Mr. Lovegood's home bore a striking resemblance to its owner—peculiar in every way, utterly unlike any other dwelling in the village. It rose from the hillside like a miniature black castle, a chess rook brought to life and enlarged to house-size.
The structure was cylindrical, several stories tall, with a pointed conical roof that gave it a whimsical appearance despite its dark colouring. It looked as though a giant had plucked it from some fantastical chessboard and planted it on this hillside overlooking St. Catchpole.
Yvonne had learned this architectural peculiarity the hard way on her very first visit to the unusual house.
She had come that day as previously agreed, bringing Mr. Lovegood fresh fruit and vegetables from her garden. Expecting a bachelor living alone on the hill to make regular trips down to the village market was pure fantasy, after all.
At the time of her arrival, Mr. Lovegood had appeared to be deep in concentration on an article for his magazine.
When she knocked politely on the garden gate—a wooden door fashioned somewhat haphazardly from old fence posts, plastered with all manner of strange warning signs about Nargles and Blibbering Humdingers that made no sense—he had simply called out from somewhere inside the house for her to let herself in.
As a practical housewife long accustomed to the patient company of growing things, someone who took pleasure in gardens and cultivation, Yvonne had been immediately captivated by the curious and exotic plants lining the zigzagging path that led from the gate to the front door.
She had drifted toward them almost against her will, drawn by curiosity and years of botanical interest, her attention was fixing on a particularly intriguing vine heavy with plump, swollen seedpods.
And that was precisely how Yvonne made the unforgettable and rather painful acquaintance of a remarkable magical plant known as the Knotgrass—a memory she would carry with vivid clarity for the rest of her life, along with a lingering wariness of unknown vegetation.
Still wincing slightly from her encounter with the aggressive Knotgrass, Yvonne pushed open the front door.
"I'm so sorry for the delay, Mr. Lovegood—"
Perhaps to complement the house's unusual rounded exterior, or perhaps simply due to Mr. Lovegood's eccentric style, every single piece of furniture inside had been shaped to follow the gentle curve of the cylindrical walls.
The stove curved gracefully. The sink followed the wall's contour. The cupboards arched to fit the room's geometry. All of them were painted in bright cheerful primary colours. Every available surface was decorated with hand-painted flowers.
Coming in suddenly from the dim, grey outdoors into this warm, almost severe brightness was profoundly disorienting. The colour saturation was overwhelming after the dull tones of the rainy countryside.
Yvonne felt momentarily dizzy, her eyes were struggling to adjust.
She stood before the cold fireplace now, clutching the hem of her coat for comfort, craning her neck up to study the ceiling—or rather, to study the large circular hole punched through it by a spiral staircase in the centre of the room.
Mr. Lovegood was nowhere to be seen on the ground floor. Luna and little Bona were absent as well. Yvonne reasonably assumed they were all upstairs somewhere in this strange vertical house.
"Come up yourself, Yvonne—I'm in the middle of a very important article! It absolutely needs to be published first thing tomorrow morning! I'm on deadline!"
A muffled voice drifted down from somewhere above, echoing slightly in the cylindrical space.
Mr. Lovegood sounded as though he had a terrible cold, his voice was thick and congested.
Yvonne carefully set down the basket of fresh vegetables she'd brought on the ground floor kitchen counter and began climbing the spiral staircase alone.
She had never been to visit the second floor before on previous trips. It was considerably more chaotic than the relatively tidy first floor—part sitting room, part studio, impossible to definitively categorize as either.
Every horizontal surface was buried under massive drifts of paper and towers of stacked books. Manuscripts, notes, clippings from other publications, sketches of strange creatures—all of it mixed together in what appeared to be complete disorder but might have had some internal logic known only to Mr. Lovegood himself.
From the ceiling hung a bewildering variety of excellently crafted animal models—some recognizable, many not. At the sight of a stranger entering, they bared tiny teeth and sneered down at her.
Yvonne shrank back instinctively. Then she cautiously swept her gaze across the cluttered room until she finally spotted Mr. Lovegood himself amid a mountain of papers, writing with frantic concentration.
He was dressed in a long nightgown that appeared to be mottled with various stains. His hair, long and white and airy as spun candyfloss, wafted gently in the draught streaming through the wide-open window. His robes swelled out around his body like the panniers of a medieval noblewoman.
"Oh, Mr. Lovegood—you'll catch your death dressed like that with the window open!"
Yvonne exclaimed with concern, hurrying across the room to shut the window for him before he contracted pneumonia.
Mr. Lovegood did not look up even once throughout this entire exchange, too deeply absorbed in the business of wrestling his article into shape. His quill scratched across parchment, occasionally spattering ink.
Yvonne stood there beside the closed window feeling faintly awkward.
"Oh—may I ask—what exactly is that, Mr. Lovegood?" A large, grey, spiralling beast's horn sitting in front of him on the cluttered desk had finally forced its way into her attention and curiosity overcame her hesitation.
"Ah—that's the very thing I'm writing about at this very moment—"
Mr. Lovegood finally raised his head from his work, looking up at her with eyes that immediately lit up with enthusiastic passion as he launched eagerly into his explanation.
"A friend of mine who works at the Ministry was assigned to help clear the battlefield after the Battle of Diagon Alley last week. He found this remarkable specimen in the rubble among all the debris and destruction. He showed it to several people at the Ministry and got nowhere—no one could identify it. So naturally he brought it to me, knowing my expertise in rare creatures—and I knew at once what it was!"
His voice rose with excitement. "This is unquestionably the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"
Yvonne's expression became a careful mixture of polite vacancy and quiet self-consciousness.
She had no idea what a Crumple-Horned Snorkack was, had never heard the term before in her life. She did not ask for further clarification, only gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack is an extraordinarily sensitive and shy creature, you understand," Mr. Lovegood continued enthusiastically.
"It typically avoids all contact with wizards and witches. But when provoked or threatened, it can turn very disagreeable indeed. The fact that this horn was found among the ruins of Diagon Alley gives me irrefutable proof!"
Mr. Lovegood gazed at the misshapen horn with an expression of devotion.
"Er… proof of what, exactly?" Yvonne couldn't help herself.
"Why, that You-Know-Who deployed Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the Battle of Diagon Alley, of course!"
Mr. Lovegood cried out triumphantly, as though this were the most self-evident, obvious conclusion in the world.
"He must have captured and enslaved them somehow, forced them to fight for him! That is precisely what I'm writing about!"
"Who are you talking to, Daddy?"
A door opened somewhere on the floor above, and a girl in her early teens came bouncing into the room with light, energetic steps.
"Mrs. Cena from the village below," Mr. Lovegood explained, gesturing vaguely in Yvonne's direction without really looking away from his precious horn.
But facing his daughter, he was transformed into an entirely different man. His eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot from what must have been a sleepless night of research and writing, were nevertheless soft with tenderness and love.
"She and young Bona will be staying with us tonight."
"Mama!"
A bright, clear child's voice rang out joyfully from the room on the floor above.
There was a sudden thud of small feet hitting floor, and then a little girl with two bouncing ponytails came barrelling down the spiral stairs at dangerous speed, barefoot, crashing headlong into Yvonne's arms.
"You didn't cause any trouble for Mr. Lovegood and Luna, did you, Bona?" Yvonne scooped her daughter up with a surprised laugh, pressing her lips affectionately to Bona's round, rosy cheek.
"I did NOT cause trouble, Mama!" Bona shook her head insistently. Then she gave her mother an expectant, questioning look. "Are we really sleeping here tonight? In Luna's house?"
"Well—your father is having some friends over at our home tonight—" Yvonne began carefully, glancing sideways at Mr. Lovegood, who had already returned completely to his article, entirely oblivious to the conversation happening around him.
Finding no trace of displeasure or annoyance on his face, she exhaled softly with relief.
She pinched Bona's soft cheek gently, her expression was full of a mother's natural warmth and affection.
"What were you and Luna doing in her room just now? I hope you were being good."
"Luna was telling me all about Hogwarts—and all about Professor Watson!" Bona announced with tremendous excitement. "Mama, when can I go to Hogwarts too? I want to take Professor Watson's lessons!"
"Oh, you're still far too young for that, Bona. You'll have to wait several more years before you can go to Hogwarts." Yvonne said gently, though something flickered briefly in her eyes.
The answer did not satisfy the little girl in the least. She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, preparing to launch into a protest.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cena—"
Luna appeared at precisely the right moment to prevent Bona's impending tantrum. Her dreamy smile carried a faint, wistful trace of longing as she looked at Yvonne and Bona together.
"Good afternoon, Luna—" Yvonne returned a polite, slightly stiff smile. "You've grown at least an inch since I saw you at Christmas, I think. You'll be taller than your father before you know it."
Luna tilted her head slightly to one side and smiled sweetly. She glanced at her father, who was still utterly lost in his work, completely unaware of their presence, then said:
"Come to my room, Mrs. Cena. I was just telling Bona all about how Professor Watson drove off dozens of Dementors at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Quidditch match with a Patronus so powerful and beautiful that it filled the entire pitch."
She beckoned to Yvonne as naturally as she might beckon an old friend or peer.
"Come and listen with us. The story is quite exciting."
And with that simple invitation, she went bouncing back toward the stairs leading to her room above.
'A rather odd girl,' Yvonne thought automatically. But almost immediately, a vague unease rose steadily in her chest—a feeling silent and unsettling that she couldn't quite name or dismiss.
Mr. Bryan Watson had driven off dozens of Azkaban's dreadful Dementors, single-handed, if Luna's story was to be believed. Could any mortal person truly stand against creatures as terrible as Dementors?
Yvonne pressed her lips together thoughtfully.
Then again—a wizard of Mr. Bryan Watson's stature and reputation, someone regarded as great as Albus Dumbledore himself, someone who had duelled You-Know-Who to a standstill… perhaps it was not entirely impossible that he might be more than a match for even Dementors.
The moment Yvonne stepped into Luna's bedroom with its blue carpet soft underfoot, her eye was immediately drawn to the large photograph displayed on the cabinet beside the neatly made bed.
The image showed a much younger Luna, perhaps seven or eight years old, with her arms wrapped tightly around a woman who looked very much like her. The woman was clearly Luna's mother.
Yvonne's expression shifted subtly.
She was one of the old-timers in St. Catchpole, had lived in the village her entire life. She had heard the tragic story of Mrs. Lovegood's death.
Bona wriggled free of her mother's arms the instant they were fully inside the cozy room, scrambling up onto Luna's bed and bouncing contentedly on the soft mattress, testing its springiness.
"You never finished the story, Luna! I still want to hear exactly how that wonderful Professor Watson drove away all those horrible Dementors!"
There was not a single chair in the small room—just the bed, the cabinet, a small desk covered with drawings and strange magazines.
Yvonne stood for a moment, uncertain where to put herself.
"Just sit on the bed, Mrs. Cena—there's plenty of room."
Luna said with thoughtful ease, noticing Yvonne's hesitation immediately.
Then she too hopped up onto the bed and began to tell Bona about the magnificent Patronus that had overtaken the entire school's Quidditch pitch.
"Sit down, Mama—Luna's going to tell the story about the Dementors!" Bona, seeing her mother still hovering uncertainly at the foot of the bed, waved her small hand with great impatience.
Yvonne obeyed her daughter's command with a small smile, perching carefully on the edge of Luna's bed, which carried a faint fragrance.
She had no intention of spending the whole afternoon sitting in Mr. Lovegood's daughter's bedroom listening to stories. This was purely a matter of politeness and of managing Bona's expectations and behaviour as a good guest.
After a little while, she planned to excuse herself and have a look around the house, see if there was anything useful, she could do to help. Tidying the chaotic sitting room, perhaps. Sorting some of that mountain of clutter.
A house without a woman's touch—however warm and loving it tried to be, something was always a little off.
Half-thinking about how she might bring some order to Mr. Lovegood's chaotic study without offending his feelings, and half-listening with idle, distracted attention to Luna's enthusiastic account of the widely renowned Bryan Watson and his various impressive magical feats, Yvonne sat on the edge of the comfortable bed.
And so the afternoon slipped away, unnoticed and unmarked, slowly transitioning into the golden light of evening.
————————————
For More Chapters; patreon.com/FicFrenzy