The trio returned silently at dusk to their tent, carefully concealed inside a copse of dense yew trees along one of the neglected paths of the Little Hangleton churchyard. They each sat in their accustomed places, looking at nothing and not speaking. A sense of exhaustion weighed heavily on the three, and the Horcrux, vicious little thing, seemed to rejoice in their fatigue, glowing with its repellent, sickly yellow-green light. Harry didn't know about the others, but he was so tired that climbing into bed seemed like too much work, and even food held no allure.

The day had been dreadful. They had arrived at the churchyard shortly after the winter dawn broke, and the rising sun had stained red the thin crust of ice on the ground. For hours, they had searched through tombstones, many toppled with age and so worn that their names were unreadable, trying to find some clue. A good number of Riddles populated the cemetery, some of them as far back as the 1300s, and Hermione had even spied three markers that had the name Gaunt, which had surprised them. Harry assumed the pure-blood Gaunts wouldn't have wanted their final resting place to be among Muggles, but as Hermione reasonably pointed out, it wasn't likely that every single Gaunt in a straight line had shared Marvolo's and Morphin's prejudices.

"It's a good sign, maybe," she had said, staring at the name Lludica Gaunt with a date some seven hundred years ago and a lifespan that seemed to stretch over a century. "Even in the worst settings, maybe something positive can still happen."

Harry had looked across the graveyard towards the spot where Cedric had died, his own parents had appeared, and Voldemort had regained his body. Even in the full light of a particularly bright winter day, there seemed to be a shadow haunting the spot, a sense of bad memories leaching across the ground like poison.

They had searched that spot last. Ron had used a spell to try to reveal recent dark magic, but the whole place had nearly gone up in green flames since it had absorbed so much negative energy only a few years ago. Hermione had quickly doused it, but an odor like brimstone and rot clung to the place even after she tried to blow the fumes away. Harry sat down on an old stone, mentally apologizing to whoever Margaretha DeKennet had been, but he needed a moment. Flashes of Cedric's death, of Wormtail slicing off his own hand, of the duel that had nearly taken Harry's life, and of the intense pain in his arm from the wound he had been given to resurrect Voldemort fully were sickening him to the point that he could hardly stand it.

They had searched, but as was becoming usual, they found nothing. Or rather, nothing that they had wanted to find. Oddly, visiting this spot had left Harry with a renewed sense of the importance of what they were doing. Hermione just looked very sad, and Ron, well, Harry hoped it hadn't been too much for him.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked suddenly, shattering the quiet.

"Not really," Harry said. "You?"

"No," Ron said, frowning. "Hermione?"

"I'm afraid this was a bad idea," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I shouldn't have suggested it."

"No," Harry said. "Really, I think we needed to try."

"We could be up to our noses in Horcruxes here and wouldn't know it," she said, frustration coloring her words. "There's so much that's happened here that's horrid, and it's really appalling because this should be a peaceful place. Voldemort desecrated it."

"Another in his long list of very bad deeds," Ron said, sighing. "I think even Muggles could feel it."

"I'm sure they can," Hermione agreed. "Sometimes places just have a bad feel to them even if you can't put into words just why."

Harry nodded. Even the Dursleys could have spotted that something was wrong here.

"I'm exhausted, but I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight," Ron said. "I can feel it. My brain's on overload."

"I know what you mean," Hermione said.

"I don't suppose you've got a story for us, do you?" Ron asked.

"Well—" she paused for quite a while as though considering. "There is one that this place brings to mind, but it's not a very happy one. It's actually rather eerie. But parts of it are set in a churchyard."

"Fine by me," Ron said. "I'm not exactly in a mood to hear about happy, floppy bunnies that talk and wear twee outfits."

Harry wasn't entirely sure he agreed, but he knew he wouldn't sleep for hours either even with the feel of exhaustion weighing on him.

"Go on, then," Harry said.

"Alright then. Once upon a time," Hermione began, and Harry noticed Ron silently mouthing the familiar opening words with her, "there lived a poor girl who was very beautiful but also very proud and vain."

"She doesn't walk on bread by any chance, does she?" Ron asked.

"No, but it is another of Andersen's tales," Hermione said.

"Figures. Does this one have a name again?" Ron asked.

"Yes, actually, she's called Karen," Hermione said.

Harry blinked at the sheer normalcy of the name.

"Karen? Really?" he said.

"Yeah," Ron said, sounding stunned, "that might be the weirdest one yet."

"It's actually a very common Muggle name for girls even today," Hermione said.

"Seriously?" Ron said. "Why?"

"Well, I don't know exactly, but it is," Hermione said. "It was also apparently the name of Andersen's half-sister."

"Oh, well, I suppose that's nice," Ron said uncertainly.

"Not really. He couldn't stand her, which is why he named the main character for her. In any case, you're not wrong about there being some similarities to 'The Girl Who Trod on a Loaf,' because Karen is taken in by an elderly woman due to her beauty, and she's spoiled and given everything she wants," Hermione said.

"What is it with pretty girls being prats in these?" Ron asked.

"Aside from the fact Andersen was repeatedly rejected by women in his life and seemed to blame them for it? Probably more of the old patriarchy circular trap that beautiful women are shallow and filled with vice, but only beautiful women have value, so women valuing beauty is necessary from a sociological and financial standpoint, but valuing their beauty contrariwise makes them less valuable as it's seen as a serious character flaw and a sign of moral inferiority," Hermione said in one very deep breath.

"Your lot just can't win, can you?" Ron said.

"No, and that's the whole point of patriarchy," Hermione said. "It's also why there are so few stories about the negative repercussions of male physical vanity and boatloads of ones with females, all of whom get punished quite severely."

"I sense this might be one of the gorier ones," Harry said.

"Your premonition is correct. At one point, a princess in the town ordered a pair of lovely red shoes, and Karen, seeing them, thought them the prettiest shoes ever seen. Karen had once had a pair of rough, ugly red shoes when she was a poor child, and now she became obsessed with the red shoes. It turned out they didn't fit the princess, and the girl convinced the old woman, whose eyesight was very poor, to buy them for her," Hermione said.

"Okay, so, shoes," Ron said. "This is her great crime?"

"Red shoes," Hermione stressed. "You see, she wore them to church, and it was considered ill-mannered and shocking for a girl to wear anything other than simple black shoes to church, but Karen thought only of how beautiful they were, completely ignoring the service the whole time. Even the figures in the stained glass windows shook their heads at her vanity, but she imagined they were impressed and jealous of her shoes."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks.

"Okay, so while I'm not even sure why good old Gryffindor red shoes are somehow automatically evil in the first place," Ron said, "since when do Muggles having moving images in their pictures?"

"They don't," Hermione said, pausing to think. "Well, at least not during that time period. What an odd little detail from the wizarding world to show up in a story."

"Yeah, I keep picturing the stained glass mermaid in the Prefects' Bathroom," Harry said. "Granted, she'd probably be in favor of the shoes, though."

"No feet," Ron pointed out. "She'd only just be jealous."

"I hadn't thought of that," Harry said. "You're probably right."

"Why would she be jealous of something she wouldn't have any reasonable use for?" Hermione pointed out.

"Cause girls do that?" Ron said.

The look Hermione sent him was so scathing that Harry thought it might actually draw blood.

"Ehm, can I retract that comment due to idiocy, hunger, patriarchy, and a wizard-centrist world view that is unfair and unjust to other sentient creatures?" Ron said with a tremble in his voice.

"You may," Hermione said, but there was ice in her tone.

"Thank you," he squeaked.

"In any case, the old woman was soon informed by her shocked neighbors of what Karen had done, and she was scandalized as well. She made the girl promise never to wear the shoes to church again, but the following Sunday, Karen once more put the red shoes on, too tempted by how pretty they were to resist," Hermione said.

"Now, if she promised not to wear them, that's not good," Ron said.

"Yes, and she ends up paying for it, of course," Hermione said. "When she stepped out of the old lady's carriage at church, a mysterious old soldier with a long red beard was standing outside. 'What very lovely dancing shoes,' he said. 'Sit fast, when you dance.'"

"Wait, he was talking to the shoes?" Harry asked.

"Apparently so. Karen thought it odd, but the old lady gave the soldier some money, then went into the church, where the girl once more spent the whole service thinking of nothing at all except her pretty red shoes. As they left the church again, the soldier was still there, and he repeated, 'What pretty dancing shoes.' Suddenly, without her permission, her feet began dancing, causing the coachman to try to restrain her, kicking the old lady in the process, before finally they could prize off the shoes," Hermione said.

"Tarantallegra," Harry and Ron said together.

"Yes, it does sound almost exactly like the dancing jinx," Hermione said. "Some poor Muggle must have got hit with it at some point. In this case, though, the shoes were thought to be to blame, and the old lady put them away in a cupboard so as not to tempt Karen, but the girl still sometimes opened the door and looked at them longingly."

"Bit dim, isn't she?" Ron said.

"Well, I never said she was bright. Not long after, the old lady became very ill, and though it was Karen's duty to nurse her, there was to be a great ball in town. Karen thought how much she would love to go and be the envy of all there in her red shoes, for a ballroom is not a church after all, so she thought it would be no sin only to look at the shoes, and then that it wouldn't be wrong to try them on, and then the next thing, she had slipped them on and was out the door and off to the ball," Hermione said.

"Nope, not bright," Ron said. "Wild guess. She started dancing again and couldn't stop?"

"Precisely. The soldier with the red beard appeared again, uttered, 'What pretty dancing shoes!' and off she went, but this time no one could catch her," Hermione said.

"Maybe the soldier wanted the shoes," Ron suggested.

Hermione and Harry both looked at him.

"What?" he said. "He hasn't any reason to be jinxing her, really. Who's to say he didn't think them rather fetching and wanted them?"

Hermione shrugged and said, "That makes as much sense as any other explanation, I suppose, but the general consensus is he's some sort of demon sent to attack Karen for her vanity."

"Or he likes red shoes," Ron said.

"Or that," Hermione said. "Anyway, she danced on and on, utterly exhausted but unable to stop. She was terrified and tried to pull the shoes from her feet, but they wouldn't move. She tore her stockings to pieces, scratched at her own legs, and injured herself over and over. Still dancing, she came to a churchyard at night, and there she saw an angel with a sword, staring at her, its face grim and pitiless. She called out for help, but the angel said only, 'You shall continue to dance until your skin shrivels and you are a skeleton, knocking at the doors of vain children to frighten and teach them humility! Dance, you shall dance!'"

"Okay, that's a horrifying image," Ron said. "This skeletal girl wandering the world, unable to stop dancing, frightening the kids? Seriously, she's not a nice person, but it's not like she killed somebody!"

Harry shuddered. The graveyard was already an intensely frightening place to him, but now he was imagining the girl being confronted by one of the stone angels on a tomb and condemned by it. He almost told Hermione to stop.

"The girl was horrified too and called for mercy. The angel turned to say something to her, but she was unable to hear what it said as the shoes carried her off into the darkness," Hermione said.

"Please tell me that isn't the end of the story," Ron said.

"Well, no, but it doesn't get a good deal happier," Hermione said, "for she danced on and on until she reached the hut of the town executioner."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Ron said.

"No, and she was able to knock on his door, and when he came out, she begged him to help her," Hermione said.

"He didn't cut off her head?" Ron said, looking ill.

"No," Hermione said.

"Good," Ron said, relieved.

"He cut off her feet," Hermione explained.

Both boys made retching noises.

"For Merlin's sake, all some had to say was finite incantatem and the poor thing would have been fine!" Ron said.

"But, as they were Muggles, they didn't know that. The shoes, with the bloody stumps of her feet still in them, continued to dance down the road," Hermione said.

"The shoes just… kept dancing… with her feet in them," Ron said slowly. "This is really messed up, you know that, right?"

"It does seem to be a form of reverse execution, in this case removing the lower extremities rather than that head to suggest her sin, while grave, isn't a capital offense, though there is an element of castration to the description as well, possibly paired with potential negative menstrual imagery for the red shoes added to the red blood of the feet to create a connection to the lower status of females both biologically and morally from the contemporary standpoint of the story, so yes, I suppose it really is, as you put it, messed up," Hermione said.

Harry and Ron looked at one another in semi-terrified silence.

"Oh, for pity's sake, half the world's population has a menstrual cycle at some point in their lives! It's no more obscene than digestion!"

"Okay," Ron said, looking both pale and green at the same time. "So is that the end of the story, then?"

"No," Hermione said.

Harry noted that Ron looked deeply shaken by that.

"First, Karen kissed the hands of the executioner for taking mercy on her," Hermione said.

"I hope he washed them first," Ron mumbled, and Harry shuddered.

"Then the executioner made her a pair of wooden feet, and she went on her way," Hermione said.

"I suppose it's lucky she found an executioner who whittled for a hobby," Harry said.

"She sounds a bit like old Kettleburn," Ron said. "Remember when Dumbledore retired him and his remaining limbs?"

"In a way there's a parallel, but those were magical replacements," Hermione said. "These would have been just solid wood. If it had been one foot, it might have worked fairly well, but both would have been very difficult, so Karen needed crutches to move."

"This girl is having a truly horrible day," Ron said. "But things have to get better after that, right?"

"That's rather what she thought, but it's not what happened," Hermione explained.

"Of course it isn't," Ron said.

"Karen tried to go back to church, thinking that she had confessed her sins, paid dearly for them, and had learned her lesson and would not be vain again. But she reasoned that there were many in the pews who were less deserving to be there than she now, which showed that part of her was still vain, for she thought herself better than her neighbors," Hermione said.

"Andersen really, really hated his step-sister," Ron said.

"Apparently so. The girl used her crutches and wooden feet to try to go to church, but as she went up the stone walkway, the shoes, still with her bleeding feet in the them, came dancing down the path, blocking her way, and she cried out in horror and fainted," Hermione said.

"Yup, he really hated her," Ron said. "So is that the end?"

"Not quite," Hermione said.

"Oh, come off it!" Ron said. "What's next? The shoes kick her in the bum all through the town until finally she falls off a cliff into the ocean and gets eaten slowly and painfully for weeks by rabid demon sharks?"

"No, though that's an interesting image. Karen finally realized she was not yet clean of her sin, and she went to the parsonage and begged for a humble job scrubbing the floor. She asked no pay, only a place to sleep and a little food. The parson agreed, and she worked quietly, hard and long, with great patience, slowly winning the love of all who lived there, even the children, to whom she was very kind," Hermione said.

"So… she basically became a house-elf," he said.

"For all intents and purposes, that's a good parallel," Hermione said. "No pay, long hours, no sick leave, no social status, and a tiny room stuck behind the kitchen. After a time, the parson suggested she could try to go to church again, but she shook her head sadly and retired to her little room to pray as the bells rang and the others went to services."

"Tell me the shoes didn't show up in her room and kick her in the head or something?" Ron said.

"No," Hermione said.

"Good," Ron said.

"The angel showed up instead," Hermione said.

"You've got to be joking! What did she do wrong this time? Were her wooden feet painted the wrong color or something?" Ron asked.

"No, this time the angel appeared, but instead of a sword, it held a bouquet of flowers. As the angel waved it around the room, the walls of the tiny spot drew back further and further, filling with light like stars, until Karen realized she was in the church itself, sitting beside the parson's family," Hermione said.

"Apparition?" Harry suggested tentatively. "Or maybe the flowers represent a Portkey?"

"Possibly, or it's simply an angel giving a sign of acceptance," Hermione said. "The parson said it was good and right of her to come to church, and as the sunlight filtered through the stained glass, Karen's heart filled with so much happiness and gratitude that it burst and she died. Her soul went to heaven, and no one there ever mentioned the red shoes again. The end."

Harry and Ron were quiet for a while.

"Okay, so, here's what I've learned," Ron said. "God's least favorite color is apparently red. Next, dying is the closest this girl gets to a happy ending, as is often the case with Andersen. Also, his hatred for his step-sister is pretty darn terrifying, and if she ever showed up mysteriously dead, I'm guessing he did it. Oh, and this story is so soaked in patriarchy it actually bleeds. Am I close?"

"Mostly," Hermione said. "I said it was an odd one, and probably further proof of Andersen's weird foot thing you've been noticing."

"Pretty blatant foot maiming in this one," Harry said.

"Can't miss it," Ron agreed. "Well, let's all have a nice, relaxing, nightmare-free sleep after this happy little tale, right?"

All three of them laughed mirthlessly.

"Where are we off to next, then?" Ron asked tentatively. "Harry, it's your turn, isn't it?"

Harry didn't feel much like deciding anything at the moment.

"I think I'd like to sleep on it," he said. "I'll give you something in the morning, right?"

"Fine, mate," Ron said, but his features were etched in concern. "You okay?"

Harry waved his concern away, but he knew he wasn't fooling either of them. The endless journey was taking a toll on all of them. Perhaps they were being as vain and foolish as Karen to think they could find the Horcruxes and destroy them all when much greater and more famous wizards, even Dumbledore himself, and failed in their attempts. Maybe they should just go home, except, Harry reminded himself, he no longer had one.

"It's alright," Hermione said, her voice soft. "It was a hard day, and I'm sorry my idea didn't bear any fruit at all."

"At least we know," Harry said. "That's something. Each time we learn one more place they aren't. There has to be a limit, isn't there?"

"Must be," Ron said. "Take your time. We'll figure it out in the morning."

They all crawled into their beds, exhausted and ignoring the aches and pains and empty stomachs that were becoming normal parts of their lives. As Harry fell asleep, for a moment he fancied he heard a tapping like shoes dancing down a stone path towards the church, each step clicking its warning. He told himself firmly that it was branches of the trees clattering together in the wind.

He knew nothing of the Dementors who swarmed just outside the barrier of Hermione's protective spells.