"When you said Slytherin was born Derry," Ron said, shivering violently as he entered the tent, Hermione and Harry close behind him and equally drenched in sea mist, "I thought you meant right in the city itself, not in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, so did I," Hermione said, wrapping a warm blanket around herself that Harry was fairly sure she might have pinched from Slughorn's home before they left. He really couldn't blame her as no matter how many warming charms they used, the tent always seemed a bit chilly, particularly now when they were set up on an exposed bit of seashore on the Giant's Causeway.

"So how exactly did we wind up here, then?" Ron asked grumpily, slumping down on the old chair.

"I realized he'd spent his boyhood in what would eventually become Derry, but his parents lived right by the Giant's Causeway, probably because they were so obsessed with not interacting with Muggles, and this would have been really isolated back when he was born," Hermione said.

"Okay, so, fine, we wind up here instead of in some nice little Edwardian bed and breakfast, I can deal with that, but what are we even looking for out here?" Ron said.

"I'm not really certain," Hermione admitted, looking crestfallen. "An old homestead? Possibly the imprint of some ancient walls? That sort of pulling feeling that really old magic causes sometimes? Some sort of sign that the Slytherin family lived here once."

"Maybe a big snake?" Harry suggested, half as a joke and half in earnest.

"Honestly, I wouldn't discount that possibility," Hermione said. "That basilisk at Hogwarts had to come from somewhere, and something about this place does make it feel likely that savage things are about."

"But no actual giants?" Harry asked quickly.

"No," Hermione said, "at least not anymore. The ancient Muggles were convinced that a giant actually built the odd looking rocks out there to make a road from here to Scotland, and as with most legends, there might be a bit of truth in it. After all, we've met giants. They're out there. But there aren't any left in Britain or Ireland, or so the Ministry says. What it was like a thousand years or more ago is anyone's guess."

Harry looked out of the tent flap for a moment at the strange, weirdly geometric rocks clustering together in a long line before closing it again. It was certainly an odd looking place and no mistake, but he had difficulty believing Grawp's ancestors were likely to have built it. Shattered it maybe, but not built it.

"So we need to keep looking tomorrow?" Ron asked, and his tone suggested he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"I think it might be wise," Hermione said. "With any luck, we'll have better weather tomorrow. We've so little daylight now and the fog is so thick we could stumble right over his birthplace and not know it."

"Or right over a cliff," Ron muttered. "Fine. We'll stick about for another day. This place feels foul enough that a bit of Tommy's soul might be stuck out there in the greyness."

"It's kind of beautiful, really," Harry said, and Ron looked at him like he was crazy. "I'm not saying I want to build a summer home here and retire, but it's got a sort of rugged charm to it."

"Austere," Ron said. "That's the word you're looking for. Bleak. Somber. Downright dreary."

"I don't know," Hermione said. "Harry might be right. It's a little on the severe side, but still, it has almost the same feeling bits of Hogwarts have."

"I prefer the squashy armchairs, roaring fires, and piles of good food bits of Hogwarts more," Ron said. "This damp has wrapped right around my bones and feels like it's never going to dissolve again."

"It will," Hermione promised. "You just need a bit of genuine sunlight and clear blue sky."

"At this point I'd settle for a mirage. Bloody hell, I'd take looking at a decent photograph of a warm summer day," Ron said.

Hermione immediately burrowed into her beaded bag and a few seconds later pulled out a book on Tahiti, complete with moving pictures of palm trees and the ocean waves lapping against a sandy beach. Ron took it gratefully and stared at the pictures for a few minutes as they all slowly began to thaw, but eventually he passed it back to Hermione.

"Thanks, but it's kind of making me miss the real thing even worse," Ron said. "I suppose I'd rather have the genuine article than a convenient fake, even if it is pretty."

Hermione blinked suddenly with an expression all of them knew well by now.

"I just put you in mind of a story, didn't I," Ron said.

"Well, yes, and it's rather a good one, though a bit sad and a little eerie in places," Hermione said.

"This place is a bit sad and eerie, so that fits," Harry said.

"All right then. Once…"

"…upon a time," Ron finished, still shivering slightly.

"Yes," Hermione said mildly, though Harry thought he detected a slight eye roll. "Far away in China there lived a very wealthy emperor."

"All the way to China, eh? We haven't tried there yet," Ron said. "Maybe we should add it to the list."

"But there's no reason to believe You-Know-Who ever had anything to do with China," Hermione said.

"True, but maybe he really loves dim sum or something," Ron said. "Makes as much sense as anything else we've looked into lately."

"Your definition of sense is perhaps slightly different from my own," Hermione said. "In any case, the emperor had a particularly beautiful garden filled with stunning flowers of all kinds. Some of the most wonderful even had little silver bells tied to them so that a person strolling through it would notice them better."

"I wonder if Sprout would ever consider doing that," Harry said.

"I'd prefer it if she put alarms on the more deadly ones in case some poor innocent idiot blunders too close to them. Really, those Pyro Pansies looks complete innocent until they start breathing fire at you," Ron said.

"Actually, that's not a half bad idea," Hermione said. "I suppose there could be a way to rig up a system to give an audible warning near potentially dangerous plants."

"Plus those little silver bells would get annoying after a while," Ron said. "Jingle, jingle, jingle all over the place. It'd be like having Father Christmas's reindeer following you about everywhere when you just wanted a minute in the garden to sniff roses or something."

"Yes, well, leaving aside Donder and Blitzen for a moment," Hermione said.

"Donner," Ron immediately corrected her.

"No, it's definitely Donder," Hermione enunciated clearly.

"No, it's not," Ron said firmly. "That just sounds stupid. Who ever heard of a reindeer named Donder? What, are they Vixder and Dashder?"

"Donder and blitzen are the German words for thunder and lightning respectively, which does indeed make sense for a pair of flying reindeer," Hermione said. "What, pray tell, is a Donner?"

"Ehm, a highly unfortunate party in the States?" Ron suggested weakly.

"Yes, because when I think of Christmas, I think of holiday spirit, peace on earth, and Victorian era cannibalism!" Hermione said, giving him an appalled look.

"I don't know. It could happen. If the sleigh crashed somewhere remote and the reindeer got peckish…" Harry said, letting his voice drift off significantly.

"I never did trust that Blitzen. Something off about that fellow," Ron said darkly.

"Yes, well, cannibalistic reindeer who have been misnamed aside," Hermione said, "the emperor's garden was a wonder, covering a huge swath of land all the way down to the sea, roaming along rivers and forests down to the sand so that one couldn't tell where the border of it was."

"He owns everything anyway, being an emperor, so what's the difference," Ron said.

"True enough, but there was one thing more splendid than anything else in all of the emperor's garden, though he knew nothing of it," Hermione said.

"Please let it be a restaurant that served something utterly marvelous," Ron said, a dreamy look on his face. "Maybe pancakes and bacon. I haven't had those in so long that I'm not sure what they are."

"That's not generally what pops to mind when one thinks of Chinese cuisine," Hermione said coldly. "Must it always be about food with you?"

"Would you rather that I thought the most splendid thing in the garden was a particularly hot girl?" Ron said, raising an eyebrow.

"At this point, almost, yes," Hermione said. "I nearly prefer your obsession with Cindy Crawford over the incessant clamoring for a hot breakfast."

"Really?" Ron asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes, because the other two of us are hungry too, and you talking about it all the bloody time isn't making it any easier over here when I'm about ready to chew off my left arm while pretending it's fish and chips!" Hermione half-yelled.

"Okay, then," Ron said, looking a little frightened.

"With vinegar! Merlin, how I miss vinegar!" Hermione added, the vehemence of her words more than a little frightening.

"Right, that's, well, maybe we can find some vinegar," Ron added in a desperate tone, looking like he wanted to run out of the tent.

"And Harry's hungry, too! Aren't you, Harry?" Hermione said, wheeling on him.

"Ehm, well, yeah, but I think I'm more used to it than you two are what with the Dursleys not particularly caring whether I got fed most days," Harry said. "It's not really all that out of place for me, not that I couldn't take apart a treacle tart in three minutes flat given the option."

"Yeah," Ron said, a pained look on his face as he thought about just how bad his friend's childhood had really been. "I think I'm starting to realize Mum's cooking was pretty much the stuff of legends."

"To be quite honest, it does leave my family's usual dinners in the dust," Hermione said, quickly adding, "not that Mum and Dad are bad cooks, you understand. But your Mum is pretty much an artist."

"And I've been eating Michelangelos all my life," Ron said. "I really do need to give her a thank you card or something when we get back."

"Okay, all well and good, but what was the thing in the garden?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Hermione said.

"Cindy Crawford," Ron provided immediately, though Harry heard him mutter under his breath, "holding a big plate of steaming hot chipolatas. And possibly ketchup"

"No," Hermione said, and Harry was certain she'd heard as she snickered a little. "It was the nightingale."

"Ha! So I was right! It really was a bird!" Ron said, laughing.

"Not that sort of a bird," Hermione said, and Harry really was getting concerned about her blood pressure. "I mean an actual bird with wings and feathers. A real nightingale."

"Just an ordinary bird? I don't know," Harry said. "I'm not sure that would stand out in the garden so much, especially with what the emperor has. I mean, you have to go a long way to beat the sheer wonder of a cannibalistic reindeer with a bell on its neck."

Ron snorted loudly, but Hermione merely took a moment to compose herself and continued.

"It was the song of the nightingale, of course, that was rumored to be so spectacular, though the emperor knew nothing of it until the emperor of Japan sent him a book filled with true stories of the wonders of China, and written there was the statement that nothing in all the country was more perfect than the song of the nightingale," Hermione said. "That was the first he heard of it."

"The boss is always last to know, isn't he?" Ron said.

"However, now his interest was piqued, and he brought together all the most important people in the palace and said that one of them must bring the nightingale before him or he would round all of them up after dinner and have them punched hard in the stomach," Hermione said.

"That's an oddly specific punishment," Harry said. "Post-dinner stomach punching?"

"Sounds like rather a lot of vomit to clean out of the palace carpets," Ron said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Perhaps so, but they spread out, asking all the court ladies and generals and artists and anyone they could find where this nightingale might be, but none of them knew, until finally one little kitchen maid nodded. 'I do know the nightingale' she said. 'My mother is ill, and when I come home from the long walk to visit her and I am very weary, the nightingale sings high in the trees in the woods and eases my heart with his notes,'" Hermione said.

"He does seem a nice little bird, then," Ron said approvingly.

"Yes, he does," Hermione said. "The kitchen maid willingly took the important people from the palace, who did not want to be punched in the stomach after dinner, and led them through the paths of the garden until at last they came to a wood where there was a little stream and a bridge that crossed it, and there, perched in one of the trees, sat the nightingale."

"Hoorah for not being gut punched," Ron said. "Well, as long as he's willing to go to the emperor."

"At first, though, the others were most unimpressed with the nightingale's drab, ordinary appearance, but then when the kitchen maid asked him to, he began to sing, and all of them were stunned into silence by the beauty of his song," Hermione said. "Some even began to weep openly at the music as it poured forth."

"Quite the little songbird," Ron said.

"Indeed, and when he was finished, the highest official told him the emperor commanded his presence to sing for him. The little bird asked which one of the people was the emperor, thinking he was among the small crowd, but the prime minister explained that the emperor was in the palace, awaiting his arrival. The nightingale said he would be most happy to sing for the emperor, as he would be for anyone who cared to listen, and he accompanied them back to the palace," Hermione said.

"Polite little thing," Ron said. "I'm starting to like this bird rather a lot. I don't think he's so much impressed with his being an emperor but just someone who might appreciate a nice song."

"Yeah, he's not a snobby bird," Harry said. "He sings for the kitchen maid or the emperor just the same, whoever wants to listen or needs some music."

"Just so, but the bird did go along to the palace and sang for the emperor, a very lovely song, filled with nameless beauty and sweetness too deep for words, and the emperor himself wept at it. He offered the little bird anything he desired in payment for his song, but the nightingale only said, 'I have seen my music bring tears to the eyes of the emperor himself. That is all the payment I could every desire,'" Hermione said.

"That turned out quite well for the bird," Ron said.

"Perhaps too well," Hermione said, "for the emperor decreed that the nightingale was to stay at court, honored and with great respect. So the nightingale was put in a cage and aside from when he was called upon to sing for the emperor, he was let out twice a day to fly, but only with twelve silk cords attached to his feet, each held by a servant."

"That sounds a lot more like being captured and held in jail than being an honored guest," Harry said.

"Yeah, that's rotten of him," Ron said.

"I'm sure in the emperor's mind he really was honoring him, but of course you're right, and the nightingale was very sad although he sang ever more beautifully," Hermione said.

"I think I'd start treating the emperor to some of the worst music he'd ever heard, maybe a never-ending chorus of 'I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am' or 'Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall,'" Ron said.

"Wait, where on earth did you learn those? I thought they were Muggle songs," Hermione said.

"Fred and George," Ron said with a shrug. "They picked them up in the village when they were kids and used to follow Percy around while singing them endlessly. Bit hard not to learn the words if you hear them once, really. At one point Percy completely lost it, went bonkers, screamed for two minutes straight without drawing breath—I clocked it—and accidentally Apparated to somewhere around Liverpool. I guess he really wanted to get away from them. He was stuck on top of an old warehouse for three hours before Dad found him."

It was the first time Ron had spoken about Percy with anything other than complete loathing for months, and Harry realized that there was even the ghost of a smile on Ron's face. He must really be getting homesick if Percy was starting to be a fond memory.

"Yes, well, not that I have that bit about 'the widow next door' stuck in my head for at least a week," Hermione said with a groan, "more than likely that sort of rebellion probably would have resulted in a severe punishment, so it was probably wise the nightingale kept singing as he always had."

"Probably. Either that, or the king would have him punched in the stomach right after eating his birdseed," Ron said.

"Actually, they eat mostly insects and berries, not seeds," Hermione said, and as Ron gave Harry a look that clearly stated he was at a loss to figure out how she knew so much about any given topic, she continued. "The nightingale became something of a sensation at court. The court ladies tried to sing like him by sipping water and gurgling it in imitation of his song, but they were utterly unsuccessful. A series of babies born to farmers were named Nightingale in his honor, but none proved able to sing. People began to greet one another by having the first say 'Nighting' and the second 'Gale.' Even the footmen and chambermaids were impressed with the bird's song, and that is really saying something as they are often the most difficult to please."

"Sounds like the nightingale was some sort of fad," Ron said.

"Precisely, though it appears to have had great staying power because he really was very talented," Hermione said.

"I'm sensing this isn't the end of the story, though," Harry said.

"No, for one day the emperor of China received yet another present from his friend the emperor of Japan. It was a box with the word 'Nightingale' written on it, and the emperor assumed that it must be another book filled with stories of the bird's songs," Hermione said.

"Or a plea for the prisoner's release," Ron said.

"I can see that as well, but it was neither of these. Instead, when the emperor opened it, he found a jeweled replica of the nightingale itself, covered in rubies, pearls, emeralds, and diamonds, and made of the finest gold. A note included with the dazzlingly beautiful bird said, 'The emperor of Japan sends his friend, the emperor of China, but a poor replica of his greatest treasure,'" Hermione explained.

"I've got to admit, that really is pretty impressive," Ron said.

"But that wasn't all," Hermione said. "The emperor realized there was a key on the side of the bird, and when it was wound, the metal bird began to move, preening its feathers and fluttering its wings, and then it played one of the nightingale's songs like a music box."

"I take it back," Ron said. "That is incredibly impressive."

"It's so advanced for the time period of the story that it really does suggest there might be magic involved in it," Hermione agreed. "In any case, magical or not, it completely enchanted the emperor. The one failing the nightingale had was that it looked so unimpressive, and this new one was certainly fit for a great emperor like himself."

"Of all the ingratitude! The poor little bird sings his heart out, but because it's not the avian equivalent of Lockhart, the emperor thinks it's not good enough for him," Ron said, frowning.

"Yes, well, we're all entitled to perhaps one bout of falling for looks over higher values, but you're quite right, of course," Hermione said, looking a little embarrassed, and Harry noticed color starting to rise through her face. "The emperor had not quite forgotten his old bird, though, and suggested the two birds should sing a duet together. Although the mechanical bird performed perfectly, the real nightingale sang whatever song was just then in his heart, as he always did, and the two did not match. The royal music master said it was not the mechanical bird's fault, for a machine cannot make mistakes. The emperor wound up the bird and let it play a full thirty-three times, and all the people who listened would have been glad to hear it play again, but the emperor said, 'Now let the other nightingale sing.' To his surprise, though, and to that of all those gathered there, the bird had flown away during the distraction."

"Oh, well done!" Ron said, clapping his hands. "Good on the nightingale! I hope it pooed on the emperor's head on his way out!"

Harry snorted loudly, and Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh.

"That would have rather damaged the covert nature of his escape, Ronald," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but it might have been worth it anyway," Ron said.

"As it was, the nightingale was banished from the empire," Hermione said.

"Maybe that's what the Japanese emperor wanted all along, for the bird to get kicked out so it would come live in Japan," Ron said.

"You know, the story doesn't say where the nightingale went, but that's a possibility I hadn't considered," Hermione said thoughtfully. "He must have gone somewhere, for the bird wasn't seen or heard in China for five whole years."

"Wouldn't it be dead by then?" Harry asked.

"It's a magical, talking nightingale," Ron said sagely. "I don't think average life expectancy is likely to be an issue. Wait. Is it?"

His voice sounded so concerned that Hermione smiled at him kindly and said, "No, the nightingale is fine."

"Good," Ron said.

"It's more beautiful mechanical twin was given all sorts of honors by the emperor: gifts of jewels that were placed before it, a position as first on the emperor's left hand side, which was where his heart was and therefore the place of greatest honor, and a bed of softest silk beside the emperor himself," Hermione said. "A series of twenty-five books on the workings of the nightingale was written by the music master, and all learned people read it and nodded at how perfect it was."

"This is getting kind of weird. Doesn't the emperor have a dog or an owl or something living to keep him company?" Ron said.

"Apparently not," Hermione said.

"He's sort of becoming sad at this point," Ron said.

"Yes, and then one day the great tragedy happened. As the nightingale began to play, a loud whirring noise was heard, followed by a cracking, and then the music stopped entirely. The frightened emperor called for his own physician, but he could do nothing," Hermione said.

"He called a doctor for the mechanical bird?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

"He's anthropomorphizing his wealth," Ron said. "It's become like a living, breathing thing to him. His priorities are all wonky."

"Did you literally correctly use the words anthropomorphizing and wonky within seconds of one another?" Hermione said, looking impressed.

"Yeah," Ron said, shrugging.

Hermione nodded in stunned agreement before saying, "Then they called a clockmaker, who was able to help some, but not very well."

"Okay, at least a clockmaker makes sense," Harry said.

"Yes, but the gears were so worn that there was little he could do, and he warned that the bird could only be wound up under the greatest danger since there was no way to replace the parts without damaging the music," Hermione said.

"Did he get punched in the stomach after luncheon in punishment?" Ron asked.

"No, which probably shows just how upset the emperor was," Hermione said. "The bird was wound up only once a year from then on, and even that was taxing for it."

"I feel oddly sorry for the bird," Ron said. "The mechanical one. Not the real one. The real one I'm still jubilantly happy for."

"Yes, well, regardless, the emperor was far from happy, and eventually he became ill to the point of death," Hermione said. "He became very weak and lay still in his bed, breathing so shallowly that all the courtiers and important people of the palace assumed he had already died and left him there alone to go crown a new emperor."

"Not very careful about checking he's really dead, are they?" Harry said.

"No, but to be fair Muggles weren't too astute about end of life signs for a fair while. Even in the 1800s, some estimates put the rate of premature burials as high as one-third," Hermione said.

"Wait, you're telling me roughly one out of every three so-called dead Muggles weren't really dead yet?" Ron said, a look of complete horror on his face.

"Apparently," Hermione said. "Personally I always found that number rather too high and perhaps given for sensationalistic horror, but there's no doubt at all that burying live people did happen."

"I'm finding that cemetery in Hangleton a lot more disturbing now," Harry said, "and it was already plenty disturbing enough."

"So the emperor isn't quite dead yet, but he's all alone, and as rotten as he sometimes was in this, I'm feeling kind of sorry for him about that," Ron said. "Now what?"

"The emperor found it very hard to breathe, and when he opened his eyes, he saw why. Death was sitting on his chest, holding the emperor's banner, wearing the emperor's crown, and carrying the emperor's great sword," Hermione said in a particularly eerie voice.

"Weren't there any chairs?" Ron asked.

"Of course there were!" Hermione yelled. "Death is sitting on his chest because he's sucking the life out of him!"

"Still might make things better if the emperor offers the bloke a better seat than his sternum," Ron said with a shrug.

"Is anyone else thinking that this is sounding remarkably like a Dementor about to give the emperor the Kiss?" Harry said.

"I hadn't, but now that you mention it, there's certainly a parallel there. In fact, a lot of the traditional Muggle depictions of Death in physical form do resemble Dementors quite closely, up to the removal of a soul and the accompanying sense of despair," Hermione said, looking disturbed. "Muggles can't see them, of course, but the connections do seem uncanny, far too specific to be entirely left up to chance. I think you may be on to something, Harry."

Ron shot him a jealous look briefly, then added, "Okay, but this isn't a Dementor. So does the emperor kick off, then?"

"Not yet. At this point, dim shadows began to appear in the room, whispering to the emperor. They took on the faces of all those he had dealt with in his life, for good and ill, hissing into his ears 'Do you remember? Do you remember?' as his mind was flooded with the memories of all the deeds he had done, both virtuous and evil. Soon he could not bear it any longer and cried out as loud as he could for the great imperial drum to be played to drown out their voices, but no one heard him for he was alone," Hermione said.

"Now that really is disturbing," Harry said. "Nobody should have to go alone like that."

Not even Snape, he added mentally, though he was surprised by his own generosity there.

"Just at that moment, though, who should appear but the nightingale, flying through the open window of the emperor's chamber and alighting on the bed. He had heard his old friend was ill, and banishment or not, he had come to offer what help he had," Hermione said.

"'Old friend' might be a bit of an overstatement, but that is one loyal bird," Harry said.

"Is he sitting on the emperor's chest too? Granted, he's already got Death taking up a spot, so I don't suppose one little bird is going to be the straw that breaks the hippogriff's back, or the emperor's ribcage in this case, but still, it's got to be getting crowded on there," Ron said.

Hermione gave a quiet groan of exasperation and went on.

"The bird, who could also see Death and the shadows, began to sing a beautiful song, the most beautiful he had ever sung, and the shadows quieted to better listen to it, and even Death stopped, transfixed at the sound. The emperor listened too with growing ease in his heart, and then the little bird suddenly stopped. 'Pray, sing on, Nightingale,' said Death. 'Will you give me the emperor's banner?' he asked. And Death did, and the nightingale sang again, then stopped to ask for the crown, and then again for the sword, both of which Death gave most gladly to hear the song continue. Eventually, the nightingale sang a song of stunning beauty about the graveyard, the white roses that grow there, and dew like mourners' tears upon the grass of the tombs so that Death wept with longing for his home, and he rose into the air and disappeared, leaving the emperor unharmed," Hermione said.

"Okay, I've heard of playing chess with Death, outwitting it, even bargaining with it, but singing it away? That's a new one," Harry said.

"What's the bird do with the banner, the crown, and the sword?" Ron asked.

"Puts them on the floor by the mechanical bird, I suppose," Hermione said.

"Bit useless for a bird, I suppose," Ron said.

"The emperor did offer all three of them to the bird in gratitude for what he had done, but the nightingale said that he had received his true payment the first time he had sung for the emperor and he had wept at the song. He sang again to ease him into restful sleep, and when he awoke, the bird was still there, and he felt strong again," Hermione said.

"Good medicine, that," Ron said.

"The emperor asked the nightingale to remain in the palace, singing only when it pleased the bird," Hermione said.

"Don't fall for it, nightingale!" Ron yelled. "You'll wind up right smack in a cage again, and that might be the only thing worse than detention with Umbridge!"

"He also offered to smash the mechanical bird into pieces," Hermione said, "but the nightingale said, 'Oh, do not do that! The poor thing did as well as it could for as long as it could. But I cannot live in the palace, for I have many places that need to hear my voice; however, I shall visit you often through your window and sing to you of all the joys and sorrows I see in my travels."

"This bird is smarter than most of the other characters in all the other stories you've told so far put together," Ron said.

"He is rather, isn't he? The emperor agreed to this, but the nightingale asked him to promise that he would not reveal where all his information came from, for it would be best if people didn't know that a little bird told him," Hermione said.

"So he's the emperor's spy now?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no," Hermione said in a rush. "No, he just lets the emperor know if people are happy or sad or what's going on in general, not specifically telling tales on people to get them in trouble. Really, the emperor is so isolated in the palace that he wouldn't have many opportunities to know what real life was like outside his walls, and the nightingale will do that for him."

"Good," Ron said, looking relieved. "That's all right then."

"Then the emperor got up and walked down the corridor to tell his courtiers good morning, nearly scaring them out of their wits. And for many years, both he and the nightingale lived happily ever after," Hermione said.

"Curiously long lifespan for a common garden nightingale," Harry said with a wink, "but I think I'll let that slide."

"Yes, this was a happy one in the end," Hermione agreed.

"Not only that, but no one even got punched in the stomach after dinner," Ron said. "See, this is one that can't have been the Brothers Gory."

"Grimm, Ron," Hermione corrected him. "And no, it's not one of theirs. But it is one of Andersen's."

"Wait," Ron said, whipping his head towards her in shock. "This is by the foot weirdo?"

"Yes, but there wasn't any foot-related trauma in this one, so I'm afraid that rather spoils your hypoth—"

"Yes, there was," Harry interrupted Hermione.

"What? When?" Ron said.

"When the nightingale was being held prisoner and was taken out for his daily walks, there were twelve silken cords tied to his—"

"FEET!" Ron yelled triumphantly, finishing Harry's thought. "It's not much, but I'll take it!"

Hermione looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

"Well spotted," she said, then yawned. "I'm dreadfully tired. What do you say we get some sleep, then head out again tomorrow for one last attempt to find Slytherin's birthplace?"

"Sounds good to me," Ron said, her yawn becoming contagious as he started to do the same. "Harry?"

Harry only yawned in turn and nodded. In a few minutes, they were all hunkered down into their beds.

Hermione and Ron were quickly asleep, but Harry's mind kept turning over the story. There was something familiar about it. As he lay in bed and listened to the sound of water crashing against the stones of the Giant's Causeway, he thought he heard, far off in the distance, not the song of a nightingale, but phoenix song. Whether it was a trick of the wind or not, he wondered where Fawkes might be now, and whether perhaps the tale of the nightingale was really based on the beautiful melodies of one of those golden birds.