A/N: Standard written for The Houses Competition Year 10 round 4.
House: Gryffindor
Class: Charms
Category: Standard
Word Count: 1968
Prompt(s):
[Restriction] Word count: 1968 words
[Action] Reading a book
Warnings: None
Disclaimers: I do not own the Harry Potter universe.
The Story of William and Aunt Bertha
The first time Harry thought about it, was when they decided to stop taking measures against conceiving. Ginny had told him about the favourite moments she had with her parents as a child, like the times her mother had read bedtime stories. It reminded Harry of the times he'd snuck out of his cupboard to listen to Aunt Petunia reading Dudley a bedtime story. In that moment, they visualised how it would be with their kids, and Harry imagined himself reading to them. It also made him think of his favourite: 'The Story of William and Aunt Bertha' and wondered if his future children would like it.
Many years later, when Harry was home alone with a young, sick Albus, he decided it was time.
"Albus," Harry yelled, "I am going to read you a bedtime story, so I expect you to be ready within ten minutes."
Soon, Albus appeared downstairs in his pyjamas. "Are you alright?" he asked in a small voice just before coughing loudly.
Harry looked in surprise at Albus, his only child who had got his green eyes. Then he realised that it was Albus.
"Yes, of course, Albus. I thought since it is one of our only nights with just the two of us since everyone else is at The Burrow for Quidditch Night, you might like it if I read you my favourite story as a child. I just forgot that you aren't like James and Lily, that's why I yelled so loud."
Albus smiled with clear enthusiasm.
"It's a muggle book, just so you're prepared," Harry added quickly, not wanting to get Albus' hopes up too high.
Albus turned his head just slightly to the side in thought. "You and Mom never read us a muggle one before. It has always been fairytales from the wizarding world."
Harry nodded, "You're right. I've never owned any muggle bedtime stories before, never thought about it again, to be honest, so when I came across a collection of muggle stories, I decided that I'd love to have one for you all."
Albus opened his mouth to say something but instead another coughing fit erupted and Harry went to get another anti-cough potion for him.
"Go make yourself comfortable," Harry pointed to the couch in front of the crackling fireplace. "I'll get another potion and the book, okay?"
Albus nodded and walked to the couch.
When Albus was settled under a cosy blanket, Harry came back with the potion and a blue, old-looking book, barely hanging onto its cover. In silver fading letters the title was written: The Story of William and Aunt Bertha.
Harry sat down next to Albus and handed him the potion which he gladly drank.
"Thanks, Dad," said Albus.
Harry messed up Albus' hair and said, "So, this is the book I recently came across. It's second-hand, but it reminded me of when I was young, and I think that you are the one who can most appreciate it."
The Story of William and Aunt Bertha
Once upon a time, there was a small boy with sun-kissed blonde hair. His name was William. William had always lived with his family and oddly enough, he didn't look at all like his parents and sister, Agatha. They had brown hair and brown eyes and they loved to watch television as a family. They loved a clean house and never missed a match of fighting sports. The family expected William to love the same. However, William wanted to play outside, read books, and imagined being in a completely peaceful environment without any harsh sounds like the motor traffic or screaming, playing children. One day during the summer holiday, his Aunt Bertha (his mother's older sister) came by the house. Aunt Bertha had blonde hair, just like William's and a chaotic way of life. She had arrived without announcing it and suddenly suggested that Agatha could join her on a vacation somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Funnily enough, Agatha's first question was whether or not there would be a television in that house. Aunt Bertha shook her head and insisted that there would be plenty of entertainment as it was near a farm and a forest and she would bring plenty of games, books, and even a wide collection of art supplies. Agatha, refusing to miss any of the fights that came on, declined rather harshly by shouting that she didn't want to go.
Harry looked at his son and saw that Albus' eyes widened. "That's rude," Albus commented.
"Very," Harry agreed, nodding.
"So, William went to join his Aunt Bertha?"
Harry grinned and had already expected Albus to guess what would happen in the story. Since Albus read a lot of books he knew the obvious path many writers chose and because he would see that pattern, Albus applied it to new stories and always guessed what would happen.
"He did!" Harry answered with enthusiasm, before continuing.
So, when Agatha shouted that she didn't want to go, she suggested that William should go instead, as he was a dork and would be fine not watching television for a whole ten days.
Albus blinked and stared at his father.
"She isn't very nice, is she?"
Harry smiled but didn't reply; instead, he continued with the story.
Aunt Bertha was surprised by this but looked at William, who in turn looked in surprise at his aunt. Did she really want him to come? After some pushing from his parents and sister that he should go, William joined his Aunt Bertha. Both of them were doubtful, not knowing if this was what they wanted but being put in the situation they went through with it. William collected some of his necessities and put them on the back seat as the trunk was filled with Aunt Bertha's belongings. Together, they left in her car, making their way to Brightgate.
William had sat down next to his suitcase in the back of the old Triumph Herald, as he was always forced to by his family. After driving for about fifteen minutes in awkward silence, Aunt Bertha asked him, "So what are your hobbies, William?"
William was startled by this question because it had sounded so loud in the silence that had engulfed them both.
"I like to read and play outside," he answered quickly.
She looked at him in the rearview mirror.
"I love to read as well! What's your favourite book?"
The conversation continued with them just talking about books and stories that they both enjoyed and at the end of it, they were both smiling like crazy. They'd so genuinely enjoyed talking to someone as passionate about how books could make one feel by sucking the reader into a story and by the magical stories that were out there.
So, after about forty-five minutes, William asked Aunt Bertha, "What are your hobbies, Aunt Bertha?"
She smiled broadly and asked, "Do you know what I do for work?"
William shook his head.
"I'm a painter. I get paid by people to paint portraits of them, or of their house, or a bowl of fruit."
"A bowl of fruit? What is interesting about that?" William asked, puzzled.
This time, his aunt laughed a warm laugh and answered with enthusiasm, "That is actually a brilliant question! It has two main reasons: the first reason is for the painter to demonstrate their skill, and how well they can portray what they see. As fruit is often very colourful and different in structure, it is difficult to get the lighting just right on each piece of fruit individually. Do you understand?"
William nodded. "I think so."
"Good man. Now, the second reason is that it symbolises the transient nature of which can be associated with human life. But that's more difficult to understand, so I'll explain it. We humans love symbolism. That means that when someone sees something, they use that to describe something similar. For example, when you say the yellow, warm thing in the sky, you mean the sun. But painters do this by using other images to portray something that is still human in essence. So, if you want to paint that people can live and die, you can paint a bowl of fruit with fresh fruit, and fruit that is rotting. Do you understand?"
William nodded. "So, when someone paints a bowl of fresh fruit, it symbolises human life?"
Aunt Bertha's eyes twinkled in excitement. "Exactly!"
The conversation continued merrily until they arrived at Brightgate, a tiny village that consisted of about thirty houses with one main road and some side roads. The village was surrounded by forest and meadows, and the house that Aunt Bertha had rented, so she could paint in silence, was the only one at the cul-de-sac of their street.
When Aunt Bertha had parked the car, William helped get all the luggage inside. There were a lot of books, a few games and three bags full of painting equipment. Inside, the brick house was large and small at the same time. It had a tiny kitchen and bathroom, but a gigantic living room that took about 99% of the property's space, with windows bordering on the bright open meadow it was standing on.
There were four decent-sized bedrooms that William could choose from, and his aunt told him he could even choose the room with the twin bed! William couldn't believe his luck. What was even better than having a twin bed in his room, was the fact that when he walked outside in the garden to go exploring, he heard nothing. He didn't hear cars, screaming children, or television, he just heard nothing. There was just absolute silence. If he tried really hard, he could hear some birds singing in the far, far distance and it was the most perfect thing in his opinion.
That afternoon, his aunt had told him to do as he pleased whilst she would paint in the far end of the living room where the light was the best for the first painting she wanted to make. About once every hour, she took a step back from her painting and muttered something needed to be adjusted before doing so immediately. William had decided to go exploring first, and barged through the mud in the back garden, taking off his shoes and putting them neatly at the door when he was done outside. Then he looked through the books his aunt had brought and selected one to read.
That evening, they went to a nearby pub for dinner. His aunt had forgotten the time, losing track of everything around her because she was painting. It was long past William's bedtime by the time their soup was brought to the table. During dinner, they talked a lot. At first, he was quite distracted by paint splatters everywhere on her face, but soon the conversation flowed and both of them felt truly happy in that moment.
The rest of the holiday was just as perfect. William's aunt had made six paintings, one of which was even a portrait of him! When William had to go home again, his aunt had promised him she'd take him with her again the next holiday. Even though William did not want to go back, and his family hadn't really missed him, the great times helped him through the difficult times with his family. And the portrait of William was later sold at a very high price!
The end.
Albus looked at his father. "Is that how you felt at your aunt and uncle's house when you were growing up?"
Harry looked at his son. The boy was too intelligent for his age, and Harry could not be more proud. He gave Albus a hug and said nothing because Albus already knew the answer.