“I bought a new book for the kids today,” Harry said conversationally. “Well, not new, exactly. But they should like it. The illustrations are pretty, and the salesman at Scrivenshafts assured me it won’t give anyone nightmares.”
Ginny tipped her head to have a look at the cover. The corner of her mouth twitched in a suspicious way; Harry wondered what it meant. “Beatrix Bloxam’s tales always do have lovely illustrations.”
“You sound like you’re trying not to laugh.”
She shrugged, keeping a little too much attention on their cooking dinner and not quite enough on him or the book. “I never liked them much, myself, when I was little. Maybe it was just the influence of all those brothers, though. They could ruin any story with a minute’s thought.”
Harry shrugged. “It reminded me of those books of Dudley’s he’d actually let me have. Of course, he’d usually thrown them through a window first.”
Ginny coughed, or at least he thought it might have been a small cough. “Well, maybe ours will like them. Make sure you share the pictures tonight when you read to them.”
“Of course!” He was hurt that she’d suggest he wouldn’t. He was proud of reading to his children every night and tried to make a good job of it. If they were all of an age, he reflected, it would be easier to please them all, but he supposed that would have been hard on Ginny.
And so that night he ascended the stairs with a sense of pride at having found a good book for all three. The style was right for little James to be able to read along a bit; Lily loved tales like these; Al was old enough to appreciate a good yarn read in a hearty voice.
And yet they all looked doubtfully at the cover. Harry had to admit it was a rather gaudy shade of pink, and the Fountain of Fair Fortune appeared to be gushing something sweet. James would need convincing that it wasn’t girly, perhaps, and Al had only recently reached the age of admitting there was more than one book in the world “ the others had admitted him to their nighttime readings only after he was beyond the age of insisting on Bettina’s Brew absolutely every night. Even now, though, every new book met with the same grave doubt he’d shown to the ideas of strained peas, pumpkin juice, and his toy broom. Lily was the surprise. She loved all books regardless of their cover.
“I brought home something new,” Harry said, knowing it was unnecessary but unsettled by the air of scepticism pervading the room. The children nodded. “Do you want to hear about the Fountain of Fair Fortune?”
“Sure, Dad!” Lily said brightly.
“The pictures are really good,” he promised them, and opened the book as he sat. They gathered around as they always did, Lily tucked under his arm, a boy to each side. “Once upon a time,” he began, and settled in to enjoy himself.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful fountain. It was high on a hill…
“Doesn’t water usually flow downhill? How do you have a fountain on top of a hill?” James asked.
“It didn’t say the fountain was on top of the hill,” Lily told him before Harry could answer.
“It’s a magic fountain,” Harry told them, and they all accepted that. “It was high on a hill….
It was surrounded by an enchanted garden full of sweeties and posies. Around the garden was a high, high wall. It was so high the birdies could barely fly over it to sing in the garden of sweeties. But they did! Chirp-chirp!
Once a year, on the longest day of the year, the great big gates opened to let in all the sad people in the world. The sad people had from sunrise to sunset to find all the happiness in the garden. They could drink the magic juice of the Fountain of Fair Fortune and never ever be sad again. One year, four friends came to the garden. Their names were Asha, Altheda, Amata and Sir Luckless. Asha had a tummy ache that her mumsy-wumsy couldn’t fix. Altheda had lost her pretty necklace. Amata wanted a husband, and Sir Luckless had taken up a quest to reach the fountain.
When they came in the gates, they found they were the onliest sad people in all the world, just the four of them. So they started for the fountain together, arm in arm. When they were just past the gate, a fuzzy-wuzzy kitty blocked their path. ‘Give me a biscuit!’ said the kitty, and he didn’t even say please.
‘I don’t have a biscuit,’ said Sir Luckless.
‘I don’t have a biscuit,’ said Amata.
‘I don’t have a biscuit,’ said Altheda.
“There’s one growing on this tree, though,’ said Asha. ‘Kitty can’t reach.’ And even though her tummy hurt, she stretched up and picked the biscuit.
‘Thank you,’ said the fuzzy-wuzzy kitty. Once he’d eaten every crumb he could remember his manners.
The four went on, the fuzzy-wuzzy kitty following them. They came to a steep, steep hill. ‘I can’t climb this,’ said Sir Luckless. ‘My armor is too heavy.’
‘I can’t climb this,’ said Asha. ‘My tummy hurts too much.’
‘I can’t climb this,’ said Altheda. ‘My shoes are too slippery.’
‘I can climb this,’ said Amata, and she started up. She grabbed the grass with both hands and dug in her toes, and soon she was on top of the hill. Then she reached down. “And I can help you.”
‘I can climb this, too,’ said the fuzzy-wuzzy kitty, ‘and Asha can hang onto my tail.’ He used his claws, and Asha hung onto his fuzzy tail, and soon they were up. When Amata lay on her tummy and held out her hands, she could just reach Sir Luckless and Altheda. And then they were all up, the precious little friends.
Next they came to a stream…
“A magic stream?” James demanded.
“It’s running down the hill,” Harry said.
“But they’re at the top of the hill.”
“They’re at the top of a hill. Not the big hill.”
James looked determined to be unimpressed. Harry plunged back into the story.
Next they came to a stream. The water smelled of perfume, and there were pretty, pretty fish swimming in it. ‘I can’t cross this,’ said the fuzzy-wuzzy kitty. ‘I’ll get my paws wet.’
‘I can’t cross this,’ said Sir Luckless. ‘I’ll rust my armour.’
‘I can’t cross this,’ said Asha. ‘I have a tummy ache.’
‘I can’t cross this,’ said Amata…
“…my cleats are too heavy,” said James. The other two children giggled. Harry wondered where they’d learned about cleats.
‘I can’t cross this,’ said Amata. ‘I’m too tired climbing the hill.’
Altheda looked around. ‘There’s a pretty little bridge right over there.’ So they all crossed the pretty little bridge and threw crumbs to the pretty, pretty fish, and the pretty pretty fish said ‘Thank you.’
On the other side of the pretty little bridge, they came to the very best part of the garden. The trees had candy apples and chocolate oranges. The air smelled of sweeties. And right ahead of them, shaped out of a giant pink boiled sweet, was the Fountain of Fair Fortune.
The four friends stepped forward together. Asha took out her little teacup and saucer and dipped up some of the fountain’s magic juice. She scooped up just a little of the sparkling purple liquid and took a tiny tiny taste. ‘My tummy ache is gone!’ she exclaimed.
Altheda took out her own little teacup and saucer, and she dipped up some of the fountain’s magic juice. She took a tiny tiny taste. ‘I remember where I left my necklace!’ she shouted.
Amata took out her own little teacup and saucer, and she dipped up some of the fountain’s magic juice for a tiny tiny taste. She didn’t say anything, but she looked at Sir Luckless and blushed.
Sir Luckless hadn’t brought a little teacup and saucer because he was a boy. He took off his helmet and held it under the fountain’s drops, and then he took a big gulp. ‘I have finished my quest,’ he said, ‘and now I can marry Amata.’
And they all lived happily ever after, all four of them in one great big house, and the fuzzy wuzzy kitty kept the mice away.
“No wonder Ashy had a tummy-ache,” said James. “There were sweets all over the place. She probably ate too many.”
Harry expected Lily to tell her brother off. She didn’t. He curved his neck to look down at her. She wore a patient expression rather like Ginny’s. “That one’s different when Mum tells it.”
Harry checked Al. Al was wearing an expression better suiting his middle name, one Harry had not seen in a long time. It was a look of profound disbelief, coupled with a certain overtone of awe. Could anyone be so prodigiously stupid? said the look. This just might set a new record.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” James said. “It smelled.”
Lily shrugged agreement. Al said nothing. His expression offered opinions he hadn’t yet learned words to convey.
“Bettina and her brew tomorrow night, then?” Harry said helplessly. They hadn’t even liked the watercolor-and-ink pictures he’d found so charming.
“That one’s good,” James said, though only a week before he’d threatened to bury the well-worn book in the garden “ for the second time.
“Yeah, I like that one,” Lily seconded, slithering out from under her father’s arm.
Al couldn’t resist. “Told you it was good,” he chimed in.
Harry gave his youngest a light nudge toward his bed, then escorted Lily to her room. Away from the boys, who sometimes did manage to influence their sister, he asked, “Was it really that bad?”
Lily gave him the patient look again. “Dad. If James buries that one in the garden, I’ll help.”
Harry sighed. This pick, he decided, might not be a success. “Right. Good night, then, Plumduff.”
She giggled. He tried to make up a new nickname for her every night. She returned the favour with far greater inventive powers than his own. “Good night, Snoogybeast.”
He turned out the light, walked out, and walked right back in again. “What was wrong with it, anyway?”
Lily huffed at him. “Everything! And why would Amata marry Sir Luckless anyway? All he did was whine.”
“Fair point,” Harry agreed. Now that she mentioned it, he didn’t see much in Sir Luckless either. “Good night, then, my little critic.”
“Don’t you mean your little little criticky-witicky?” she chirped.
Harry pointedly closed the door. He wasn’t sure she knew what a critic was, but she’d completely ruined the singsong style of the book for him. Downstairs, he tossed the pink monster “ worse than The Monster Book of Monsters, it was “ on the table and landed hard in his armchair.
“Not a raging success?” Ginny asked.
“You could have warned me.”
“I did, a little, but you seemed so very proud of it.” Ginny grinned at him. “Fred demanded that Mum cook it into soup. He said it would probably taste better than the stories.”
Harry picked the disparaged book back up and sniffed the binding. “He might have been right. Good glue.”
Ginny took it from him. “I’ll see to it directly.”
Harry smiled, feeling a little better about his terrible choice at the bookstore. “Maybe we should cut out the pictures and burn the rest.”
“Now there’s a thought.”
“And Lily and James are already plotting to bury it in the garden. I’m not sure if Al had any plans of that sort, but he’s never looked so much like Snape in his life.”
“Really? Dear me. That probably taught you your lesson.”
Harry shrugged. “I can’t say it ever did when Snape did it, but “ yeah, it’s a little different when it’s from Al. I won’t read that to them again. Not even if they beg “ which they won’t.”