Lunch was wonderful, and Harry couldn't believe he was saying that. Normally, if they were going to skip any meal in the day, it was lunch since breakfast or dinner would leave a longer gap. But today, picnicking on the floor of Dumbledore's empty sitting room, they had fresh, soft bread spread with butter, tomatoes from the peak of the season cut into thick slices, perfectly cured ham, and fat slabs of Swiss cheese. It was possibly the most wonderful sandwich Harry had ever had, and the dill pickles and crisps set everything off perfectly. Ron kept sending lustful glances at a package of homemade biscuits, not that he was ignoring his sandwich, which was down to half an inch of crust. A particularly pretty pitcher of lemonade, complete with ice, stood at the center. Hermione had brought the pitcher along with her, saying that one could never have too many places to store water, but the lemons, sugar, and ice were all provided by the magical fridge in Dumbledore's kitchen.
Harry looked at his two friends and experienced a moment of grief in the midst of his contentment. They looked happier than he had seen them in a very long time. It wasn't that their happiness that bothered him. It was that being happy was an oddity now, a relic from a previous age. Sometimes they had good moments or a bit of fun, of course, particularly with Hermione and her ridiculous stories, but the current lack of pressure made how horribly stressed they usually were much clearer. Harry felt a stab of guilt. How much of this was because he had chosen to drag them along? He knew Ron missed his family horribly, and Hermione's didn't even remember her anymore. And yet, Dumbledore had addressed the note in the fridge, along with the bequests in his will, specifically to them. He must have thought they would come, and he seemed to have believed it was a good idea. That lifted Harry's spirits a bit.
At that moment, he was hit in the face with a wadded up crisps bag.
"Hey you," Ron said. "No navel gazing or moping allowed. We're having a good few days, and that's all there is to it."
"I quite agree," Hermione said, opening the biscuits, inhaling their scent like it was a heady perfume, and passing them around.
"You've painted your nails," Ron said in shock as he took the package from her.
"I actually had enough time for once," Hermione said, looking down at her pink nails and smiling while wiggling them.
"You brought nail varnish on a quest for Horcruxes?" Ron asked, sounding slightly appalled. "Isn't that kind of… shallow?"
"I brought a small library's worth of books, medical supplies, food stuffs, clothing for all of us, Muggle and wizarding money, potion ingredients, several containers of Polyjuice, detailed notes on every aspect of You-Know-Who I could research, atlases, maps, cooking gear, and the whole damn tent! I'm allowed one bottle of nail varnish without being thought shallow, Ronald! And what, pray tell, did you bring?"
"Myself," he said, shrugging. "Isn't that enough?"
Hermione gave him an icy glare and chewed rather viciously on a biscuit.
"Alright, if I'm not allowed to mope, you two aren't allowed to quarrel," Harry said, folding his arms. "Ron, Hermione's allowed to paint her nails without you insulting her about it."
"I'm not insulting her!"
"You called me shallow!"
"But it's like something Lav would do!" Ron said.
"Believe it or not, we're both girls, and most girls do occasionally enjoy doing something, well, girly," she said, frowning. "However, I don't mean to be exclusionary, so if you feel like borrowing my bottle of Madame Mimsey's varnish in 'Petunia Panic,' feel free."
"Thanks, but no," Ron said, wrinkling his nose.
Harry finished the last bite of his sandwich and downed the final gulp of his lemonade, then looked at the pair of them. They both seemed ready to snap at one another at the smallest provocation.
"I think for once I'd like to request a story," Harry said. "Hermione, yesterday you mentioned that there was another fairy tale about a tinderbox, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," she said primly. "Would you like to hear it?"
"Yes," Harry said, "and I'd like to see that 'Posey Panic' thing."
Hermione gave him an odd look but rummaged through her beaded bag and took out the small bottle of varnish.
"The shade is 'Petunia Panic,' actually," she said. "'Posey Panic' is more of a lavender."
"Ron, we're painting one another's nails while Hermione tells the story," Harry said, shaking the bottle.
"We're what?" Ron said, his jaw dropping open. "Why would I do that?"
"Maybe you'll interrupt less often if you're otherwise occupied," Harry said. "Is it shook up enough?"
"Ehm, yes," she said, looking uncertainly at him.
"Fine. I've seen Aunt Petunia do this a thousand times," he said, "which is amusing since it's 'Petunia Panic,' which I guarantee she would do if she ever saw me wearing varnish. Which is yet another reason for me to wear it at least once."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.
"So, once upon a…"
"Time," Ron finished with her automatically. "Who's going first, mate?"
"I'll paint you first," Harry said. "Put your hand on the blanket and for pity's sake hold still."
Ron grimaced but said nothing. Harry silently thought he'd probably realized he'd gone a step too far by mentioning Lavender and calling Hermione shallow. One or the other might not be a problem, but both could put her in a foul mood for a week.
"There was a soldier who was returning home from the war," Hermione started again.
"Which war?" Ron asked.
"I've no idea. Just a general war of some sort a long time ago," Hermione said.
"It's a bit sad your lot have so many wars that they just blend together," Ron said, staring at his hand as Harry attempted, not very successfully, to keep the varnish on his nail and not his skin.
"It is," Hermione agreed, which Harry found a good sign. "Anyway, as he was walking along a road out in the countryside, he met an old witch."
"How did he know she was a witch?" Ron asked.
"Well, we're told that her lower lip reached down to her chin and she was frightfully ugly," Hermione said, grimacing.
"Muggles really assume all witches are ugly?" Ron asked, and Harry held his breath because this could be dangerous territory.
"Not all of them," Hermione said. "There are some that are supposed to be beautiful, but they're usually regarded as being even more dangerous, like Morgan le Fay or Nimue in the Arthur legends."
"But neither of them was really horrible," Ron said, looking confused. "Morgan was just a queen who was good at magic, and Nimue and Merlin fell in love and then not long after he died."
"Muggles have different stories about them," Hermione said.
"Like?"
"Well, Morgan le Fay supposedly had a child with Arthur, and that turned out to be Mordred, who she raised to wreak vengeance on him," she said. "In a few of the tales, she's actually Arthur's half-sister into the bargain."
"Okay, that's a bit much," Ron said. "And Nimue?"
"Stole Merlin's magical powers by seducing him, then sealed him up in either an oak tree or a cave, depending on the source," Hermione said.
"But you can't steal someone's ability to do magic," Ron said, frowning. "That almost sounds like something Umbridge would come up with."
"It might even be where she got the idea," Hermione agreed. "In any case, the witch stopped the soldier and asked him to do her a favor."
"And that would be?" Harry asked while trying to finish the first coat on Ron's last nail.
"She pointed to a very tall tree and asked him to climb it," Hermione said.
"Why?" Ron asked.
"When he got to the top, she said he would find that the tree was hollow, and he should climb down into it and at the bottom he would find a large chamber lit by hundreds of lamps," Hermione said.
"Wait, the tree leads to an underground room?" Ron asked.
"Yes."
"This is sounding really fishy," Ron said.
"It does, and don't lean on your knuckles like that. You'll damage the polish," Hermione said.
Ron glanced down at his left hand and made a face. Harry could see he'd managed to smudge all five nails on his left hand.
"We'll redo it," Harry said. "Anyway, what's in the chamber?"
"Three rooms. The first would have a fierce dog with eyes the size of teacups sitting on a chest. The soldier was to take the old witch's blue and white checked apron and put it on the floor, then set the dog on it, and the dog would be completely harmless," Hermione said.
"Sounds a bit like Fang," Ron said. "All bark, no bite."
"I don't know," Harry said. "If someone were to bother Hagrid, I think Fang might have another side. Granted, he wasn't much help First Year against Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest, but then again, you never know."
"And what's with the apron?" Ron asked.
"It's an odd detail, isn't it," Hermione agreed. "She's a witch, so perhaps she put an enchantment on it of some kind to make the dog behave."
"Okay, I can see that being realistic. Have you ever run across a spell like that, Hermione?" Ron asked, shaking his newly repainted nails back and forth and obviously trying not to bang them into things again, though Harry noticed there was already a mark on the thumb.
"No, but I haven't read every spell book in existence," she said.
"Yet," Ron added in a quiet voice. "So, what happens once the dog's on the apron?"
"The witch said the soldier could open the chest it had been sitting on. It would be filled with copper money, and he was free to take as much as he liked," Hermione said.
"Now that's a decent incentive. What's in the second room?" Ron asked.
"Another dog sitting on another chest, but this one would have eyes the size of waterwheels," Hermione said.
"What's a waterwheel?" Ron asked.
"Oh, it's a large wheel, maybe Hagrid's height, that Muggles used to use to power mills. They'd put it so the current in a river or stream would turn it, and that would move the millstone to grind wheat into flour," Hermione said. "Sometimes the story says the second dog's eyes are the size of millstones instead, but it's the same general idea. They're very big."
"So now we're talking less about Fang and more about Fluffy," Ron said. "Only one head, though, so really, we've seen worse. How's he going to pick that thing up and put it on an apron? I assume that's what she's telling him to do."
"Just so," Hermione said. "She doesn't really explain it, but I think we're meant to assume that the dog might naturally go to the apron, or perhaps the apron would give the soldier the strength to do it. Either way, this chest was filled with silver coins, and again, he could take as many coins as he wanted."
"But there was a third room with a third chest and a third dog, I take it?" Ron said. "These things usually go in threes."
"Yes, and this one had eyes as big as a tower is around," Hermione said.
"Okay, either this is an enormous dog, or he's a regular size one with just ridiculously huge eyeballs," Harry said.
"Either way, that's a fairly terrifying image," Ron said. "So he's supposed to put the gigantic, freakish dog onto the apron again?"
"Yes," Hermione said, "and this chest would be filled with gold coins, and he was free to take those as well."
"We finally got to the Galleons," Ron said, grinning. "And what's the witch want out of all this?"
"Her mother had left a little tinderbox in the last chamber and forgot to bring it back up with her, and she wanted the soldier to fetch it for her," Hermione said.
"A tinderbox," Ron repeated, looking disbelieving.
"So, essentially she's sending him down there to fetch her mother's misplaced cigarette lighter?" Harry asked.
"Pretty much. There was nothing especially valuable about it. It wasn't made of gold or diamonds or anything. It was only a normal looking snuffbox," Hermione said.
Ron paused and looked at Harry.
"I don't buy it," Ron said, shaking his head. "Something's off about that box."
"Well, regardless, the soldier agreed, and the witch lowered him into the tree on a rope," Hermione said.
"Did she pull it up and leave him trapped there?" Ron asked.
"No, she waited for him, just as she promised," Hermione said.
Harry was looking thoughtful for a moment, then said, "This seems familiar. Didn't Aladdin do something like this?"
"You've caught it!" Hermione said, looking really pleased. "Yes, he was sent into an underground room full of treasure to find the magic lamp, but this goes a bit differently."
"How?" Ron asked.
"For one thing, the witch said he could touch the treasure. He wasn't under penalty of death not to do so until he got what she wanted," Hermione said. "Aladdin was told he'd die if he touched anything before he grabbed the lamp."
"True enough," Ron said. "So what was down the tree?"
"Exactly what the witch said: a vast chamber lit with candles. The first room had the large dog with eyes the size of teacups, and the soldier put it on the apron, opened the chest, and filled his pockets and his hat and his knapsack and his purse with copper coins."
"He had a purse?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Men carried them back then, usually just a little sack that pulled together at the top," Hermione said.
"Whatever floats his boat," Ron said, shrugging. "And the dog didn't attack?"
"No, it sat quite obediently on the apron, and when the soldier moved it back to the chest, it stayed there," Hermione said.
"That has to be some sort of spell," Harry said.
"It must be," Hermione said. "Then the soldier went to the next room and once again, just as the witch said, there sat a dog with eyes the size of waterwheels, growling fiercely, but the soldier paid him no mind and put him upon the witch's apron. Sure enough, the chest was filled with silver coins, so he emptied out all his pockets and purse and knapsack of the copper ones and put the new silver ones in their place."
"So far, everything the witch has said was true," Harry said.
"In the third room, even the soldier paused for a moment, for the dog in it was enormous, with eyes as big around as Round Tower in Copenhagen," Hermione asked.
"Wait… did you just say Copenhagen?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"Yes," Hermione said, "in Danish it's called the Rundetarn. It's so big inside that the queen once rode up the ramp inside it in her coach."
"Uh-huh," Ron said. "It's big. Right. I get it. But it's in Denmark."
"Yes."
"This is one of that nutter Andersen's stories again, isn't it," Ron said.
"He is indeed the author, but there are older versions of the story and, as Harry already noticed, elements of it show up in very faraway places centuries before," Hermione said.
"Right," Ron said. "So when is someone going to lose a foot?"
Harry snorted, but Hermione frowned, seeming to think.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's been a while since I've read this one. Maybe it will come to me as I go along."
"Right," Ron said. "Harry, I bet you a Galleon there is some kind of foot related trauma by the end of this story."
"You're on," Harry said, shaking his hand, then realizing he'd bumped into the varnish again. "Ehm, sorry.
"Never mind. I think I'm doomed to imperfect nails. Besides, it's your turn now," Ron said.
Harry looked uncertain, but he passed him the bottle. Ron shook it so enthusiastically that the little metal balls inside sounded like castanets.
"Anyway, the soldier somehow put the huge dog on the apron, then opened the chest to find it filled with gold. Once again, he left behind all the silver coins, then filled his pockets, knapsack, and purse with gold. He even poured it into his hat and his boots. Then he put back the dog on its chest, picked up the apron, walked back to the rope, and hollered for the witch to pull him back up."
"Forgetting something, isn't he?" Harry said.
"Indeed," Hermione said. "The witch called down to him, asking if he had remembered the tinderbox, and he said he had quite forgotten it, then ran back to get it. Sure enough, it was only an average, ordinary tinderbox, but that made him suspicious."
"Too right," Ron said, slapping enough varnish on Harry's thumb that he suspected it would take hours for it to dry.
"He put the tinderbox in his pocket, yelled that he had it now, and she pulled him back up the tree."
"He'd be a lot heavier now, what with all the gold he's stuffed into all his clothes," Ron said.
"I imagine so, but the witch managed it anyway," Hermione said. "Perhaps she used some sort of pulley system or winch."
"A witch winch?" Ron asked, grinning.
Hermione giggled a little, and Harry began to relax, even though Ron had now succeeded in painting his knuckles more than his nails.
"The soldier jumped down from the tree, and the witch asked for her mother's tinderbox," Hermione continued.
"Why do I have a horrible feeling this part doesn't go well?" Ron said.
"Because you're catching on," Hermione said. "He said he wouldn't give her the box unless she told him what was so special about it. She replied that she wouldn't, and he said he'd cut off her head if she didn't tell him, and she still refused. So, he took out his sword and killed her."
"He did what, now?" Ron said, his eyebrows shooting up.
"He killed her," Hermione said.
"For what!" Ron yelled indignantly. "She was completely fair with him, he made a fortune, and all she wanted was her mum's tinderbox and to be left alone. That's hardly a reason to kill her!"
"Yes, but remember, she's a witch," Hermione said with a sad sigh. "For Muggles, sometimes that's all it takes."
"Bloody stupid," Ron said, folding his arms and inadvertently smearing his still wet nails yet again, this time on his shirt, which now boasted several small bright pink spots. "This fellow's a psychopath is what he is."
"After killing her, he took the apron and poured all the gold into it, then tied it up in a bundle and walked to the next town," Hermione said. "Once he was there, he used the money to buy food and clothes and a posh place to live, and suddenly all sorts of people wanted to know him, so he had friends galore."
"Not actual friends," Harry said darkly.
"No, not really," Hermione agreed. "They were only there for fun and a free meal."
"Yeah, real friends will follow you out into the wilderness with no real plan, wander about endlessly, risk their lives, and worry without ceasing about their families back home," Ron said stoutly, then his shoulders flopped forward. "Anyone else ever wish they just had fun and a free meal instead?"
"Well, we sort of do right now," Hermione pointed out. "Dumbledore's treating us to a load of meals on him, and we might not be having riotous fun, but being here is safe and warm, and my stories aren't all that boring."
"They're not boring at all," Ron said. Then he considered for a moment and added, "They're weird, morbid, and lacking in any shred of sanity, but they're definitely not boring."
"Thank you," Hermione said, "I think."
"So, he has a right old party with a bunch of false hangers on, and I'm just going to imagine Crabbe and Goyle over and over here since we all know they'd stick Malfoy in the back with a poisoned dagger if it was of use to them—" Ron said.
"Oh, I'm going to have to tell you the story of Hamlet someday," Hermione said, looking enthralled.
"Does anything happen to his feet?" Ron asked.
"No."
"Well, maybe it'd be a nice change of pace," Ron said. "Anyway, what happens next?"
"The soldier learns that the king has a daughter who isn't married," Hermione said, "and it's all very mysterious because no one ever sees her because she's locked in a tall tower made entirely of copper."
"Again?" Ron said, grimacing. "What is it with girls being locked in tall towers? What with this one and Rampo, Pajamabelle, and the dozen sisters who go dancing every night-Harry, did I skip any?"
"I think you got all of them," Harry said approvingly as he lightly shook his fingers, wondering how on earth Ron had managed to paint his palms into the bargain.
"The whole lot of them should start a club or something," Ron said. "Princesses Against Pointy Patriarchal Prisons."
"Pap-p-p?" Harry said, enunciating each p separately.
"Still better than spew," Ron said, even though Hermione shot him a glare. "But, again, isn't this like that princess from Aladdin? What's her name? Bad Droopy Drawers?"
"Badroulboudour," Hermione said, sighing and resting her head in her hands. "For the love of Merlin, Ronald, don't be the one who names any of your future children."
"Nah, you'd be better at that," he said, then, as the other two stared at him, Hermione's mouth dropping open in shock, he realized what he'd said. "Um, or Harry. Or any of my other very, very good friends. As long as my future wife approves. Whoever she might be."
Harry saw a swift procession of different emotions flit across Hermione's face so quickly that he couldn't even keep up, but she eventually settled on clearing her throat and continuing on rather more rapidly.
"Yes, well, the ramifications of locking up young girls once they reach childbearing age does suggest an underlying sense of panic on the part of the parental figure regarding the possibility of her being seduced by an unacceptable suitor, along with an equal sense of horror regarding any potential progeny from such a union. Granted, the underlying implausibility of that is blatantly underscored by the fact all of the tall, pointy towers would send Freud into fits at their obvious symbolism, suggesting that by trying to control female sexuality, they have only assured it will ultimately be impossible to contain," Hermione said very rapidly.
"Uh, yeah," Ron said, throwing Harry an uncertain look, who looked back and shrugged. "It sure is."
"In this case, a fortune teller had said the princess would one day marry a soldier, and the king locked her up so that couldn't happen," Hermione said.
"Was the fortune teller the old witch the soldier murdered?" Ron asked brightly, obviously thrilled he was following what she was saying again.
"I don't know," Hermione said. "Possibly?"
"I'm going to pretend it was," Ron said. "I have to have some small link to sanity in all this."
"Well, whether she was or not, the soldier very much wanted to see the princess, but there was simply no way to do so. He passed his time spending money, though he did give a good sum of it to the poor as well," Hermione said.
"Finally, this fellow does something nice," Ron said.
"He never forgot how horrid it was not to have a penny of his own, so yes, he does do some good with the money, which is more than can be said for some others," Hermione said.
"Like the Malfoys?" Harry asked.
"Oh, no," Ron said. "They're actually rather well known for their philanthropy: St. Mungo's, the Wizards International Medical Aid Corps, the Home for Aged Aurors, the Minister of Magic's Architectural Trust, the Society for the Protection of Golden Snidgets, the Museum of Magical Antiquities, all sorts of things."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," Ron said. "Dad said it makes them seem more presentable. They're buying respectability. It still does do some good, though."
"There's a Museum of Magical Antiquities?" Harry asked, looking intrigued.
"Yes, in Devonshire," Hermione said. "I went there three summers ago with Mum and Dad. It's fascinating, of course. Lots of things: spell books, a cauldron that supposedly belonged to Merlin, the last known Roc egg, a Paleolithic era proto-wand, all sorts of goodies."
Harry looked pensive but said nothing further.
"So, the soldier spent a lot of money," Ron said, bringing them back around. "I'm guessing he eventually ran out of it."
"Yes, precisely. He was left with only two guineas, so he rented a little room in the garret of an inn, and none of his posh friends came to see him there because there were too many stairs to climb," Hermione said.
"I'd probably feel sorry for him if he hadn't committed murder earlier," Ron said. "They ran out on him when he needed them."
"That type usually does," Hermione agreed. "Finally, one night, he didn't have a single candle left, but he remembered there was an old stub of one in the tinderbox from the tree."
"He still had that?" Ron asked.
"Yes. It wouldn't have looked like it was worth very much, so there was no reason to sell it," Hermione said. "Anyway, took out the candle and used the flint and iron in the box to strike a spark to light it, when all of a sudden the dogs with eyes the size of teacups from the chamber under the tree appeared in his room."
"Did the dog eat him?" Ron asked.
"No," Hermione said. "Of course not. The dog bowed to the soldier and said, 'What orders, Master?'"
Hermione gave the dog a rough, scratchy voice, but it sounded rather more like a she had a bad head cold than the voice of a huge dog.
"Okay, the dog is talking, and I'm not even bothered by that," Ron said. "But it'll do anything he tells it?"
"Yes, that's the general idea," Hermione said.
"So what does he ask for?" Harry asked.
"He ordered the dog to bring him money," Hermione said. "The dog disappeared and reappeared a short time later with a great bag full of copper coins in its mouth."
"Because he was the one on the copper chest and it came from there, right?" Ron said.
"Yes, I should think so," Hermione said.
"Good, because I was worried that he'd gone out and fished a load of pennies from the town fountain or something," Ron said.
Hermione and Harry exchanged a look at how random Ron's thought was, but he only shrugged.
"Really, where else is he going to get a load of pennies? Rob Gringotts?" Ron said.
"Maybe by stealing them off a group of kids collecting pennies for the Guy on Bonfire night?" Harry suggested.
"What?" Ron asked.
"Oh, on Bonfire Night, the fifth of November, Muggle children burn a life-size image of Guy Fawkes in effigy," Hermione said. "Before they do, they go about yelling 'pennies for the Guy' and people give them money to buy fireworks."
"Fawkes like… Dumbledore's bird?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione said.
"And it goes up in flames?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"Exactly," Hermione said, grinning. "I believe you're getting the reference. I think Dumbledore was having a bit of a laugh."
"I told you he was mad. Did you do that, Harry? Ask for spare change to burn a dummy with fireworks?" Ron asked.
"No," Harry said. "The Dursleys let Dudley do it, but not me. They never gave anyone pennies, either."
"Not surprised," Ron said, wrinkling his nose. "I'll need to tell Fred and George about all this, though. They might come up with a new seasonal fireworks assortment for Muggle-borns."
"Not a bad idea," Hermione said. "The soldier soon worked out that if he struck one spark with the tinderbox, the first dog came, a second spark added the dog with eyes the size of waterwheels, and striking three sparks brought the dog with eyes the size of towers as well."
"All three?" Ron asked. "They all fit in that one room?"
"I suppose it must have been a rather large garret," Hermione said, tipping her head to one side. "Either that or the tinderbox was bending the rules of time and space, which it really already was to begin with, so perhaps the point is moot."
"Maybe it's bigger on the inside," Harry said, winking at Hermione, who grinned back conspiratorially.
"So, the soldier had the other dogs bring him silver and gold, and he was rich once again, and all his 'friends' came back," Hermione said, drawing quotation marks in the air around the word.
"What's with the," Ron said, mimicking her movement.
"Oh, I suppose it's a Muggle thing," Hermione said. "Sorry, I hadn't realized. It means I'm calling into question whether that word is really justified. In normal writing, we'd do that with quotation marks, so when it's spoken, we mime quotation marks and call it air quotes."
"Air quotes," Ron said slowly. "Huh. Clever. I'm remembering that one."
"Eventually, the soldier was bored one night around midnight, and he thought about the princess, wishing he could see what she looked like, for he reasoned there was no value in having a beautiful princess if one couldn't see her," Hermione said. "He opened the tinderbox and struck one spark, and the dog appeared. He ordered the dog to bring him the princess, and the dog dashed away."
"I'm rather torn on this one," Harry said. "She's locked in a tower because her father doesn't want her to marry beneath her, so getting her out of there is more like rescuing her, but he's doing it by kidnapping her, so that's no good either."
"Either way, she's lacking autonomy," Ron said knowingly, and Hermione's eyes widened. "Also, her value as a person shouldn't be based on whether or not other people get to see her like some sort of exhibit."
"Quite right," Hermione said, smiling at him. "In this case, the dog carried the princess to the soldier, but she was still fast asleep on his back."
"Must be a really sound sleeper," Ron said. "Kind of like Pajamabelle again. Maybe it's something about sleeping in a tower. The altitude or summat."
"Yes, well, the soldier was stunned by just how beautiful she really was, so he kissed her while she was still sleeping," Hermione said.
"Now, wait just a mo," Ron said, looking angry. "That's bang out of order, that is. He doesn't get to do what he likes with her just because she's unconscious!"
"I quite agree," Hermione said.
"Did she wake up?" Ron asked.
"No."
"So not quite Pajamabelle, then," Ron said.
"The dog then took the princess back to her room in the tower, and she never woke up until morning," Hermione said. "However, at breakfast, she told her mother and father that she had dreamed that a great dog had carried her out of the castle and a soldier had kissed her, and then the dog had taken her home."
"What a 'coincidence,'" Ron said, drawing quotation marks in the air, his pink nails, damaged as they were, heightening the gesture.
"Yes, the king and queen thought the same thing," Hermione said. "That night, the queen ordered an old woman to stay awake all night inside the princess's room to see what happened. Sure enough, the soldier summoned the dog again, and the dog carried the princess away, but the old woman put on a pair of storm boots and ran after them."
"A pair of storm boots?" Ron said.
"Yes, you know, wellies," Hermione said.
"Yeah, but why?" Ron said. "They're not exactly prime running material, are they?"
"No, they're not, but that's the way the story goes," Hermione said, puckering her mouth as she thought. "Perhaps we've found your foot reference, Ron."
"Bit thin," Ron said, looking disappointed. "It's not like the old woman's feet fell off or something. Wait, do they?"
"No.
"Oh," he said, slumping in disappointment. "So much for that, then."
"Anyway, the boots must have been good enough because the old woman was able to follow the dog through the town, and when she got to the soldier's door, she put a great white cross on it with chalk so she would know which one it was," Hermione said.
"Clever," Harry said.
"You would think so, but when the dog ran out again with the princess, he saw the mark, and when he returned from putting her back in the tower, he took chalk and made an identical mark on the doors of all the other houses in the village," Hermione said.
"Okay, that's a smart dog," Ron said, smiling. "I've found someone to like in this. The dog."
"Reminds me a little of Dobby, even including the outsized eyes," Harry said.
"Hmm," Ron said. "Maybe. I can see a similarity, and there does seem to be some things the same with how house-elves work."
"And now I'm feeling sorry for the dog," Hermione said, looking downcast. "Poor thing, forced to kidnap people and fetch things with no pay or sick leave."
"At least it gets him out of the subterranean pit where he spends most of his time," Ron said.
"I suppose," Hermione said. "Either way, the old woman reported what she saw to the queen, and the queen and king went into the village to search for the mark. 'There it is!' cried the queen at the very first house. 'No, here,' said the king, pointing to another, and soon they realized what had happened."
"Well, that didn't work to well for them," Harry said.
"Yes, but the queen was quite clever," Hermione said. "She made a little bag of silk, put a string around it, and filled it with barley flour. Then she hung it around the princess's neck and put a tiny hole in the corner of the bag so the flour would run out in a trail if she moved."
"That's something you'd come up with," Ron said, beaming at her.
"Yes, well," Hermione said, blushing a bit. "Whether I would or not, it did indeed work. The soldier sent for the princess again, saying that he was now madly in love with her and wanted her as his wife."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake! He's never even met her while she was conscious!" Ron said. "He doesn't even know what color her eyes are!"
"All the same, he sent for her, and the little bag worked perfectly without the dog noticing," Hermione said. "The next morning, the king and queen followed the path of the barley flour that led straight to the soldier's door and had him thrown in prison."
"For abduction, assault, and murder," Ron listed off.
"And those are only a start," Hermione agreed.
"So is that the end of the story?" Harry asked.
"No," Hermione said. "The soldier was condemned to death, and he stood at the window of his jail cell, watching all the people running to see the gallows and get a good place to watch the hanging."
"'Nice,'" Ron said, drawing quotation marks around the word again.
"Yes," Hermione said, though now she was obviously starting to wish she hadn't told him about this Muggle custom. "One of the spectators was a boy who was a shoemaker's assistant with a leather apron and slippers who ran so fast that one of the shoes flew off and hit the bars of the soldier's cell."
"A shoemaker?" Ron said suspiciously. "And his shoe came off, so now he's running painfully barefoot through the street?"
"That might be a bit of an exaggeration," Hermione said, "but then again, maybe it isn't."
"Andersen," Ron said, nodding. "Not as graphic as it could be, though. What do you say to calling it a tie, Harry?"
"Agreed," Harry said, shaking his hand, which came away with dots of pink again. "Hermione, how long does it usually take this stuff to dry?"
"It varies," she said. "With as thick as the pair of you put it on, I'd say about next Tuesday. Anyway, the soldier called to the boy, saying there was no rush for him to get to the gallows as they couldn't start while he was still in jail," Hermione said, and both boys snorted. "Yes, it is rather funny. Gallows humor, one might say."
"Okay, that was awful," Harry said.
"Couldn't resist," she said, grinning impishly. "Anyway, the soldier asked the lad to run back to his home and get him his tinderbox, which he had left when he was arrested, and he would give him four guineas if he put his best foot forward."
"Foot!" Ron yelled triumphantly. "Not boot or shoe, but an actual foot now!"
"Yes, Ronald, it's a foot, you've stumbled across one of the greatest literary discoveries of the ages, well done," Hermione said tiredly. "Not even finding a copy of Love's Labour's Won would best it."
"Of what?" Ron asked.
"It's one of Shakespeare's lost plays, along with Cardenio," Hermione said. "No one knows what happened to them, though there's lots of speculation."
"That's rather sad," Ron said.
"It is," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "In any case, the boy ran off and returned with the tinderbox, giving it to the soldier."
"Did he get the four guineas?" Ron asked.
"You know, I'm not sure," Hermione said. "I can't imagine the soldier would be allowed to have money in jail. But we'll see. The soldier was led to the gallows, but when he was just about to put the rope around his neck, he said, 'Often a condemned man is allowed a final request. Might I smoke one last pipe?'"
Ron and Harry gave each other knowing looks.
"Let me guess," Ron said. "The king says yes, and the soldier uses his tinderbox to light the pipe?"
"Exactly," Hermione said. "The next thing you know, he had sparked it three times, and all three dogs were in front of him. He yelled, 'Help me now, that I may not be hanged!'"
"And what did the dogs do?" Harry asked.
"They took hold of the judge and the councilors and tossed them all high into the air so that they fell to earth and were dashed to pieces," Hermione said.
"That had to be a mess," Ron said.
"Then the king said, 'They shall not touch me!' but they did, throwing him and the queen into the air and killing them into the bargain," Hermione said.
"Okay, so a bunch of people have just got murdered again," Ron said, "but there's witnesses this time, right?"
"Yes, but the townspeople were so frightened by what they had seen that they declared, 'You shall be our new king and marry the princess!' to appease him," Hermione said.
Ron smacked his forehead with his hand, shaking his head.
"I should have known," he said. "Did the princess have anything to say about all this, or did the soldier marry her while she was napping and tell her later?"
"Actually, the story says that the princess was freed from the tower and was quite happy to be queen," Hermione said.
"Happy or 'happy'?" Ron asked, air quoting again.
"Who knows? She can't have been very happy being cooped up in a tower all the time, so perhaps she had her reasons," Hermione said. "In any case, the wedding was held at once and the feasting went on for seven whole days. The three great dogs were in attendance and watched the dancing with their enormous eyes. And they lived happily ever after."
"The dogs or the serial killer soldier and his deeply confused and traumatized bride?" Ron asked.
"All of them, I suppose," Hermione said.
"Bonkers," Ron said, grinning. "Completely bonkers. I'm going to assume the kid got the four guineas later, at least."
"You never did finish painting my nails, Ron," Harry said, staring at Ron's botched varnish.
"Skip it," Ron said, looking at them and Vanishing them clean again. "Pretend painting nails on only one hand is a fashion statement. Besides, I'm hungry again."
He wandered into the kitchen and looked through the refrigerator again, beaming fondly into its depths.
"Anyone want anything?" Ron said. "Oo, there's some apple tart in here I didn't notice before."
"I'm fine," Harry said.
"Same," Hermione said, stretching out on the floor in front of the fire. "I think I might take a bit of a nap."
"None of us has caught up on sleep yet," Harry said, "not that I think we ever will."
"We have a whole other night and part of tomorrow before we need to leave," Hermione said. "I think I forgot what it feels like not to worry that the world will end if I sleep too soundly and miss the sound of approaching unfriendly footsteps."
"Nah, you have a kip, then," Ron said. "We'll make sure a great dog with eyes the size of teacups doesn't carry you off. I'm not making any promises if the other two show up, though. Friendship has its limits."
"That's acceptable," Hermione said, and she was asleep nearly before she finished speaking.
Ron continued eating his apple tart, and he was gazing out the window into the back garden when Harry began to nod off as well, letting the pull of the lazy, unhurried day lull him into a dreamless sleep.
