Chapter 5 – The Soup Deepens
"Miss Lovegood to see you, sir."
"Oh hello, Creeves. I didn't know you had returned."
"I have only just returned, sir, and have brought Miss Lovegood with me."
"Was she the friend you went out to meet?"
"One and the same, sir."
"Well, by all means show her in. I haven't seen old Loony in ages."
"Very good, sir."
Luna Lovegood was another of my former schoolmates, and never was there more of a gawd-help-us. Luna was the kind of girl who thinks the stars are dragon kisses and that every time a Cornish pixie blows its wee nose, a baby is born. She is also a cousin of mine by marriage as her father unadvisedly tied the knot with my Aunt Petunia a few years ago. The last time I saw Luna was at their anniversary party and I could only imagine what had brought her here today.
"Hello, Harry."
"What ho, Loony. All is well with the Lovegood household, I trust."
She didn't answer immediately but sighed audibly and looked out of the window as if seeing across the miles into the home she shared with her father and step-mother.
"Oh, Harry. It is ever so sad. Love is a fickle emotion, and the strongest bonds it forms can turn brittle like Devil's Snare in bright sunlight."
"If you're talking about your dad and my Aunt Petunia, then your metaphor is apt. I knew if he ever got a look at her in good light, things would turn sour."
"No, you've got it all wrong. Daddy loves her as much as ever, but I fear another wizard has also fallen in love with her."
"You mean there are two wizards dippy enough to want my Aunt Petunia? No offense to your father."
"Yes, I'm afraid so, and I don't see how Daddy can compete with such an impressive and important wizard."
"Who is this blighter who's vying for my aged relative's limited affections?"
"You know him, Harry. It's Professor Snape."
The only Professor Snape I knew was the Potions master at Hogwarts. He was a cranky, beak-nosed pill with greasy hair who made my life especially miserable. Owing to my resemblance to my father, whom he detested as a youth, old Snape gave me the business for six straight years until he was given the boot for killing the headmaster.
As this was the last person I wished to have for an uncle, I hoped that Luna had got her facts wrong. There was a pretty fair chance of this, as getting facts wrong was practically a hobby of hers.
"You don't mean Severus Snape, the Potions master?"
"Certainly. Though he'll be Headmaster Snape as soon as McGonagall retires."
"Ah yes, I remember reading about that in The Quibbler. 'Exonerated Killer to Succeed Headmistress' was the headline. Is it true?"
Mr. Lovegood is the owner and editor of The Quibbler, an increasingly obscure wizarding magazine, as well as Witches' Boudoir, a quarterly supplement he began as a wedding gift to Aunt Petunia. She once badgered me into writing an article for the bally rag on "What the Well-Dressed Wizard is Wearing."
"Daddy only prints the truth, Harry. I was there when he interviewed Professor Snape for that article. Daddy invited him to supper a few weeks ago and that's when this all began."
"How do you mean?" I asked, for the first time eager to hear some gossip of young Loony's.
She told me in dramatic form the tale of the supper with Snape – how her father introduced him to Aunt Petunia only to discover that they had met previously. It seems the old buzzard had a school-boy crush on my own mother, Lily, and Aunt Petunia recalled to him the time he ventured into the Muggle world to call on her. She flattered him by saying Lily should have chosen him over my father. He complimented her by saying that Witches' Boudoir should be required reading at Hogwarts to teach manners and decorum to young dunderheads. This last bit was especially significant since Mr. Lovegood has been threatening to discontinue the supplement to reduce costs. They really hit it off when the topic of talk turned to yours truly, specifically their mutual opinion that I am a wastrel.
When I sent Luna on her way with every assurance that I would do all I could to prevent Aunt Petunia from running off with Snape, I could not have been more sincere. The thought of having to look at his sour face across a holiday table filled me with a coldness I haven't felt since I was attacked by a dementor.
"Creeves," I said, "a chill wind blows from Ottery St. Catchpole. It seems that all manner of romantic misunderstandings are fated to make life dodgy for the young master."
"It would appear so, sir."
"Have you anything for it?"
"I believe so, sir. I have instructed Miss Lovegood to seek the counsel of Mr. Weasley."
"Arthur Weasley? Yes, he might have something to say. Knows a fair bit about happy marriage and Muggle ways."
"Possibly so, sir, but it was to his son Mr. Ronald Weasley that I directed Miss Lovegood."
"Ron? Are you quite well, Creeves? Ron is the last person to ask for romantic advice. He can't even handle his own love-life, let alone someone else's."
"If you'll pardon me for disagreeing, sir, I expect that a meeting between Mr. Weasley and Miss Lovegood will produce a result beneficial to the concerns of both parties. It is part of a larger plan of mine that I believe will prove satisfactory to all involved."
"Sounds rummy to me, Creeves, but I suppose you have studied the psychology of the individuals?"
"Indeed, sir."