A little story for our Reducio Mum...

Killjoys... I took a little writing class where I had to invent a magical animal with its own properties and write 500 words that included the animal. I "invented" Killjoys, although I have to say I was heavily influenced by a children's cartoon. These animals have the power to make people cheerful, but they have to choose to do it. Mum was mentioning making a nativity shepherd into Hagrid, and I thought this would amuse her...


Hagrid and a friend sit and mull over the miseries of life...

"Five o' them, ye say?" The large, bushy-haired man put his enormous tankard to his lips and sipped. "Five?" His voice echoed in the almost-empty tavern.

"Five," agreed the mournful pile of unkempt hair and tattered clothing that sat and drank with him, "an' if ye can believe it, Hagrid, I only paid for three. How I got the other two I couldn't say." He, too, took a drink absentmindedly. The beer spilled from the heavy cup, splashing his filthy clothes further, but he seemed ot find it funny. "There ye go, mate. I just put on these robes this mornin' for the firs'time, and they're broken in already." His laugh was rusty, but a laugh, all the same.

"Do they play cards like that fer folks? Ye ough' ter make a few knuts lettin' folks watch." Hagrid observed the small, sheeplike animals sitting cross-legged on the floor near the fire. "They'r real convincin' like."

The largest of the small animals looked up at Hagrid and growled. The ferocity of the sound, combined with the adorable mop of curls on top of it's placid, sheep-like head got a smile out of the large man.

"No," Dung continued mournfully, "They won't perform in public.. Although Eunice in the corner there'll knit."

"Really? Well, thats sumpin' like. Don' see too many sheep as can knit."

"No, ye don't, do ye. There's no market for knittin' sheep in these times, Hagrid. I've wasted my money." Mundungus seemed resigned. "Free to a good home. Ye've got the room."

"But they're a bit dull, ain't they. No breathin' fire or bitin' or spinning rope?" he asked with a faint hope in his voice.

"Not a bit of it. Still, sort of amusin', watchin 'em when they think ye ain't lookin. Billy was playin' drums on the oatmeal box this mornin'"

Hagrid burst out then with a deep belly-laugh. "OATmeal, Dung? I'd a never picked ye fer oatmeal in the mornin'."

”Oatmeal goes very nice with a bit o' fire whiskey in the mornin'. An ye know, I don' think they're sheep. I think they might be KillJoys."

"Ye don' say. But they're supposed to be extinct!" This was more interesting to Hagrid.

"I have it on good authority," Mundungus responded, in a low voice, "That there's odder thin's in New Jersey than that."

"Maybe. Maybe, Dung. I can' take em, though, anyways. Too much to be doing right now, what with..."


"Well, mebbe Fred and George, then. they're use' to bad knitting anyway..." He stood up and whistled. "On yer feet, lads." Obediently, they stood on their hind legs. "March."

The little wooly animals sashayed out the door of the Leaky Cauldron. "Then again, Hagrid, mebbe I'll keep 'em meself. There's sumthin' about them I je' can' put my finger on, but their cheerful, like."

"Well, if ye like that, then. Good day, Mundungus." Hagrid, sat down again at the table, remembering to be bereft, while happiness on the hoof marched itself out the door.