A familiar scene - though with hopefully a very different feeling. I know this may be a bit frustrating for some, given all the out-of-canon character reflections of recent chapters (which I'm pleased to have received positive reviews for), but I must set the stage once again. Yes, we're going back to Malfoy Manor, and no, Mr. Lovegood did not redeem himself, I'm afraid. But hopefully it's a bit more human this time around. A bit more desperate. A bit more sincere.
We will see a different Malfoy Manor, but we've got to get there first.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Mr. Lovegood's Turmoil
Harry and Hermione approached the Lovegood's house. The dark stone of the exterior appeared like a silhouette against the backdrop of the cloud-strewn sky. As they drew nearer, a series of brightly painted paving stones had been sunk into the ground, leading to the crooked and leaning entry gate where a series of signs had been haphazardly attached, signifying without question they had found Luna's home.
Together, they stepped over the threshold and followed the uneven paving stones around two severely bent and low-hanging crab apple trees. The paving stones eventually led to a narrow set of stone steps, where, on the landing, stood a great aged black door heavily adorned with great iron bands holding it together. Mounted dead center was the head of an eagle, beak closed, with a pair of brilliant blue-gem eyes that Harry suspected might be peep holes from inside. Hermione motioned to the door and Harry knocked.
The door was answered hastily, flung open with such force it generated a slight breeze distinct from the one nature had made. Xenophilius stood before them, eyes wide and mouth agape, barefoot and dressed like he had been in bed for some time. After his shock, Xenophilius' eyes found the scar upon Harry's forehead. His eyes sharpened and suddenly, he looked like a man who had just woken from a terrible dream.
"Harry Potter, and...Miss. Granger, is it," said Xeno, his eyes darting from Harry to Hermione, and finally, a grand survey of the land. "What in Merlyn's name brings you to my home? Brave to wander in broad daylight, given…given the state of things," he added, his voice climbing several octaves.
"We're not exactly wandering," replied Harry in feigned politeness. "I was hoping you might be able to help us with something, Mr. Lovegood."
"Help," he repeated. "Doubtful I have any help to give, Mr. Potter."
"I'd rather explain inside," said Harry. "Can we come in? The wind is a bit cold."
"It isn't safe," said Xeno, his voice dropping to hardly a whisper. "You should be on your way, you know…far away…yes, that would be better for all, I think."
"Please, Mr. Lovegood," interjected Hermione. "This is incredibly important. You might be the only one who can help us."
"Surely there is someone else," said Xeno, looking more and more uncomfortable. "I'm just an editor, you know. It really isn't safe for you here—not anymore."
"Mr. Lovegood, I was under the impression you wanted to help me," asked Harry, remembering the editor's words from the wedding.
"It isn't really an issue of support, so much as…"
"I promise it won't take long," said Harry urgently. "An hour or so of your time is all we need."
"Very well, yes, come in, come in," he said, stepping to the side and motioning for them to step through the entry way. "Luna wouldn't like it if I turned her friends away, I don't think." Immediately, they were greeted by the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever laid eyes upon. The room was a perfect circle, with the cabinets, the sink, the appliances—even the windows—were curved to fit the room in the most complimentary of ways. Furthermore, the cabinets, the walls, and the ceiling had been painted with varying flowers, insects, and birds in vivid, bright, primary colors.
In the middle was a wrought-iron spiral staircase that led to both the upper levels and down to what Harry assumed was a cellar or basement. Xeno had rushed past them, climbed the stairs, skipping every other step, until he had vanished from view. Shortly after, there were a series of bangs, clangs, and what sounded like something large and heavy was dragged across the floor.
"Up here, if you please," said Xeno, his head ducking down the stairwell for a brief moment.
Harry and Hermione shared a nervous glance, but followed Xeno up and into the room above. Harry started to feel uncomfortable. This was not the cheerful, welcoming Xenophilius he had met at Bill and Fleur's wedding.
As they stepped onto the landing, Harry knew immediately they had entered Mr. Lovegood's workplace, though some of the space had been used for a living room. There were several piles of books and papers, old editions of The Quibbler, and even a few old printings of The Daily Prophet. In the corner of the room (or what felt like one, since the house had no corner to speak of), was what appeared to be an old wooden printing press. It had been covered—in a bit of a rush by the unevenness of it—by a severely-stained table-cloth. Harry suspected the noise they had heard from the kitchen had been Mr. Lovegood's scramble to clean his workspace.
"I'm sorry for the mess," he said, his voice still uneven but with less jitteriness. "I'd have cleaned up a bit more had I known…but then, well, I daresay I couldn't have known, could I? Yes, can't send so much as owl post these days without…without unwanted eyes…"
"Mr. Lovegood, where is Luna," asked Hermione.
"Luna?"
"Yes, isn't it the holiday," asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing.
"Yes, yes it is," said Xeno. "She, er, stayed at Hogwarts this holiday. She isn't here."
"Oh," said Hermione, disappointed. "I thought she always came home for Christmas."
"Yes, yes she did—er, I mean—does, normally she does," said Xeno, who was now absentmindedly shuffling through bits of parchment. "But, well, she is approaching the age when little daughters aren't so little anymore, are they? No, less interested in dad and more interested in a boy, I suspect. These things happen. You can't stop them. I do hope he hasn't got a large infestation of Nargles, though—that would be unacceptable. But I suppose Luna would set him straight, wouldn't she? Perhaps it's for the best, after all."
"Er…right," said Hermione, who looked as though she had regretted asking.
"So, Mr. Potter, what can I help you with?"
"Well, I know this probably won't make any sense, but, I was wondering about the necklace you were wearing at the wedding this summer, Mr. Lovegood."
"You mean, this necklace," he asked, pulling on the golden chain around his neck and then clasping the triangular pendant. He held it out to them for a clear view. It was indeed the very symbol written in Dumbledore's book, and the symbol that had been engraved into the old gravestone in Godric's Hollow.
"Yes," said Harry. "We wondered if it meant anything?"
"It does indeed," said Xeno, breathlessly. For that brief moment, Mr. Lovegood had reclaimed his former self, the exuberant, child-like curiosity blazing clearly in his eyes. "This is the sign we believers use to identify ourselves to each other and to encourage one another in the quest."
"Quest," asked Hermione.
"To seek The Deathly Hallows, of course," said Xeno, sitting down across from them. He stowed the necklace back inside the confines of his nightgown and took a deep breath. "You've heard of them before, I'm sure?" Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads.
"Perhaps you've heard the story of the three brothers?"
"Yes," said Harry and Hermione simultaneously.
"Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together. "Then you know what the Hallows are after all."
"You mean the objects in the story, the wand, the stone, and the cloak—those are the Deathly Hallows," asked Hermione, her eyes wide and skeptical.
"Yes, yes," said Xeno. He took a sheet of parchment and rummaged on the table through another separate stack of parchment and found a quill and a half used bottle of ink.
He dipped the quill and drew a singular line down the middle.
"The Elder Wand," he said.
Then, he drew a circle with a radius half that of the line.
"The Resurrection Stone," he whispered.
Finally, he drew an equilateral triangle, starting at the highest point of the line, until it enclosed both the singular line and circle.
"The Cloak of Invisibility," he said, looking as though he had accomplished a great feat. "Together, they are the Deathly Hallows."
"But the story doesn't mention anything about Deathly Hallows, Mr. Lovegood," said Hermione quickly.
"Of course not, my dear lady," said Xeno. "The tale of the Three Brothers is a fairytale rendition of the real story, meant to instruct in the proper usage of those items."
"You believe these items exist, then," asked Harry. He could see the high-level of doubt flashing in Hermione's eyes.
"Certainly, I do," said Xeno. "And I am not the only one," he added, pointing to the table. Harry's eyes traced the direction of Xeno's outstretched finger and found a copy of Rita's book: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
Here, Harry and Hermione both shared a nervous glance. Harry was the first to recover though.
"Do you believe what Rita wrote about Dumbledore, Mr. Lovegood," asked Harry, curiously.
"There are some things that ring with authenticity," said Xeno, a hint of sadness washing over his face. "But Rita—as I am sure you know from first-hand experience—isn't one to highlight the whole story, is she? No, I think anything she writes must always be handled with great caution and care. She does not hold the same reverence for journalism as she ought to."
Harry turned to Hermione.
"Was there anything about Hallows in the book?"
Hermione thought long and hard, and then shook her head.
"I've only been through it once, Harry, but I'm sure I would have remembered it."
"But they are, Miss. Granger," said Xeno, "Sometimes, you have to look at more than what you see." He grabbed his copy and thumbed through several pages. When he'd found the page he was looking for, he sat the book down in front of them and pointed at the letter Dumbledore had written to Grindelwald.
"Mr. Lovegood, I've read this letter before," said Hermione impatiently. "The Hallows weren't mentioned at all."
"Take a closer look, my dear," said Xeno, pointing to the bottom of the letter. Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder, his eyes widening as Hermione clucked her tongue.
"It's the mark," she breathed. "Does this mean Dumbledore and Grindelwald believed in the Hallows? That they actually existed?"
"Dumbledore has never said such publically, but, as I've told you, the mark is how believers identify themselves to others pursuing the quest," he said. "I think here," he added, pointing to the mark on the letter, "is physical, tangible proof that at one stage in his life, he did. And I think it highly probably that Gellert Grindelwald sought them as well. Why else would such a talented—albeit highly disturbed young man—come to Godric's Hollow of all places?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed in concentration. Then—
"Of course," she said, "the grave of Ignotus Peverell—he wanted to see the mark on the tombstone!"
"Indeed," said Xeno. "Yes, that was my thought as well. You see, it is believed the Peverell brothers at one time were in possession of these objects—possibly the creators themselves."
"But, but," said Hermione, as though every thought were consuming her ability to breathe, "but Mr. Lovegood, these things—an invisibility cloak is one thing—but an unbeatable wand, and a stone to revive the dead…those things aren't real."
"And why ever should they not be?"
"Well, for one, a wand is only as powerful as the witch or wizard, isn't it? It doesn't have an innate strength, or power, does it? The wand is only a tool of the witch or wizard who is using it to focus their magic."
"And yet, Ollivander would disagree with you, I think," said Xeno smiling. "The wand chooses the wizard, as he so often likes to say. Wandcraft is an extraordinarily complex branch of magic—who is to say definitively how the bond of wizard and wand is formed, or if that knowledge of a previous master does not somehow imprint itself within its very being, sharing all that gathered experience and power with its next partner?
"The cloak, as you say, is the most believable because you yourself know that invisibility cloaks exist, but you would be mistaken to confuse the legitimate cloak of the story with our feeble attempts of replicating it. Unlike other cloaks, though, the true cloak of invisibility would have passed down from one generation to the next, unfading, and unaffected by any spell or jinx that might force the cloak to become visible, for that would be contrary to the nature of the Cloak, which is to always conceal its owner. You've never seen such a cloak, I'd wager," he said.
Harry met Hermione's gaze. Harry just so happened to possess a cloak like the one Xenophilius was describing.
"Alright," said Hermione, trying to remain calm, "say a wand could inherit the abilities, or experiences of its previous masters, and a cloak like the one you suggest did exist—what about the stone?"
"What about it," he asked.
"There has never been anything in magical history to suggest such a thing as that exists. There would be stories, accounts, records—something that validated the stone's existence!"
"But my dear, there is," said Xeno with a heavy sign. "Haven't you been listening—the Tale of the Three Brothers is the record!"
"Children's tales," she retorted.
"Luna did warn me about you," said Xeno with an awkward laugh, "intelligent enough for the great house of Ravenclaw, but with a closed mind. Never-the less," he said, holding his hand up to stall Hermione's next response, "You are assuming the stone does not exist because you cannot—or do not want to—consider the possibility that there could exist a force strong enough, capable enough—divine enough—to do the impossible. Our history is filled with magic of the extraordinary, Miss. Granger; who is to say that such a thing is impossible? After all, Muggles believe there is no such thing as magic, do they not? And yet, their literature contains volumes of cautionary tales much like the story of the Deathly Hallows—each, interestingly enough—focused upon an item of extraordinary power that should not have been used in the manner in which it was."
"And…there's nothing else this symbol could mean," asked Hermione.
"Well, as a matter-of-fact," said Xeno, slowly, "the symbol of the Deathly Hallows did acquire another meaning, during Grindelwald's attempted conquest of Europe. It became his symbol of—you might have guessed it already—The Greater Good."
Harry shared a glance with Hermione. Despite knowing that Dumbledore had indeed turned away from the foolishness of his youth, and his short-lived friendship with Grindelwald, the idea that Dumbledore had imagine himself a ruler through justified subjugation still made Harry uncomfortable.
"Yes," said Xeno, his voice trailing off for a moment, "Yes, Gellert perverted the sign, turning it toward his own purposes while blatantly declaring his right to inherit such objects. It would have gone unnoticed by the masses, but to the few who studied, who searched—to someone like Dumbledore—it had a very clear double meaning."
"But, Mr. Lovegood," said Hermione, making another attempt toward reason, "wouldn't someone have found these objects by now? Wouldn't we have had conclusive, historical recording of a stone with the ability to revive the dead?"
"Not necessarily," said Xeno. "We do have substantial proof of the wand—the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the Wand of Elder—but the stone and cloak, interestingly enough, very little recorded. Perhaps because out of the three, wizards and witches alike with a certain desire or obsession for power only seek one of the Hallows—the unbeatable wand, as it is often referred to. And yet, the hands that have held it are easily traceable—even accounting for some very long gaps—by defeat, murder, trickery, or some other tragic tale of an owner forfeiting it to someone new. It has a rather bloody history.
"Regarding the stone or the cloak, well, certainly, those are difficult to trace. But the story does give us clues," said Xeno, standing and pacing around the sofa. "The cloak was very specifically called out as having been passed from the father—the youngest brother—to his son, when his time had come to pass. I think, as do others, that the cloak has continued to pass in such a fashion. It would be a rather priceless family heirloom, would it not? Not something you are likely to inform the world of possessing, I don't think. Furthermore, almost all of us agree that the brother who possessed the cloak was none other than Ignotus himself—the only brother who died a natural death, who, in the cemetery, is buried alone, without his brothers. The sole survivor of a tragic encounter with such powerful objects.
"The stone, however—and to your understandable hesitancy, Miss. Granger—is the object most absent of any record. But simply because you yourself have never seen it, touched it, or likewise experienced anything similar, does not mean it does not exist. We may never see it. It could be lost to wizardkind forever. Just like the sword Excalibur, or Merlyn's wand, or Ravenclaw's Diadem, such things existed, though we have never found them again."
The three sat in silence then, each unsure what to say next. Xenophilius would continually glance out the windows, moving from one side of the room to the next, his hands fidgeting as though he would soon be asked to speak to a large and hostile crowd.
"Thank you, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry finally after receiving a confirming nod from Hermione that it was time to be on their way. "I think you've told us everything we need to know. We'll be on our way, now."
"It'll be dark soon," said Xeno, his eyes still looking out the window. "Perhaps it'd be best if you stayed after all, yes?"
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Lovegood," said Hermione, "but it would be best if we were on our way." Together, Harry and Hermione stood up from the sofa and started for the stairs. But then, Mr. Lovegood rushed toward them, his feet slamming down on the wooded floors as though laboring beneath a heavy weight. He stood at the landing, both hands gripping the metal railing on each side, his eyes wide, face red, and breathing heavily.
"I need your help, Harry Potter," said Xeno, his voice short and out of breath.
Both Harry and Hermione had drawn their wands. Harry had the sudden feeling that he was regretting the decision to come into the house at all.
"My help," asked Harry, hesitantly.
"Yes, you're help," he said. "Only you can help me."
"What's happened, Mr. Lovegood," asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "What do you need?"
Xenophilius looked intensely at Harry.
"You're her friend," he said matter-of-factly. "You want to help my Luna, don't you?"
"I thought Luna was at school, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, though his stomach had turned to knots. Harry had a suspicion that Xenophilius had not been entirely honest with about Luna.
"You're a good person, I know it," he said, his words rushing out in an unsteady rhythm. "Luna thinks so highly of you. I admit, I too think highly of you. But you're the only one that can."
"What can I do," asked Harry, who was getting a bit annoyed with the verbal dance.
"They took my Luna, Harry Potter," he said. "They took my Luna from me and they won't give her back, because of the things I've been writing."
"The Death Eaters have Luna," asked Harry, "because you've been helping me?"
Xenophilius nodded.
"Took her—gone!"
"Why didn't you tell us from the start," asked Harry. The familiar bile of guilt swirled in his stomach. How many more were going to suffer because of him?
"Because…because I don't think Luna will approve of what I'm about to do," he said, swallowing hard. "But you understand, don't you? She's all I have, Harry Potter. I have nothing else."
Hermione stepped forward and stood between Harry and Xenophilius, her wand pointed sharply at the editor's chest.
"You're hoping the Death Eater's will return Luna if you give them Harry, right," she asked.
"They said they would," said Xeno. He looked like a child who had been caught red-handed in the middle of mischief making. "They said if I stopped writing and brought them Harry Potter, they would give me back my Luna."
"Not going to happen," said Hermione. "And Luna wouldn't approve, Mr. Lovegood. You can still do the right thing. Let us go. Or I'll make you move."
"It's too late," said Xeno. "They're already here." And before Harry or Hermione could say anything, before Hermione could blast Xenophilius down the stairs, several pops of Apparition could be heard downstairs.
"He's up here," shouted Xenophilius. "He's up here, I've got him!"
Hermione punched him, sending the distraught editor down the flight of stairs. She then turned to Harry, grabbed his hand, and turned on the spot. Only they had not Disapparated like Harry had expected.
"Dammit," said Hermione. They could hear clanging steps of someone ascending the spiral staircase. "We don't have much time, Harry," she said, throwing him a vial of Polyjuice.
"Hermione," he questioned, but she threw him a glare that quickly silenced his protest. He took the stopper off as Hermione hurled the wooden press from the end of the room to block the staircase, sending copies of The Quibbler scattered about the room. One of the copies fell at Harry's feet. The page featured a large portrait of himself, with a large heading that read:
UNDESIREALBE NUMBER ONE:
"Bastard," said Hermione. She looked at Harry who had yet to consume the potion.
"Drink it, Harry, or I'll force it down your throat," she said worriedly.
"What about you," he asked.
"That's the last one," she said. "I've saved it for something like this—a tight spot. They can't know it's you. It's the only chance we have."
"It's only good for an hour," he protested. He pointed his wand at the chandelier over the opening of the stairs and sent it crashing down. He heard one of the intruder's curse and then tumble.
"It buys us time, Harry, please," she said. "If they know it's you, it's straight to Tom, you know it." Hermione looked him straight in the eyes. "You're not meeting him today, Harry."
Harry nodded and drained the vial. Hermione vanished the vial just as the wooden press was blown away into pieces, followed by streams of red light and then, darkness.