A Bedtime Story for Albus


“Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess—“

“Dad – yuck! I don’t want to hear about princesses. Tell a different story.�

“A long time ago, in a—“

“Boring.�

“There once was a wizard named Jack—“

“Dad!�

Harry sighed and tried not to roll his eyes as his son bounced expectantly on the bed, apparently waiting for a masterpiece of bedtime storytelling. “What kind of story would you like, then?� he asked, mustering his patience.

Albus paused, scrunching up his green eyes in concentration. Harry held back a laugh; stories were very serious business to Albus.

“I want a story about Hogwarts,� the boy finally decided. “It should be funny, scary, exciting – and no kissing,� he added.

Harry nodded as he quickly began to formulate his newest tale. Funny, scary, and exciting was something he could do. “All right,� he said, rubbing his hands together as he cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “I know the perfect story—The Story of Zonko’s Legacy.�

“What’s a legacy, Dad?�

Harry almost kicked himself for his choice of words, but gamely offered his best explanation.

“It’s sort of like something that’s handed down—an inheritance, of sorts.�

Albus nodded and snuggled down into his pillow, his eyes bright as he listened intently.


Once upon a time there were two brothers – Greg and Ford. They were twins, in fact, and shared everything from their red hair and freckles, to their room, to their love of jokes and pranks.


“Hey!� exclaimed Albus, sitting upright. “That sounds like Uncle Fred and Uncle George!

“Hush, sprite,� Harry admonished gently. “It isn’t polite to interrupt.�

Albus opened his mouth to protest, but Harry raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question, and the boy settled back down, looking suspicious.


Greg and Ford had waited eleven years until they were old enough to go to Hogwarts. When September 1 finally came, they joyfully climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express and began the journey to school, filled with excitement and wonder. Hogwarts was everything they had hoped for: it was a grand castle, full of magical portraits, moving staircases, and mysterious creatures. Their classes were interesting, their classmates were friendly, and the professors were not too mean even if they did assign too much homework. They learned new spells, brewed curious potions, and joined the Quidditch team.


“It is about Uncle Fred and Uncle George!� Albus interrupted again. “And I don’t think they liked Hogwarts that much – they didn’t even finish seventh year!�

Harry merely raised his eyebrows again, and Albus grumbled an apology.

“May I continue now? With no more interruptions?�

Albus nodded reluctantly, obviously unimpressed so far, and Harry continued.


Ford and Greg soon grew bored, however. Hogwarts was the best place in the world, yet there were too many rules to really have fun. They began to break the rules; and more often than not, they were caught and punished. Ford and Greg were soon very familiar with the basement office of Mr. Filch, the grumpy caretaker in charge of student detentions.

During their third year, Ford and Greg received permission to go to Hogsmeade, the only Wizarding village in Britain. Most weekends were spent in detention, however, and this one was no exception. Ford and Greg had created a bit of excitement at the traditional Halloween feast by adding a Color Change potion to the bread pudding. The castle was filled with all the colors of the rainbow as students and professors alike spent the week grumbling about their red, blue, green, and polka-dotted hair. Ford and Greg therefore spent that Saturday in detention, cleaning out the closet where Professor Quirrell kept his Defense Against the Dark Arts creatures.

The unpleasant chore took the entire day, leaving no time for a quick visit to Hogsmeade. As they walked toward the Great Hall for an early dinner, they pulled out the Marauder’s Map to see if the way was clear to sneak out anyway. Seeing that it was, they hurried to the secret passage that lead to Hogsmeade. Coming out in the cellar of Honeydukes Sweetshop, they quietly made their way upstairs and nonchalantly left the store, headed toward Zonko’s Joke Shop.

The sun was setting and the shop was just about to close. To their surprise, Zachariah Zonko himself was standing behind the counter, brandishing a fake wand that alternately turned into a duck and a rabbit with each wave. He was a small man, shorter than them both, with a wild shock of white hair and a long mustache, but no beard. He had twinkling blue eyes, creased with wrinkles from years of laughter. He wore bright green robes and a yellow bowtie that whooped and spun around from time to time.

Ford and Greg stood speechless in the doorway: Zonko was a legend, a master of mayhem, the prince of pranks. That they were about to meet him was to fulfill one of their lives’ greatest wishes.

“Ah,� he said before they could introduce themselves, and his voice was surprisingly deep. “Let me guess – you must be the Weasley twins. I’ve heard a lot about you.�

“You have?� Ford squeaked. Greg stepped on his foot and Ford dropped his voice. “I mean, what did you hear?�

Zonko winked slyly. “Only that you two might be the first to bring that school crashing down with your ability to create chaos and catastrophe.�

Greg grinned and gave a casual shrug. “We try,� he said with false modestly.

Zonko laughed wholeheartedly. “I’m sure you do!� He came around the counter, offering his hand. Ford and Greg shook the hand of their idol, trying not to gape. The moment was broken when they both exclaimed out loud; looking down, they saw their hands covered in Frog Spawn Soap. Zonko winked and laughed again, a merry laugh that did not match his deeper voice.

“I thought you boys had detention?� asked Zonko, turning back to the shop and beginning to put away all the tricks and jokes that had been strewn about as students had shopped all day. Fanged Frisbees, Screaming Yo-yos, and Whizzing Worms were placed back on shelves next to Belch Powder and Dungbombs.

“We did – wait, how did you know?� asked Ford, somewhat amazed and slightly embarrassed.

“It’s the Saturday after Halloween: any good prankster would have had some fun, and would be paying the price for it today.� Zonko grinned again as he put away a Nose-Biting Teacup. “I heard, too – everyone was talking about it today, not to mention looking for something to turn their hair back to its original color.�

Greg and Ford laughed with him and followed him around the shop, filling him in on the details of their prank. Zonko shook his head with a rueful grin.

“You boys are more creative than just about any other students I’ve seen come through here – and that’s a fair few. You’ve got quite a future ahead of you.� He began to clean the counter, clearly intending to close the shop.

“Speaking of that future,� Ford began, before their hero sent them out. “Can we ask you a serious question?� It was something he and Greg had just started discussing, and with Zonko here, they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to talk to him about it.

Zonko raised his eyebrows. “I’m intrigued by your choice of vocabulary,� he said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Go ahead.�

“Well,� began Ford, somewhat nervous all of a sudden. “We’d like to open a joke shop someday. What do we need to do?�

Greg nodded enthusiastically and added, “How do we even start?�

Zonko studied them. “I’ll tell you what, boys,� he finally said. “I’ll share the secret of my success, but you need to do something first.�

“Anything!� they exclaimed in unison.

“You must accomplish three tasks. When you finish all three, we can meet again.� Greg and Ford exchanged glances and nodded. Zonko continued. “First, you must gather the smoke of a boggart. Second, you must find a lock of hair from a troll. And third, you must bring me the weeds from a grindylow patch. Then, I will tell you whatever you want to know.�

Greg and Ford stood there, somewhat stunned. They had been given a very serious challenge, by no less than Zachariah Zonko himself. Never mind that they would soon face boggarts, trolls, and grindylows; if they were to truly pursue their dreams, with this man guiding them, they would do anything. They nodded, accepting the challenge.

“See you soon, then,� said Zonko with one last wink.


Albus sat straight up in bed, his eyes round. “A boggart, a troll, and a grindylow? How will they manage that?� he asked, forgetting his pledge to no longer interrupt.

“Oh, you’ll see,� said Harry, smiling to himself. His impromptu story was bringing back many memories.

“Then hurry up! I want to see how they do it—it might be useful when I go to Hogwarts.�

Harry chuckled out loud. “Albus, you won’t be going to Hogwarts for another year! And trust me, you won’t need boggart smoke, troll teeth, or grindylow weed for a while – if at all!�

“Sounds like a good thing to know, just in case,� Albus replied stubbornly.

“Then listen carefully,� Harry answered. He continued.


The following weekend Fred and George scoured the castle for a boggart. Fortunately they had studied them in Defense Against the Dark Arts, although Professor Quirrell had barely managed to subdue it: the creature had turned into a giant turban and only with great stuttering had Quirrell managed to shout, “Riddikulus!� and turn it into a large ice cream sundae.

After searching for hours, Ford and Greg finally came across a rattling suit of armor tucked away in a little used corridor. They hurled several insults at it, expecting Peeves to come flying out; when the poltergeist did not emerge, they knew they had their boggart.

Stepping up to the suit, Greg raised his wand and nodded at his twin. Ford opened the visor on the helmet and stepped back as a whirling black cloud emerged from the suit of armor and coalesced into a startling image: Greg himself, dressed in a severe grey suit and many years older. His freckled face was pale and bruised, and his blue eyes were sad and lifeless as he stared at a picture in his hand and sighed.

The real Greg stood paralyzed, unable to muster the humorous image needed to release the boggart’s grip on him. Ford had no idea what this fear of his brother’s was that terrified him so much. He moved in front of Greg and the boggart morphed into his own greatest fear: the dark shadow of a Lethifold. Ever since his older brothers had told him ghost stories in the dark one rainy winter night, the Lethifold had terrified him.

Fortunately, the rational part of his brain told him this one was not real and could be defeated easily with something as simple as a laugh. Raising his wand, he formed a picture in his mind, shouted, “Riddikulus!� and held his breath.

The shapeless form opened wide eyes and a toothy mouth, and grinned stupidly. It began to dance and tumble about, and in a voice that sounded oddly like that of Albus Dumbledore, told some truly horrendous jokes. Ford cracked a smile, and was relieved to hear Greg began to laugh behind him. The Lethifold boggart continued its routine, until they were both laughing hysterically. Suddenly it stopped, looked startled, and exploded in a small puff of smoke.

Ford waved the smoke into the small glass vial they had brought with them. He looked at Greg and grinned. “One down, two to go.�

Greg smiled back, and together they returned to their dormitory to plan out their next task. They did not talk about the sad, lonely figure of Greg that the boggart had shown them.


Albus looked up at Harry with admiration. “Dad, that was funny, scary, and exciting all at once!�

“I try,� said Harry, echoing his own story.

“It was sad, too,� continued Albus. “Poor Uncle George. His worst fear came true.�

Harry glanced down at his son, startled at the young boy’s insight. He shouldn’t have been, for Albus was precociously wise for a ten-year-old. “What was that?� he asked quietly.

“That he would be all alone, without his twin,� Albus replied sadly.

Harry didn’t know if that had been George’s greatest fear or not, but imagined that it might have been. He gave Albus a quick hug before the boy could push him away, then said, “Yes, but Uncle George has all of us.�

Albus nodded in agreement and was quiet. “Dad, is this a true story?�

Harry touched the side of his nose and winked to break the solemn mood. “Maybe. You’ll need to hear more to decide for yourself.�

“Then hurry up!� Albus exclaimed, bouncing on the bed. The melancholy had passed; he was ten years old again, and Harry continued his story.


Several weeks later Greg and Ford set out to find a lock of troll hair. Not wishing to go up against a full grown troll, they discussed other ways to accomplish this second task. They could not simply search the Forbidden Forest, hoping to find some on the ground, as it might take weeks. Ford suggested using a Summoning Spell, but Greg pointed out that the troll would probably come with the hair. It was possible that there might be troll hair somewhere in the castle, tucked away in some professor’s dusty collection, but that could also take weeks to find, with the very real probability of getting caught.

They finally decided they would have to face the troll after all. They worked on a plan to secure the lock of hair in the quickest manner possible, with the least amount of injury to the troll. Setting out one afternoon during the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw match, when most of the castle was at the Quidditch pitch, they worked their way into the Forbidden Forest, wands ready.

Of course, Greg and Ford had been in the Forbidden Forest many times; it was hardly forbidden to them, but instead a place of great mystery and opportunity.


“You’ve been there lots of times too, haven’t you, Dad?� asked Albus, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Yes, sprite,� Harry admitted reluctantly, knowing any answer would only encourage his inquisitive son. He realized his mistake in choosing the setting, but since he was drawing on experience, what else could he do?

“What’s it like?� asked the boy, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Listen and you’ll find out.�

“Make it good, Dad. And scary.�

“Absolutely.�


This particular day was cloudy and cold; a sharp breeze carried a touch of frost and the scent of coming snow. The Forest was dark and silent, and a feeling of anticipation hung heavily from the bare trees. Ford and Greg, although used to the Forest, swallowed as they moved deeper into the dark woods; they were not simply exploring, after all, but actively seeking out a dangerous troll.

As they made their way toward the center of the Forest, they began to hear the rustling of creatures unseen. Though they did not know it, Acromantulas roamed the Forest searching for food. Centaurs and unicorns wandered freely, and a herd of Thestrals flew above the tall trees. Other magical creatures scampered about the dank undergrowth, unseen but felt; Greg and Ford shivered and drew their cloaks tighter.

Finally they heard the sound they had been listening for: the heavy grunting of a troll. Casting a Silencing Charm on their feet, they moved slowly toward a small clearing, where a big, fat ten-foot troll sat uprooting bushes and pulling off the branches as he rumbled to himself. Relieved to see the troll distracted, Ford and Gregg took several items from their cloaks and spread them on the ground. A large tub of honey, a can of nettles, and a jar of glumbumbles would be their weapons today.

Ford raised his wand first. “Wingardium Leviosa!� he whispered, and the tub of honey floated upward. He motioned it toward the troll, until it was just above the creature’s head. Then he upended it, and the troll let out a roar as he was covered in cool, sticky honey. When the troll realized what was running down his face, however, he ran his hands over his head and began to lick the sweet honey from his fingers, grunting happily.

Greg held back a snort as he levitated the nettles and they too landed on the troll’s head. They stuck to his tacky hair, but he ignored them and continued to lick honey from his great hands. Greg nodded and Ford released the glumbumbles.

The small, furry insects loved nettles and made right for the troll’s nettle-covered head. They swarmed toward the troll, making a low humming noise, and he began swatting at them as he growled threateningly. The glumbumbles darted around, trying to get to the honey-covered nettles; but when they landed on the troll’s head, they stuck fast to it as well. The troll began to pull at his hair as the glumbumbles began to sting him.

Honey, nettles, and glumbumbles flew everywhere as the troll roared in anger. And with each agitated grunt came a few hunks of gooey green hair, ripped right from the head of troll in his desperation to be rid of the mess around him. A large lock landed right in front of Ford and Greg. They scooped it up, tucked it in their pockets, and waved their wands at the troll. Using a charm they had found in a sixth year textbook, they sent jets of water at the irritable monster to clean him up; they couldn’t leave him covered in honey and nettles, after all.

The troll, however, did not appreciate his sudden bath, no matter that it drove away the pestering insects. He wiped his eyes and looked around, grumbling threateningly. Ford and Greg turned to leave, but the troll saw them and with a bellow that shook the treetops, he lunged for the brothers. They fell backwards, then picked themselves up and ran as fast as they could as the troll followed.

Tripping over large roots as the tree branches caught at their cloaks and scratched at their arms, they pushed through the forest, desperate to escape. Gradually the monster fell behind, howling his displeasure. Ford and Greg soon slowed down and grinned at each other, all danger forgotten. They had done it: they had a lock of hair from a troll. All they needed now was the grindylow weed.


“Did that really happen to Uncle Fred and Uncle George, Dad?� Albus asked.

Harry shrugged noncommittally; he didn’t think so, but it certainly could have, knowing trolls—and the twins—as he did.

“I can’t wait to see the Forbidden Forest!� Albus exclaimed.

“Even the trolls?� asked Harry.

“Well, maybe not all of it,� amended Albus. “I wouldn’t want to disturb any of the larger creatures.�

“Of course not,� murmured Harry, thinking of the many times he had disturbed them himself. “Shall I continue?�


Ford and Greg waited until the next Hogsmeade weekend in order to accomplish their final task: going into the lake to find a clump of grindylow weed. The pale green creatures lived at the bottom of the dark lake; it would take quite a bit of determination to jump into the freezing water and make their way to the weed beds below, and they didn’t want too many people around asking them why they were swimming in the middle of winter.

Greg stood on the edge of the lake, eyeing the muddy water warily. Ford stood next to him, his face equally glum. Greg sighed as he pulled on a set of Muggle flippers they had Transfigured from a pair of slippers; apparently the strange device would help them swim faster.

“I guess there’s no use avoiding it. Let's do it.� Ford raised his wand and waved it at his twin. They were trying a new spell that would help them hold their breath for up to ten minutes. Greg had his doubts, though, since it was an O.W.L spell they had only practiced in the shower.

He felt his lungs expand, however, and hoped it worked long enough to get what they needed. He nodded and Ford set a Warming Charm on his clothes to protect him from the frigid water. Greg then performed the same spells on his brother; they were as prepared as they could be, and with one last gulp of air, they plunged into the frigid water.

“Lumos,� Greg saw rather than heard his brother mutter the spell as they kicked their way to the bottom of the lake. He hoped they wouldn’t have to search long for a grindylow patch, given that they could only hold their breath for a limited time. He lit his own wand as they swam through the dim water, looking for the telltale signs of grindylows.

They didn’t find it and were forced to dash to the surface as they felt their breath running out. Casting the spell once more, they plunged back down and continued. Again they met with failure and returned to the surface, and once again they cast the spell that would let them hold their breath as they continued their search below.

The third time they were successful. They unknowingly swam straight into a deep forest of weeds and were immediately confronted by several grindylows. The underwater creatures grabbed at their arms and legs with spindly fingers, sharp teeth gnashing as they tried to bite the invaders in their space. Greg kicked them away as Ford took out a pocketknife and hacked away at a large stalk of kelp. It came free abruptly and sent Ford tumbling backwards, where he was swarmed by several grindylows.

“Impedimenta!� burbled Greg, stopping the pests in mid-swim. He grabbed Ford’s arm and together they kicked their way to the surface, where they took in great, gasping breaths of fresh air. The grindylows remained below, chattering angrily. Quickly the brothers swam to shore and dragged themselves onto the grass, exhausted. They looked at each other – soaking wet, shivering, and covered in tiny grindylow bites and scratches – and began to laugh hysterically at their bedraggled appearance and close call underwater. But they had done it: they had retrieved their third and final prize, and could now go back to Zonko to hear his advice.


“That wasn’t too bad,� mused Albus, interrupting yet again. “I wonder if I could learn that spell and hold my breath longer than James.�

“Don’t even try it,� warned Harry. “Besides, I made it up.�

“Really?� Albus seemed disappointed. “Well, maybe someone will invent before I graduate Hogwarts. I’d like to explore the lake and meet the squid.�

Harry rolled his eyes this time and continued.


Later that day, with their three tokens wrapped securely in their pockets, Ford and Greg took the secret passage to Hogsmeade and hurried to Zonko’s Joke Shop, excited to finally present him with their accomplishments and hear his esteemed advice. As they neared the joke shop, however, they noticed that it was dark and quiet. They stood at the door, peering into the empty store, and were relieved when they saw a soft glow from the back of the shop. Zonko appeared, and beckoned them inside.

“We did it!� Ford exclaimed, holding up the lock of troll hair. Greg brought out the grindylow weed and the small vial of boggart smoke. Zonko grinned and clapped his hands.

“Well done, boys! Well done, indeed! Come, sit with me in the back.� He led them to the back of the shop, an eerie glow illuminating his path. The storeroom was loaded with all sorts of fascinating items; Ford and Greg gazed around in delight, amazed at the secrets they were seeing.

“First, tell me how you did it,� said Zonko, motioning them to two chairs. Ford and Greg placed their items on a nearby table and began to tell him how they had acquired each item. He laughed at the Lethifold routine, chortled over the poor troll, and gasped at the twin’s adventure in the lake.

“Fantastic job, boys,� Zonko finally said, patting them each on the shoulder. “You have certainly proven yourselves worthy. Now, what can I do for you?

“Tell us everything,� said Ford immediately.

“How did you get started?� asked Greg.

“Where do you get your ideas?�

“How do we open a shop of our own?�

“How can we be as successful as you?�

Zonko laughed and held up his hands. “One at a time!� He looked at them thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to share something with you, although it might not answer your questions exactly the way you expected. But it’s important, and it will make sense someday.�

Zonko walked slowly around the storeroom, tenderly picking up various tricks from the bins and shelves. He sighed. “Success is hard work, boys—and that’s all there is to it.� He turned to see the blank looks on their faces and smiled sagely. “However, hard work takes three things: courage, cleverness, and determination. You showed courage facing your fears with the boggart, cleverness in gaining the troll’s hair, and determination in the black lake.�

Ford and Greg continued to stare.

“The most important thing, though, is to have a sense of humor. Laugh at your failures. Smile when you succeed. Enjoy what you are doing and it won’t seem like work. Do you understand?�

Ford and Greg nodded wordlessly, even though they didn’t understand at all.

“Good,� replied Zonko. “I’m not going to tell you how to open a joke shop – how to create new products, or sell them, or anything like that. I’m just going to tell you that success is hard work, and as you work hard, always maintain your sense of humor. If you do that, you will succeed beyond your wildest dreams.�

Zonko smiled, and Ford and Greg noticed it was a sad, wistful smile this time. “And now, boys, I’m afraid it’s time for you to go. Good luck.� He handed them the three items they had worked so hard for. “You may find a use for these, you know.� He then gave them a fourth item. “And maybe you can tweak this up, I haven’t been able to get it to work right.�

It was a box labeled Bird custards - prototype.

Zonko led them to the door of the shop and shook their hands. They offered their sincere but confused thanks and hurried back to Honeydukes and the secret passage that took them to Hogwarts. After stopping at the kitchen for a quick bite to eat, they finally made their way to their dormitory, thoughtfully discussing their conversation with Zonko and how it would help them open their joke shop someday.

The common room was filled with people talking excitedly. “Did you hear the news?� asked their friend Jordan, running up to them as soon as they had stepped through the portrait hole. “It’s unbelievable!�

“What is?� asked Ford, only half-listening as he gazed at the commotion around the common room. Greg was studying the strange-looking custard from the box Zonko had given them.

“Zachariah Zonko died last night!� Jordan exclaimed. “Everyone was talking about it in Hogsmeade today. Apparently one of his jokes killed him.�

Greg looked up, shocked; Ford turned to stare at him, his face suddenly pale. “What?� they asked simultaneously.

“They found him in his shop, next to an Ever-Bashing Boomerang. What a way to go, eh?� Jordan eyed them curiously. “What the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.�

Ford and Greg just nodded mutely, too stunned to reply. They left the busy common room and went upstairs to their beds, still silent. They both were thinking of the man they had met just hours earlier, alive and well.

“To Zachariah Zonko,� said Greg, raising the custard the joke shop owner had given them. He took a tentative bite—and promptly turned into a flaming red parakeet with a very long elephant’s truck in place of a beak. Ford burst out laughing.

“To Zachariah Zonko indeed,� he chortled as he smacked his thighs. Greg tuned back into himself and grinned. Together they laughed a toast to the man who had just given them one last joke, their first product, and a lesson in laughter well-learned for life.


Albus was quiet. “Did they really see his ghost, Dad?� he finally asked.

“What do you think?� Harry replied, wondering what his Albus would pull from the tale.

“I think they did,� he answered. “They showed Zonko they could work hard to get the three things he asked for, so he couldn’t let them down. He had to tell them the secret of his success.�

“Which was what?� prodded Harry.

“Even if you die, you still have to work hard,� said Albus with a straight face. Then he fell backwards onto his pillow and laughed. “And always be sure to laugh, no matter what!�

Harry laughed with him. It had been hard work, creating a tale that was funny, scary, and exciting. He felt he had succeeded, though, and said a silent thank you to his dearly departed friend for the inspiration. He also hoped Albus took more away from the tale than just laughter: life was hard work, and being able to laugh about it now and then was important for both success and happiness.

“Time for bed now, sprite,� he said.

"But how does the rest of the story end?" asked Albus, wide awake.

"They lived happily ever after," replied Harry. "For a while, at least."

“I want another. I want to hear how Uncle Fred and Uncle George – I mean Ford and Greg – actually opened their shop.�

“Another night.�

“Did they really get their Canary Creams from Zonko? Was that his legacy?�

“Another night.�

“Aww, Dad!�

“Good night, Albus.�


THE END


Author’s Note: This story was written for the May One-Shot Challenge and is loosely based on the West African folktale Zomo the Rabbit. Many thanks to the forum authors who helped me with my ideas and my LJ friends who encouraged me to keep going!