Chapter 124. Xenophilius
Xenophilius Lovegood had a head of messy white hair, like a dandelion ravaged by a storm, wore a yellow robe, and looked a bit high-strung.
What drew the eye was the pendant gleaming on his neck, resembling a triangular eye.
Adrian Wesson knew it was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows; Xenophilius believed in the existence of the Deathly Hallows.
Yet at this moment, Xenophilius was sizing up Wesson with open hostility.
He didn't know Wesson.
In other words, there was a stranger standing at his door chatting with his daughter.
And the man was staring at his daughter with a rather ardent look—as if he meant to abduct her.
Xenophilius lunged forward, yanked Luna behind him, and his bony hand had already gone to his waist.
"Who are you?" His voice rose sharply.
Seeing this, Wesson hurried to his feet and offered a friendly hand towards Xenophilius. "Adrian Wesson, a professor at Hogwarts."
Xenophilius did not take Wesson's outstretched hand. He drew his wand halfway and narrowed his eyes warily. "A professor at Hogwarts?"
Wesson's hand hung awkwardly in mid-air.
Why was Xenophilius so guarded against him?
Did he really look like a Dark wizard?
At this point, Luna's voice broke the deadlock.
"Dad," she peeked out from behind her father, "he isn't lying."
Then Luna looked at Wesson and said, "Professor, would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"
At the same time, Xenophilius gave Wesson a careful once-over.
After hesitating for a moment, he clasped Wesson's hand. "Xenophilius Lovegood. Are you really a professor at Hogwarts?"
Wesson let out a breath inwardly, then nodded. "Of course."
As he led Wesson into the house, Xenophilius asked, "What do you teach?"
"Care of Magical Creatures."
"Care of Magical Creatures?" Xenophilius suddenly stopped and turned to Wesson. "Then you must know the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"
"Er…" Wesson didn't know why Xenophilius brought that up, but he still answered honestly, "In fact, I don't."
"Then you can't be much of a teacher," Xenophilius said mercilessly.
Wesson shrugged. "My students probably wouldn't agree."
Under his daughter's expectant gaze, Xenophilius still, however reluctantly, kept Wesson for tea.
The Lovegoods' sitting room was crammed with all sorts of odd collectibles. They had hung many photos on the walls—of Luna, of Xenophilius, and of a woman who must have been Luna's mother.
Wesson dimly remembered that, in the original story, Luna's mother died in a magical experiment.
Luna, for her part, did not treat Wesson like a stranger at all.
She pressed Wesson with many questions about "little spirits," those beings she claimed clustered around Wesson like transparent bubbles.
Unfortunately, Wesson knew nothing about them either.
Luna also showed Wesson her Hogwarts acceptance letter, which she had received only a few days ago.
Throughout, Xenophilius kept his face set.
In the end, only when Wesson mentioned that he was an avid reader of The Quibbler did Xenophilius's expression soften.
After visiting Luna and Xenophilius,
Wesson felt that although the Lovegoods occasionally said things that left people at a loss, they were very endearing.
By the time he left the Lovegoods and returned to the Weasleys', dusk was nearly upon them.
The Weasley family invited Harry to stay with them for a few days; Harry accepted.
As for Wesson, since he had other preparations to make, he declined the Weasleys' invitation to dinner and took his leave early.
Early the next morning, Wesson travelled to Hogsmeade via the Floo Network.
The Three Broomsticks was as ever—warm and hazy with smoke.
Yet although it was summer, it did not feel stifling inside.
No sooner had Wesson stepped into the Three Broomsticks than he saw Professor Flitwick perched on a high stool at the bar, waving to him.
"Professor Wesson! Over here!"
Professor Flitwick's voice cut through the pub's din and reached Wesson's ears.
Wesson hurried over and sat down beside Professor Flitwick.
When Professor Flitwick was seated on a high stool, he was even taller than when standing, which made conversation much easier.
"About the duelling competition…" Professor Flitwick looked to Wesson and asked in a low voice, "Are you ready?"
Wesson nodded.
Yes—he had come today precisely for the "duelling competition" Professor Flitwick had mentioned.
Some time ago, Lupin had recommended that he enter duelling competitions to hone his duelling skills.
Wesson had taken his advice and written to ask Professor Flitwick for an introduction.
After all, when he was young, Professor Flitwick had been a duelling enthusiast and had won many duelling championships.
He knew perfectly well which competitions were worth entering and which were pointless.
"Excellent," Professor Flitwick smiled, took a sip of his drink, and said, "I'm very glad you're interested in duelling competitions, Professor Wesson. In fact, although we're in peacetime, there are still plenty of competitions—of course, now they're treated as a sport."
He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. "But what I'm taking you to isn't the showy sort. It's… rather more traditional."
"More traditional?"
Wesson looked puzzled.
"Ah, yes," Professor Flitwick nodded. "Which also means you might get hurt. An arm or a leg broken, that sort of thing—of course, your life won't be in danger."
"Splendid," Wesson said, satisfied.
It seemed Professor Flitwick knew too that only this kind of duel could truly improve one's fighting ability.
After they discussed a few details of the competition,
Professor Flitwick glanced around, then took a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Here's the address. Your match starts at one in the afternoon. I've entered you. The password is 'Dancing Troll'."
Wesson took the parchment and found that the address was written in magical ink, the letters slowly fading.
Professor Flitwick explained, "It's to prevent leaks. Although the Ministry of Magic tacitly allows this sort of event, they still have to keep up appearances."
Hearing this, Wesson couldn't help feeling a bit doubtful.
It didn't sound entirely proper…
Before he left, Professor Flitwick cautioned him solemnly, "Be careful, Professor Wesson. This competition is not as simple as you imagine."
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