapp and that horrid Rolf and the children and…" Hermione broke off as she saw Ron's perplexed face. "It's a Muggle play, and later a movie, with music in it. She teaches the children to sing with a little song about the notes in the scale using the solfège model, which uses do, rhyming with so, as the first note of any scale."
"Uh huh," Ron said.
"There's also a family with seven children in it," Hermione added quickly.
"Oh," Ron said, brightening. "Well, that I can understand. Anyway, the princess with no name is riding the horse with the ridiculous name, and her servant is following on her own horse."
"Yes," Hermione said. "All went well for a while until they came to a stream. It was hot, and the princess said to her maid, 'Fill my golden cup at the stream so I may drink.'"
"I hope she said please," Ron said.
"No, actually, and the maid apparently took offense as well for she replied, 'No, I am through taking orders from you. If you are thirsty, get your own water,'" Hermione said.
"Whoa, okay, that's a bit extreme," Harry said. "She's not a slave or anything, right?"
"No, we can assume she was a paid worker, though the princess should have remembered that manners are still in order with anyone," Hermione said. "Still, this was a bad, bad sign. The princess got down from Falada and knelt by the stream to drink, for the servant refused to give her the golden cup."
"Okay, now that's out of line if it's her cup," Ron said.
"It gets worse, for the princess, weeping at the strange situation she was in, bent to drink for the stream, and her mother's handkerchief fell from her dress into the water and floated away," Hermione said.
"Uh oh. If Harry's right about that being a protective charm, there's a major problem brewing. At least your scar can't fall off or rub away or something," Ron said.
"Even though I've wished it could more than once," Harry said. "No, it doesn't sound like that will end well."
"The princess got back on her horse, and they continued on several more hours until they reached a second stream, and once again the princess asked the maid to fill the cup and get her a drink of water," Hermione said.
"That'll end well," Ron said.
"She's probably attempting to let the girl repent for her rudeness, but you're right. The girl tells her to get down from her horse and get the water on her own, which the princess does, but then something very strange happens," Hermione said.
"Which is?" Harry asked.
"The story usually says that the princess fell under the maid's power because of the lost charm, and she had to do everything the maid said as though she had no will of her own," Hermione said.
"No will of her own? That sounds like the Imperius Curse," Harry said, frowning.
"Exactly. The maid tells the princess to switch clothes with her, which the princess does, and then tells her to ride the maid's old nag while the maid rides Falada, and again, the princess does this without comment," Hermione said.
"If that isn't the Imperius Curse, I don't know what is," Ron said. "The handkerchief must have kept her from casting the spell, but when the princess lost it, the maid was able to do it. That's a really hard spell to fight, too, if you haven't got any practice."
"Yeah, it really does sound like that. I'm guessing the maid is going to pass herself off as the princess?" Harry said.
"Yes, but there's one more thing that happens. Before they get on their horses, the maid makes the princess vow that she won't tell a living soul about what has happened or else she will fall down dead," Hermione said.
Harry and Ron gave each other significant looks before turning back to Hermione and saying together, "Unbreakable Vow."
"Again, it certainly does seem to be, though I'm not sure if that would work or not under the Imperius Curse since I've always assumed it usually requires someone to commit their will freely to it," Hermione said.
"No, I don't think it does, actually. When Fred and George tried to get me to do it when I was a wee thing, I didn't know what I was about, but Dad said it would have worked if they'd managed to do it," Ron said darkly. "I felt a bit bad for the maid at first, but I really don't now."
"I should think not," Hermione said. "The princess, now dressed as her own maid, wept as she followed behind her richly attired servant, and at length they came to the castle of the prince she was to wed."
"And since she isn't traveling with anyone else, and no one there knows her, everyone believes that the maid is the princess and vice versa," Harry said.
"Wait, no, someone knows," Ron said suddenly. "Falada! The horse can say what happened, right?"
"You would think so, but he doesn't," Hermione said.
"Why bloody not!" Ron said angrily. "Did the princess skimp on carrots and make him go into a snit or something?"
"You know, I've always wondered about that too, but then I realized the horse probably had a bit in his mouth while they were traveling, so maybe he couldn't talk because of that," Hermione said.
Ron squeezed his eyebrows together in thought for a while before slowly nodding.
"Okay, I'll accept that, though you'd think a talking horse wouldn't need a bit and bridle in the first place," Ron said.
"Maybe Falada could talk but didn't know the way or wasn't all that intelligent. It's not like it was Bree and Whin heading for 'Narnia and the North!' or something," Hermione said and received two completely blank looks. She sighed. "I am not explaining a seven book children's series of Christian allegory involving pseudo-Medieval literary tropes in a fantasy setting involving a talking lion who is actually a Deity, an evil witch descended from Adam's wife prior to Eve, and a magic closet with the ability to send people to far-off lands. It's too involved. Read the books for yourselves."
Harry thought that was probably best. Besides, seven books? That seemed like an overly optimistic number of books to expect kids to read.
"A closet that sends people to other places? You mean like a vanishing cabinet?" Ron asked slowly.
Hermione opened her mouth, looked perplexed, shut it again, then said, "Actually, yes, remarkably like that really. But let's get back to the story we're telling, shall we?"
"By all means," Ron said, leaning back in his seat comfortably. "The maid dressed as the princess arrives at the castle, and what happens?"
"Well, the prince and the king both assume that she's telling the truth, though actually they both thought that the supposed maid dressed in rags was more fair than the princess, but both had the good manners and common sense not to say so," Hermione said.
"Are all princesses supposed to be pretty?" Ron asked. "I mean, is there no such thing as an ugly princess in any of these?"
As Harry watched, we could almost see Hermione mentally flipping through a card catalogue of all the stories she knew before she finally sighed and said, "Not one I can think of off the top of my head, no. There are a few about transformed princesses, and there are some ugly princes, but I can't think of a princess in her true form who isn't supposed to be beautiful in these stories."
"Well, bully for them, I guess," Ron said. "But the maid isn't outright ugly?"
"No, that's never mentioned," Hermione said. "She simply isn't as beautiful as the true princess. In any case, the maid-slash-princess was welcomed with joy and open arms by her soon to be new family, while the princess-slash-maid remained silent but sad. Finally, the king, taking notice of her, asked the false princess who the other girl was, and she replied, 'Oh, she's nothing but a servant girl who accompanied me, and she's rather stupid. Give her some work to do, though, so she mayn't be idle.'"
"Wow, this girl is a liar and downright mean as well," Harry said.
"She's horrid, yes," Hermione said. "The king, feeling rather sorry for the girl, whom he thought was probably suffering from homesickness, gave her a job tending the geese, and that's why this story is called 'The Goose Girl.'"
"You know, this king is an all right sort of fellow, really," Ron said. "He's not snobby at all. He notices the girl who isn't in the same class, at least supposedly, and he realizes she's not happy and tries to help her. I like him."
"He is quite a decent fellow," Hermione said approvingly. "It's like Sirius said; you can tell a lot about a person by how they treat people who work for them."
"Or maybe he only noticed her because she was good looking," Harry said.
"Or that," Hermione said with a shrug. "Having disposed of the true princess as one of the lowest classes of servants, the maid had only one other witness to dispose of: Falada."
"Almost forgot about him," Ron said. "So what did she do? Have him help the princess herd geese?"
"No," Hermione said. "She asked her betrothed for a boon for a wedding gift, and he agreed to give her anything she asked for."
"That is one dangerous promise to make," Harry said.
"Indeed. She said that the horse she had ridden had behaved so badly on the journey that she wanted its head cut off, and the prince agreed," Hermione said.
"Oh, now that is just a full step beyond!" Ron said. "She killed the talking horse before it could even talk!"
"Quite," Hermione said, "and the princess was deeply grieved over the death of her beloved Falada."
"Okay, so the maid is a liar and a cheat and kills animals, including sentient talking ones, without a care in the world? I don't like this girl at all," Ron said. "She is officially going to be Pansy Parkinson in my head."
"I thought she was already cast as the princess in the 'The Frog Prince'?" Hermione said.
"Yeah, but she can have more than one role," Ron said.
"I have no problem at all with that," Hermione said. "The princess, the real one I mean, went to the man who had slaughtered the horse and paid him a few coins, asking him to hang the horse's head over a gate in town through which she passed each morning with her geese. This way, she could at least see her old friend every day."
Ron grimaced before saying, "Okay, I get she misses the horse, but how is watching its head rot going to make her feel any better? And would people actually hang a decaying horse's head over a gate so that it starts dropping random bits of goo on whomever going under it?"
"Ronald, your imagery!" Hermione said, grimacing herself. "I know it doesn't make much sense, at least not yet, but it's part of the story. Besides, in the old days Muggles did sometimes hang parts of corpses from executions on town walls or gates to act as a warning for people not to commit those crimes. It's disgusting, but it was done."
"I'd say your lot is just plain bizarre, but I'm getting redundant at this point," Ron said. "I'll also hope the umbrella had already been invented so that people could at least protect themselves from whatever might be falling off the bridge or gate or wall or what have you."
Harry shuddered. He'd had a horrible thought of how Voldemort might put the walls of Hogwarts to similar use if he got the chance. That image would undoubtedly go in his nightmares tonight.
"Okay, so Falada is the world's worst interior—or I guess exterior here—decorating choice in history," Ron said. "Then what?"
"For a few days, nothing happened. The false princess lived in the castle and married the prince, and the real princess went out to work as a goose girl," Hermione said. "Then, of course, trouble occurred."
"As it is wont to do in these things," Ron said.
"There was a little boy who also guarded the geese who went out each morning with the princess. Every day, as she passed under the gate with Falada's head, she would say, 'Oh, Falada, 'tis you hang there!'" Hermione said.
"A logical statement, I guess," Ron said.
"And then Falada's head would respond, ''Tis you; pass under, princess fair. If your poor mother knew, her heart would break in two!'" Hermione added, using what Harry thought was an oddly horsey voice for Falada.
"The beheaded horse's noggin not only is still talking, but it's capable of coming up with the second part of a rhyming couplet in response to her?" Ron said, giving her a look of total bewilderment.
"That's how the story goes," Hermione said.
"Okay, so we've got a protection charm, an Unforgivable Curse, an Unbreakable Vow, and a talking horse who can keep gabbing on even if it's dead," Ron said. "What's your explanation on that last one?"
"I honestly have no idea," Hermione said. "Plenty of non-living items like mirrors are capable of talking in the wizarding world, but this just seems much beyond that."
"And the little boy going out with her each morning is hearing this too?" Harry asked.
"Yes, and it bothers him," Hermione said.
"I should hope so," Ron said, snorting.
"Oh, and the boy's name is Little Conrad, by the way, or Curdken in some versions, so there is one other character with a name. I'd forgot about that," Hermione said.
"Curdken?" Ron said.
"Curdken," Hermione said firmly.
"Curdken," he repeated. "That's just odd. I think I'll go with the other since Little Conrad seems like a fairly sane sort. What happened then?"
"Well, they would lead the geese under the gate and into a meadow," Hermione said. "As they were watching the geese, Little Conrad noticed how beautiful the princess's hair was and how it shone like red gold in the breeze."
"That's a pretty image," Harry said with a dreamy smile, thinking of Ginny's red hair.
"So he wanted to pull some of it out to play with it," Hermione said.
"That's a less pretty image," Ron said with a frown. "I'm back to calling him Curdken again. He deserves it."
"The princess wasn't happy about it either, but she had a plan. She said, 'Wind, wind, gently sway. Blow Curdken's hat away. Let him chase o'er field and wold til my locks of ruddy gold, now astray and hanging down, be twisted in a plaited crown,'" Hermione said in a rather mysterious sing-song voice.
"And the kid's hat blew away so he had to chase it until she finished braiding her hair up so he couldn't pull it out?" Harry asked.
"Precisely," Hermione said, folding her arms triumphantly.
"Okay, while the incantation is completely ridiculous, it's obviously a spell, and one not that much different from something like the Levitation Charm we learned in first year," Ron said. "Wingardium Leviosa sounds a lot less silly than what she's spouting, but it's still the same thing."
"Oh, it's easily the most traditionally magical thing in the story," Hermione said.
"So the princess is also definitely a witch," Ron said. "I thought she might have been a Squib for a bit."
"And she can manage wandless magic on top of it," Harry pointed out, "since I'm guessing the maid wouldn't have let her keep one."
"Yes, that's a fair point as well," Hermione said. "This went on for three days before Conrad went to the king to complain."
"Three days? Why didn't she just start braiding her hair before she left in the morning?" Ron said.
"I don't know. Maybe it was too dark to see when she got up, or maybe it wasn't her responsibility to remove temptation from Curdken when he should have been learning self control, or maybe she just forgot. She's under rather a lot of pressure after all," Hermione said.
"Uh huh," Ron said. "And this king will just drop everything to talk to a little kid who watches the geese?"
"Considering the kid is about to tell him that the goose girl is really a princess, maybe," Harry said.
"Except that's not what he was going to say," Hermione said.
"What? But the horse's head keeps saying she's a princess each morning, or didn't he pick up on that?" Ron asked.
"He had, but he really wanted to complain that working with her was dreadful and he couldn't take all the odd things that were happening like the horse talking or his hat blowing away," Hermione said.
"He seems to have conveniently left out that he keeps trying to pull her hair out every day," Ron noticed. "So what did the king say?"
"Nothing at first. When he heard of the strange things happening, he decided to hide and watch what was going on, so he got up early the next morning and waited in the shadows of the gate with Falada's head on it," Hermione said.
"Again, I like this king," Ron said. "He's using his head. And Falada's as well, if it comes to that."
"Yes, two heads are better than one," Hermione said, giggling at her pun as the other two groaned. "Sure enough, when the goose girl passed under the gate, she spoke to the horse again, and the horse's head replied in the same words it had used before. The king heard the head call her a princess and began to become suspicious. After that, he hid in the fields and watched as Curdken's hat was blown away until the princess had finished braiding her hair into a crown, which is probably another symbol of royalty. The king left at that point and went back to the palace to think."
"Something he's done more of than any other ten characters in any of the previous stories combined, with the possibly exception of the soldier in the story about rock chowder," Ron said.
"Stone soup," Hermione immediately corrected him, but Harry was pretty sure Ron was just pulling her leg from the sly grin he was giving. "Later that day, after the geese were brought in from the field, the king went down to the kitchens to speak to the goose girl."
"He goes to her rather than having her come to him?" Harry said.
"I'm glad you noticed that bit, since it really is important," Hermione said. "It would have been highly unusual, but again, he's trying to make her more comfortable. He asked the goose girl if anything at all was wrong, and she said, 'Oh, your majesty, I have made a promise that I may not breathe a word of it to any living soul!'"
"Yep, that's the Unbreakable Vow for you," Ron said.
"The king thought again for a moment, then said, 'Fine. Then tell your troubles to the stove,' and he left the kitchen," Hermione said.
"Well, that's a bit rude of him," Harry said.
"Yeah, he's just ignoring her and telling her to do something stupid now that he knows something's really wrong," Ron said indignantly.
"It looks like it, but it wasn't at all," Hermione said. "The goose girl, having been given an order by the king, did as she was told. In some versions of the story, it's actually a very large stove that hasn't been lit and she crawls inside it, which probably represents some sort of return to the mother's womb with the safety that represents, but in others she just sits beside the stove. Either way, she tells it all that happened to her."
"A stove is womb?" Ron said slowly.
"Possibly," Hermione said.
"Whatever. So she tells the stove her troubles. Wait, does the stove talk back?" he asked suddenly.
"No, why would it?" Hermione said.
"The beheaded horse talked back," Ron pointed out.
"You've got a fair point there," Hermione said, "but no, it didn't talk. However, the king, who was very clever indeed, was standing in the courtyard outside next to the stovepipe where the smoke would usually exit, listening to every word she said."
"Ha! That's brilliant!" Ron said. "Oh, I really do like this fellow."
"Would that really get around the Unbreakable Vow?" Harry asked.
"Actually, yes, since she had no idea a living soul was listening to her. She really thought she was just talking to a stove," Hermione said.
"It seems a bit risky, but if it worked, that really is clever," Harry said.
"At once the king returned to the kitchen and had the goose girl sent up to the royal chambers where she was dressed in a beautiful gown in place of her rags, and she looked lovelier than a morning in spring," Hermione said.
"That's nice," Ron said, smiling. "Then what?"
"Then, that evening, after dinner, he called for the true princess to be brought before the assembled hall of the castle, including his son and the son's new bride, the serving maid. The king then turned to the serving maid and showed her the princess and said, 'Tell me, daughter-in-law, what do you think the punishment should be for a serving wench who tries to pass herself off as a princess?'" Hermione said.
"Oh boy," Harry said.
"Yeah, she knows she's in trouble now," Ron said.
"Actually, she didn't," Hermione said. "The princess was still alive, so she assumed that she hadn't told anyone about the switch. Instead, the former maid assumed the princess had tried to dress in a beautiful gown and that the king must think the real princess was acting in a way far above her station, so she thought this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of her for good."
"I guess I can see that," Ron said. "She's overly confident. So how did she answer?"
"The maid said, 'The best punishment for such a person is to be placed naked in a barrel with spikes pounded into it all around, and that barrel to be attached to two white horses and driven up and down the streets until she is dead,'" Hermione said.
"Okay, that's going to give me nightmares for a month," Ron said, looking green. "I take it back. The serving wench isn't just mean; she'd downright evil. I'm not sure Parkinson would even do that to somebody."
"That really is disgusting," Harry said.
"So what happened?" Ron asked eagerly.
"The king said, 'Behold, you have pronounced your own punishment, for you are the false serving wench who has married my son through lies, while yonder stands the true princess! Guards, do to her as she has commanded!'" Hermione said.
"Harsh," Ron said, turning a shade greener, "though at least it makes sense in a really brutal way, I suppose."
"So the serving maid was executed via a spiked barrel?" Harry asked.
"Yes, and as the prince was now a widower, the true princess could marry him and live happily ever after," Hermione said. "The end. So what did you think?"
"Well, in spite of how horrid she was, I'm kind of hoping the serving wench managed to Apparate out of the barrel since she's obviously a witch too," Ron said. "On the other hand, if she didn't, I'm really not too fussed about it."
"I just want to know how the Muggles found out about so many different spells," Harry said. "Even You-Know-Who didn't really understand about my mother's protective spell for years. I'm still not sure I understand all of it myself."
"And the Imperius Curse, and the Unbreakable Vow and the Levitation Charm and all the rest of it," Ron said.
"All I can say is that they probably didn't really know what they were dealing with, but they knew enough to piece bits of it together," Hermione said.
"I wonder what the prince thought of all this," Harry said. "His wife dies and he gets a new one out of nowhere."
"Not very much is said about him," Hermione said. "Much more attention is paid to the king."
"Whom I still like, by the way, even with the execution thing," Ron said.
"I miss being surrounded by magic," Hermione said, looking glum. "In Hogwarts, just walking down the corridor you could see a hundred different spells. It's lonely out here."
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I miss it too."
"Me too," Harry said, "but at least we've got each other."
"True," Hermione said with a smile, "and a decent dinner for once, and a day off."
"And painted toenails, of all things," Ron said, shaking his head and staring at her pink toes, but smiling. Then he pulled out his wand and said "Orchideus!", and a bouquet of matching pink daisies popped out of the end of it. He handed them to Hermione with a little bow, saying, "A token of appreciation for the storyteller."
She smiled shyly and sniffed them. Harry rather wished he was elsewhere at the moment, but at least as they all turned in to bed for the night, Hermione's flowers tucked into water in an empty tin of Freshwater Plimpy soup, it looked like the pair of them had found something in common enough for now.
