There was once a Wizard. He lived in a small town by the sea where he owned a wizarding shop. There was a sign over the door with “Wizard” painted in gold, curly letters. Inside the walls were lined with dusty shelves, overflowing with ancient books, and jars of spells and potions. The floor and ceilings were covered with strange, mystical symbols - pentagrams and octograms and other-sorts-of-grams. The Wizard himself lived in some small but well-appointed rooms above the shop.
The Wizard was, for the most part, everything you might expect a Wizard to be. He had thick, bushy eyebrows, and a beard that flowed down to his waist. He had a wand that glowed blue in the dark and left a trail of sparkles when he swished it, and his robes were long, the colour of midnight, and embroidered with hundreds or silver stars and moons. His hat had a wide brim and would have, been tall and pointy, but, and it was a big BUT, the point always flopped over.
Of course this is a big deal for a wizard. You wouldn’t go to a wizard without a pointy hat, and neither would I. When he walked down the street, children would laugh behind the Wizard’s back, and throw stones at him, not being the least worried that he would turn them into a newt, or a duck, or a bowl of clam chowder.
The Wizard tried everything he could think of to make the point of his hat stand up: he starched it; he stuffed it with straw; he reinforced it with sticks and cardboard, but all to no avail. No matter what he did, his hat would not stay pointy.
One day, while the Wizard was sitting behind the counter of his shop drinking green tea, the mail arrived. There was the usual collection of bills and catalogs, but, at the bottom was an invitation to sit on a panel on advanced disenchantments at the Annual North-East Regional Wizarding conference the next week. At first the Wizard was very excited. The conference was always a great place to see the latest wizarding parapharnalia, try out new beard-conditioning products, and catch up with old friends and colleagues, and to be invited to take part in a panel would be an honor. But then he hesitated; how could he take part when the point of his hat flopped over so. Sadly he decided he would have to decline the invitation.
Feeling despondent, the Wizard decided to go for a walk in the enchanted forest that bordered the town (in those days there were many more enchanted forests, and fewer enchanted shopping malls about). As he walked he tried to imagine what other wizards would say, seeing his floppy hat, and how he could possibly attend and be taken seriously.
After he had been walking for a little while, the Wizard heard a sound of crying through the woods. He followed the sound till he came to a grass-covered glade. In the middle of the glade lay a white unicorn with rainbow tears flowing from her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” asked the Wizard.
“My hoof hurts,” sobbed the Unicorn.
“Let me look,” said the Wizard. He came closer and examined the beast’s hoof. “There’s a stone in it. I’ll soon have it out,” he said.
He took out his special edition wizard’s swiss army knife (one big blade, one little blade, scissors, bottle opener, and a miniature, telescoping wand for emergencies) and removed the stone.
The Unicorn jumped up and started prancing round the glade. She popped a passing bubble with her horn. (Most evolutionary biologists believe that unicorn horns are a means of defence, but, the truth is, they evolved them solely for the purpose of bursting bubbles, which is a favorite pastime of unicorns.) She tossed her head and whinnied.
After a little while the Unicorn paused and looked at the Wizard. “You look sad,” she said. “What’s the matter?”
The Wizard explained about the Annual North-East Regional Wizarding conference, and about his floppy hat.
The Unicorn thought for a minute. “You know,” she said, “we unicorns lose our horns every winter, and grow new ones in spring.”
“Of course,” said the Wizard who had studied unicorns and other mythical creatures in wizarding school (but didn’t understand about the bubbles.)
“I think I still have my horn that fell off last winter,” she said. “We could try that.”
The Unicorn left the glade, and returned a few minutes later carrying a large and very pointy horn in her teeth.
We the help of the Unicorn and a roll of duct tape, the Wizard fastened the horn to his head. He put the hat over it. The point stood up, sharp and true. The wizard returned home with a spring in his step, to admire himself in the mirror.
And so, the following week, the Wizard attended the Annual North-East Regional Wizarding conference. He examined the latest wizarding paraphernalia. He tried out several new beard conditioning products, but decided to stick with his old standby. He spoke eloquently and authoritatively at the panel on dissenchantments. And, at the end of the conference, after the awards for most-innovative new spell, and for special services to wizarding where awarded, the organizing committee presented him with the annual award for pointiest hat.
The Wizard proudly carried the trophy back to his shop, and placed it on the shelf behind the counter, between the books on dragon-calming and invisibility spells, so that it would be the first thing that anyone coming into the shop would see.
