She beats me to it. “Please dear, sit down. Anyone that has travelled so far out here must need rest!”
I smile gratefully and sink into one of the dark red, squishy chairs near the empty fireplace. The house is curiously cool.
“Would you like some lemonade, dearie? I have peanut butter cookies as well,” the kindly-looking woman offers.
I smile again. Peanut butter cookies are my favourite Muggle snack. I nod eagerly and she disappears through a doorway.
The most noticeable thing about the room is that it is red. Red chairs, red walls, red curtains, red carpet. Just a blast of red. There are little trinkets all over the place--Muggle trinkets. There are other portraits and pictures all around the room, but their occupants’ eyes are dead and motionless. This is a Muggle house.
She returns. As she sets the tray down on the coffee table and settles across from me, she asks, “Now, what is your name?”
“My name is Luna Brielle. And yours?”
She smiles. “My name is Enid Rose! A pleasure to meet you, Miss Luna.”
I nod. “And you.” While we’re putting on this entertaining charade of manners, I think over how to get started. “May I call you Enid?”
She nods.
“Alright, Enid. I’m actually looking for somebody and I’m thinking that maybe you can help me.” She looks at me, her eyes questioning. “I’m looking for Xander Lovegood.? The man in the portrait.” I nod to my Great Uncle’s portrait above the empty fireplace.
Her face darkens ever-so-slightly and Enid picks up a cookie. I pick one up as well.
“Well, I’m terribly sorry Luna. He disappeared long ago and nobody knows where he went. He left a note to his family. Xander Lovegood went off… somewhere to write a book. He never came back and is believed to have been killed by Grindewald. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?” I nod. Even Muggles were well informed in this time period of the dark wizard Grindewald.
“What did he say he was going to write his book about?”
Enid smiles as though remembering something trivial. “Oh, something silly like magic or myth, I believe.” She waves her head in the air as though to brush aside the topic. But I’m not finished.
“If you don’t mind me asking, just how do you know Xander?” I ask my question casually, as though I were making friendly conversation instead of interrogating this poor woman. She was losing confidence fast, and looked as though she might unravel at any moment.
“I’m not so sure I’m allowed to tell you, dear. You see, it’s very complicated. The truth is, I didn’t know him all too well! The portrait belongs to my mother; this was her house.”
I can feel my eyes narrow. Hmm. I can use magic on this woman, but it simply isn’t fair to use magic on completely unsuspecting Muggles.
Directly at this point, Enid Rose lets out a small, nearly unnoticeable squeak. I catch it and look up quickly. “Er, are you alright?” She is staring at my robes, near my right pocket… I look down as well, and curse under my breath. My wand is sticking out of my pocket! Quick, Luna! Think of an excuse! “Oh!” I say breezily, casually. “This is just a little uh, luck charm I like to carry around. Odd, I know. But then again, I do come from quite a superstitious family! Ha ha…” My anxious laugh drifts away and I feel incredibly stupid, as Rubitha does not look convinced. Maybe she thinks it’s like a dangerous weapon, which it could be.
She then looks me in the face and her voice is quiet as she says, “You’re a witch?”
I am shocked.
“Um, pardon?” It’s all I can say.
“Luna Brielle, are you a witch or aren’t you?”
I squeak. “Well if I am, are you going to tie me to a stake and burn me?” I’m trying to be witty about it. I’m not doing so well.
And then Enid does something that throws yet another wave of shock crashing over me. She reaches into the pocket of her frilly apron and pulls out a wand. “You’re a witch too!” I almost say it accusingly.
“Now why would I burn you at a stake? I’d be a hypocrite, if anything. Now that we’ve cleared this up--”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “You say this is your mother’s house? Was she not a witch?”
Enid shakes her head. “I am Muggleborn. Now, as I was saying, I think that since we both know even a little more about each other, we can both clear up our stories a bit.”
I gulp.
“More than ten years ago, Xander Lovegood ran away, but not from his unsupportive family. Xander was running away from the Ministry of Magic. He was planning to write a Book of Life. This book would hold all the secrets of life that he had ever uncovered, and he would continue to add to it as his life wore on. The Ministry thought this an awful idea. When he requested support from the Minister, the Minister declined support and advised Xander not to go through with his book. It would create problems, the Minister said. This angered Xander. He thought it would be good for the Wizarding World, only available to key important people. So he ran away and is probably right now writing his Book, if he isn’t already. I worked at the Ministry at the time and it was my job to hunt him down and capture him. I was to bring him back, dead if I could. The laws were harsh in those days.
I didn’t fulfil my duty, but someone else did.”
My heart stopped beating. What?
“Xander wasn‘t killed by Grindewald. He was murdered by the Ministry.”
Oh my.
“Well, this place certainly is… rustic-looking,” is Enid’s first remark about the Wizarding town of Purple Hill Village. We’d Apparated here this morning after a breakfast feast and an agreement to be partners in the Mystery of Xander Lovegood and his Loony Book of Legacies (as we called it).
The place is rightly named; the village sits on a hill - a purple hill. Odd? You’d think. But the villagers walking around busily seem to have no problem with the fact that the soil they are walking on is not a natural colour.
Enid has much interesting knowledge about Uncle Xander - she was following him for three years at least. Purple Hill Village was (is?) one of the places that he stayed, in Purple Hill Inn.
But first, Enid and I stand out like two extra sore thumbs on the face. I whisper, “Enid. We need to do something about our robes. They’re a little too modern for this place.” A lot of places at this time are (were?) very behind the times. It is in the 1970’s here, but there are still old towns with old traditions and such. This one here is practically medieval! No joke. The dirt underneath us may be purple, but it’s still dirt. There are rickety wooden booths all up and down the crowded street. The villagers seem to know about hygiene, which is a relief. They don’t, however, seem to care that there are things called “grocery stores” instead of market booths.
“I agree,” Enid mutters. “The last thing we want right now is to stick out.” She winces warily as a man pulling a wooden wheelbarrow looks her up and down, as though wondering if she is an alien from outer space. He hardly even glances at me, as though he’s afraid I’ll abduct him for lab experiments or something if he so much as looks at me.
Enid takes me through the wooden gate we’ve been standing at that divides the city from the rest of the world, though anyone can get through. She leads me along the fence and behind a large wooden building. “Let’s see if this works,” she mutters, waving her wand. Suddenly, my robes feel so much lighter and softer. I look down and see I am wearing white cotton robes and brown sandals on my feet. She turns her wand on herself and does the same. She lets her hair down from its regular bun and I see that her brown hair is curly and goes to her elbows. We de-glamorise ourselves as much as possible, so that we almost look like medieval peasants. Though granted, these people are not medieval peasants; they are witches and wizards that decided to keep themselves behind a few centuries. Not like the wizards in my time do even, what with wizards not needing or wanting electricity. More like honest-to-goodness ancient-ness.
Soon, Enid is satisfied enough to walk me back out into the blasting sunlight.
“So,” I mutter to her as we make our way casually through the crowds of marketers. “What’s the plan, exactly?” I tighten my grip on my backpack, instinctively.
“We’ll stop by the Inn,” she hisses. Since Purple Hill Inn is the only one in the village, there really isn’t a reason to call it by its full name. “We should stay there and try to pick up some information on Xander while we’re there. Someone’s bound to recognize the name, or even the fact he was here. I doubt this place gets many visitors.”
I can only agree.
We walk. Many people’s feet are purple, and mine are beginning to get a lavender tint as well. Purple dirt is honestly one of the coolest things on Earth, I’m telling you!
Soon, the crowds begin to clear as we leave the marketplace. There are few buildings now, save for a few houses.
Within a few minutes after leaving the market, we approach an old, broken-down wooden building with a rickety sign that says, “WELCOME TO Purple Hill Inn.”
Enid and I walk together up the wooden stairs to the porch and knock. An elderly man that looks quite like Father Christmas opens the door and, seeing that we are strangers, booms, “Welcome to Purple Hill Inn! What can I do for you?” He lets us in gracefully and waves his wand in the direction of a doorway. The door opens swiftly and he ushers us inside it.
We are standing in a medium-sized coffee shop. There are small windows at the far end, a bar, and several round, wooden tables. This place looks more like a tavern, really, but the sign on the wall says “Purple Hill Inn Coffee Café,” so it must be a coffee shop (though the phrase “coffee café” seems oddly curious…).
As Enid discusses with Mr. Father Christmas (otherwise known as Ted, but the former suits him better), I decide it wouldn’t hurt to wander the place a bit. Enid and Mr. Father Ted Christmas are sitting at a table near the bar, so I wake from my odd daze and walk around. At first glance, I didn’t think there was anyone else in here. But as I admire numerous town newspaper clippings, their occupants waving and smiling happily (most likely at being in the paper), I see a man sitting at a table and gazing around the room. His expression isn’t clear in the slightest, but I can see that he is not a local. First of all, his robes are shiny black and obviously new. Secondly, he is reading a newspaper with the headline, “Cornelius Fudge: Minister of Magic or Minister of Mayhem?”
I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure that Cornelius Fudge wasn’t Minister at this time.
Whoever that man is, he shouldn’t be here. And he’d best not be a ninja.
I stare at the figure staring at me until something catches my eye: a glint of gold. This person has something that I have; something around their neck.
“Hey!” I hear myself say loudly. Thankfully, Enid and Mr. Ted Father Christmas didn’t hear, and I lower my voice. “Hey!” I hiss. There really wasn’t a reason for me to get their attention; the figure is and was staring straight at me. And what an odd stare it is… This person is staring at me as though they know me, but that’s impossible! The circumstances are just too coincidental.
“Who are you?” The deathliness of my own voice startles me. Luna Lovegood has never sounded so deathly! All the same, these are vital matters not to be taken lightly. I should not be followed.
The hooded figure does not stand, but it is clear who has more power right now. I mentally curse. This shouldn’t be happening.
“You don’t need to know who I am, Miss Lovegood.” The voice is deep and unreadable. Clearly, this man knows more to me than what I told Enid.
“Then why are you here?” My voice is still uncharacteristically fierce. This is all so, so not right. “What do you want?” I ask, knowing the answer.
He reaches into his robes and I am afraid he will pull out his wand. I am surprised to see him pull a piece of parchment out of his pocket. He waves it in front of me and I see the words, “Get the Book,” on the very top. I then see snippets of other, slightly unnerving, words below. It is a letter, addressed to no one, though I can easily guess who it’s for. The letter is for him, just like I had a letter for myself. The rest I do not see, and I’m glad for that. He quickly stows the parchment back in his robes, as though satisfied.
Without another word, the man whips out his wand. I hardly have time to take out my own before there is a flash of red coming at me. I’m quick though, so I’m able to dodge the curse, giving myself time to take out my own wand.
At this point, Enid and Ted are fully aware of what is going on and both have their wands out, ready for battle. Only the man disappears then. He is gone with a loud CRACK! Now the three of us stand in the middle of the small café, slightly confused at the brief encounter and a little upset that the culprit got away.
Finally, Enid speaks. “Who in the name of Merlin could that have been?!” She doesn’t seem to realize that the man isn’t just someone from this time period hoping for a fight.
Neither adult knows who the man could possibly have been, but I do. I recognized the voice immediately, though I was unsure at first. Now I know. How can I not? The man was the ninja-guy from the Hill, and the man is someone I know well, though clearly I misjudged him.
I always thought Draco Malfoy was just caught up in his father’s mistakes. I never figured he would ever try to actually harm one of his classmates. And yet, he tried. But maybe… well, he tried to warn me, didn’t he? Waving his mission in front of me, as though to tell me that I am not alone, and to be cautious.
Maybe that counts for something.
My heart is pounding when I open my eyes, then close them. All I see is blackness.
The darkness behind my eyes is no different from the darkness on the other side, but I prefer the shadows of my own eyelids. Still, it is spacious out there. I can’t help but be curious.
My eyes open yet again, and the gloom does not recede. However, the shadows around me have a sort of familiarity about them, as though I have been here before many a time.
I think back to the dream I just had. Was it a dream? It is very vague now. There was a woman named Enid; Enid Longbottom. There was Uncle Xander, and Draco Malfoy. What was I doing dreaming about somebody I don’t even know and Draco Malfoy?!
Suddenly, there is light.
And a voice. “Oh, look who’s up now!” The voice is very familiar, and I feel myself becoming aware of my surroundings. Of course! I’m in a bed, sleeping in the hospital wing! Maybe somebody just hit me with a bad curse. Are my brains addled now? That was certainly a strange dream I had.
Madam Pomfrey is clacking along the stone floor with a glass in her hand, filled with some sort of blue potion. “Here you are, Miss Lovegood. That was quite a fall you took. I’m quite surprised you turned out as well as you did. Still conscious! Though you were muttering strange things indeed. Really, who is Mr. Ted Father Christmas? I’d say falling off the Astronomy Tower did awful things to your head . . .” Falling off the Astronomy Tower? When did I fall off the Astronomy Tower? Am I dead?
There is another voice. “Ah, I see our Miss Lovegood is awake! I must say, falling from such a great height and only sleeping for six hours is hardly what one needs for good recovery. Then again, what do I know?” It is Professor Dumbledore, walking toward us. There is a rectangular bulge in his robes.
“Poppy dear, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Miss Lovegood for a moment.”
Madam Pomfrey nodded and then gestured to the full glass of blue potion. “You make sure she drinks that up.” We nod.
She walks back into her office. “Alright, Miss Lovegood. First of all, congratulations.”
Is this something one usually says to someone when they just fell off the Astronomy Tower?
“You’ve retrieved the Book. I know it is a family heirloom, but I’ve sent an owl to your father and I don’t think he would mind if I kept it for studying.”
All I can do is blink.
“Oh! Right, of course,” Dumbledore says.
He is about to say more but I interrupt. “Does this have anything to do with my dream?”
The professor winks.
There is a groan from a couple of beds down. “Ah, I see Mr. Malfoy is awake.”
I can feel my blood freeze. “Mr. who is awake?” The last thing I remember before waking up is my name being shouted and Apparating somewhere. I realize now that, in my dream, of course, it was Malfoy that shouted my name. Where did we Apparate from?
“Well Luna,” sighs Dumbledore. “I believe Madam Pomfrey would like you to finish that potion. I’ll see to it that Mr. Malfoy and yourself make it to my office when you’re fully recovered. We have some things to discuss.”
Eyes twinkling, my aging headmaster sweeps through the large oak doors of the hospital wing. I half-heartedly drink the blue potion and find that it has no taste. Within seconds, I am asleep again.