"Bill and Fleur's new place. Shell cottage. Bill's always been decent to me. He ? he wasn't impressed when he heard what I'd done, but he didn't go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family know I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren't going Home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don't think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck."















Ron turned his back on the Burrow.















"Let's try up here," he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.















　　　They walked for a few hours, Harry, at Hermione's insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.















　　　"Do you think it's theirs, and they've gone away for Christmas?" said Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill. Ron snorted.















　　　"Listen, I've got a feeling you'd be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods' window. Let's try the next lot of hills."















So they Disapparated a few miles farther north.















　　　"Aha!" shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. "That's got to be Luna's house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!"















"It's nothing like a bird," said Hermione, frowning at the tower.















"I was talking about a chess rook," said Ron. "A castle to you."















　　　Ron's legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first. When Harry and Hermione caught up with him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly.















"It's theirs," said Ron. "Look."















Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broke-down gate. The first read, THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR, X. LOVEGOOD















the second,















PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE















the third,















KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS















　　　The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Harry thought he recognized a Snargaluff and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches.















　　　"You'd better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry," said Hermione. "It's you Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us."















　　　He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick black door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.















　　　Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur's wedding by comparison.















　"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" he cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Hermione, then at Ron, and finally at Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.















　"Hello, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, holding out his hand, "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."















　Xenophilius did not take Harry's hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry's forehead.















　"Would it be okay if we came in?" asked Harry. "There's something we'd like to ask you."















　"I . . . I'm not sure that's advisable," whispered Xenophilius, He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. "Rather a shock . . . My word . . . I . . . I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to ---"















　"It wont take long" said Harry, slightly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.















"I --- oh, all right then. Come in, quickly, Quickly!"















　They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them, They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that he felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls - the stove, the sink, and the cupboards - and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Harry thought he recognized Luna's styles. The effect in such and enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.















　In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiralstaircase ld to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead: Harry wondered what Luna could be doing.















　"You'd better come up." said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.















The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace,















and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a giganticlabyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures Harry did not recognize, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.















　Luna was not there: The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels, It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of shelves, but after a moment Harry deduced that it was an old-fashioned printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out Quibblers.















　"Excuse me," said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized grubbily tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. He then faced Harry.















　"Why have you come here?" Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.















"Mr. Lovegood - what's that?"















　See was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.















"It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xenophilius.















"No it isn't!" said Hermione.















"Hermione," muttered Harry, embarrassed, "now's not the moment -"















　"But Harry, it's an Erumpent horn! It's a Class B Tradeable Material and it's an extraordinary dangerous thing to have in a house!"















　"How'd you know it's an Erumpent horn?" asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.















　"There's a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?"















　"The Crumple Horned Snorkack" said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, "is a shy and highly magical creature, and it's horn -"















　"Mr. Lovegood. I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpent horn and it's incredibly dangerous - I don't know where you got it-"















　"I bought it," said Xenophilius dogmatically. "Two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now," he said, turning to Harry, "why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?"















"We need some help," said Harry, before Hermione could start again.















"Ah," said Xenophilius, "Help, Hmm."















　His good eye moved again to Harry's scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.















"Yes. The thing is ... helping Harry Potter ... rather dangerous..."















　"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Harry?" said Ron. "In that magazine of yours?"















　Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.















"Er - yes, I have expressed that view. however -"















"That's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" said Ron.















　Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Harry had the impression that he was undergoing some painfulinternal struggle.















"Where's Luna?" asked Hermione. "Let's see what she thinks."















　Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, "Luna is down at the stream, Fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She...she will like to see you. I'll go and call her and then - yes, very well. I shall try to help you."















　He disappeared down the spiralstaircase and they heard the front open and close. They looked at each other.















"Cowardly old wart," said Ron. "Luna's got ten times his guts."















　"He's probably worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here" said Harry.















　"Well, I agree with Ron, " said Hermione, "Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm our of it himself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that horn."















　Harry crossed to the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as he stared in the direction of the Burrow, now invisible beyond another line of hills. Ginny was over there somewhere. They were closer to each other today than they had been since Bill and Fleur's wedding, but she could have no idea he was gazing toward her now, thinking of her. He suppose he ought to be glad of it; anyone he came into contact with was in danger, Xenophilius's attitude proved that.















　he turned away from the windows and his gaze fell upon another peculiar object standing upon the cluttered, curved slide board; a stone but of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wing was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.















"Look at this," said Harry.















"Fetching," said Ron. "Surprised he didn't hear that to the wedding."















　They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophilius climbed back up the spiralstaircase into the room, his thin legs now encase in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.















"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," he said, shoving the tray into















Hermione's arms and joining Harry at the statue's side.















"Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowens Ravenclaw,















'Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure!'"















He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.















　"These are the Wrackpurt siphons - to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker's immediate area. Here, "he pointed out the tiny wings, "a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally, "he pointed to the orange radish, "the dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary."















　Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.















　"May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?" said Xenophilius. "We make it ourselves." As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, "Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plumpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.















　"Now," he remove a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, "how may I help you, Mr. Potter?"















　"Well," said Harry, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, "it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant."















Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.















"Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?"

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