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The sun hangs low over a hillside gloriously free of snow. Ron and Harry lead the way, far ahead of me and Hermione.

"Not still mad at him, are you?" I ask her, noticing how she can't take her eyes off him.

"I'm always mad at him." She smirks.

As we continue to walk, a strange looking house appears in the distance, etched like a great black cylinder against the sky. Seeing it, Ron turns back, grinning as he calls out.


Harry, Hermione, and I take a look. "Luna." We say in unison.

A sign is tacked to a door studded with nails: "The Quibbler. Editor: X. Lovegood." Hermione knocks three times.

"Keep off the dirigible plums." Ron says. Hermione turns, gives him an odd look. Ron points to a sign: "Keep off the Dirigible Plums."

Just then, the door swings open and Xenophilius Lovegood appears, barefoot, wearing a soiled nightshirt.

"What is it?" He asks, looking to Ron. "Who are you? What do you want-" Seeing Harry and I, Lovegood's jaw goes slack in shock.

"Hello, Mr. Lovegood. I'm Harry Potter, and this is my sister Amelia." Harry introduces us.

"We met a few months back?" I say and Lovegood's eyes drift to our scars. "Would it be okay if we came in? It won't take long, sir. I promise."

Great tottering towers of Quibbler back-issues rise to the ceiling while an old-fashioned wooden printing press chugs away in the center of the room, spitting out new ones.

"Excuse me." As Lovegood steps to the wheezing press, the four of us glance at past Quibblers laying about.

Their titles read: "Muggle Murders Rise", Dozens Die as Death Eaters Attack", "Harry and Amelia in Hiding", "Where are the Chosen Ones?", "You-Know-Who Claims Another Victim: Quidditch World Cup Cancelled Amir Death Threats."

Abruptly, the press goes silent and Lovegood turns.

"So. What brings you here, Mr. and Miss Potter?"

"Well, sir, we need some help." Harry tells him.

"Ah. Help. I see. Yes, well, the thing is, helping Harry and Amelia Potter, rather dangerous these days..." the man trails off.

The four of us exchange glances.

"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Amelia and Harry?" Ron asks him.

"I have expressed that view, yes." Mr. Lovegood nods. "In the past. Would you excuse me one moment. I shall return shortly and, um, try to help you..." Lovegood dashes from the room.

"What's going on here?" I ask my friends in a hushed tone.

"He's mental. Let's face it. Luna's always good value, but she's nutty as squirrel poo." Ron says to me.

Just then, Hermione gasps, points to an enormous spiral horn mounted on the wall. "Do you see that?"

"Well, yeah, of course. It's massive, isn't it?" Ron says. I look at it, realizing what it is as Harry begins to walk towards it.

"No! Don't go near it!" I tell my brother, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "It's an Erumpent horn. It's a Class B Tradeable Material."

Harry and Ron exchange a "they're mental" glance.

"Yeah, all right..."

Just then, Lovegood returns with a tray rattling with cups. "May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots? We make it ourselves."

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