Chapter 90: Portals and Protectors
While Xenophilius put the finishing touches on the feast, Luna gave Elian a tour of the curious, cluttered house. Every shelf and nook held wonders: a jar of what looked like shimmering, captured moonlight; a taxidermied animal with too many legs; a portrait of a wizard who only spoke in limericks. It was a museum of the strange and wonderful, a perfect reflection of its inhabitants.
When they reached Luna's room—a space painted with dancing fairies and strange, celestial maps—Xenophilius called them down. The Christmas dinner was laid out with loving, if eccentric, care. A magnificent roasted turkey took centre stage, surrounded by golden roast potatoes, glazed carrots, and a suspicious-looking green jelly that pulsed gently. But Elian's eyes were drawn to the tureen of soup. It was a deep, unsettling purple, and bubbles rose to its surface, popping with a faint, herbal scent that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but was certainly alien.
Before they could sit, Xenophilius, beaming, held out his hands. "Mr. Throne! As our guest of honour, would you do us the kindness of leading us in grace?"
Elian blinked. Grace. Right. A wizarding Christmas tradition. He took Xenophilius's offered hand; Luna's cool, slender fingers slipped into his other. He bowed his head, his mind racing for something appropriate. The only 'graces' he knew were from a different life, a different world.
He closed his eyes. "We give thanks… to the celestial forces that shaped the heavens and the earth," he began, improvising wildly, drawing on half-remembered myths. "To the guardians of hidden knowledge and the weavers of fate. For the warmth of hearth and home, for friendship in dark times, and for the courage to face the night. May this meal nourish us, and may our bonds protect us. Amen."
It was a strange, syncretic prayer, neither Christian nor purely pagan, but it felt sincere. He opened his eyes to find Xenophilius staring at him, not with disapproval, but with fascinated curiosity. Luna was smiling serenely.
"Most… comprehensive thanks, Mr. Throne!" Xenophilius declared, recovering. "Now, let us eat!"
The meal was delightful in its oddity. The purple soup tasted of rosemary and something like peppered honey. The conversation was light, filled with Luna's observations about Nargles in the holly and Xenophilius's theories about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.
Then, halfway through a forkful of turkey, Elian froze. A cold, familiar prickling sensation danced up his spine—the System's passive threat detection, a perk he'd barely noticed until now. It wasn't an alarm, just a subtle shift in the air, a wrongness seeping through the wards of the quirky house.
He set his fork down with a quiet clink. "Mr. Lovegood," he said, his voice suddenly devoid of all festive warmth. "I must apologise. Your home has been targeted. They're here for me. Members of the Order of the Phoenix will be arriving shortly. Please, you and Luna must not leave this room."
Xenophilius's cheerful face drained of colour. He was on his feet in an instant, his wand appearing in his hand as if by magic. He pulled Luna behind him, his eyes wide with shock and sudden suspicion. "Targeted? Death Eaters? Throne… did you lead them here?" The editor's mind, always attuned to conspiracy, leapt to the darkest possibility.
"It's not like that—" Elian began, but he was cut off as Luna calmly stepped around her father, placing a hand on his wand arm.
"I trust him, Father," she said, her voice quiet but iron-steady. "Put your wand down."
Xenophilius looked from his daughter's determined face to Elian's grave one. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his wand, but the fear remained in his eyes.
Elian gave Luna a grateful, fleeting smile, then his suit jacket shimmered and flowed, transforming back into his crimson Levitation Cloak. "The Order will explain everything," he said. "For now, you need shields they cannot explain."
He turned away from the table, facing an empty space in the living room. Focusing his will, he raised his right hand, the sling ring on his finger glowing. He began to trace a circle in the air. Sparks of gold and red light erupted from his fingertips, sputtering at first, then flowing into a smooth, burning line. He accelerated the motion, his arm a blur.
A perfect, shimmering portal—a window into another place—snapped into existence. Through it, Xenophilius and Luna could see a dim, dusty-looking kitchen and three figures who turned, stunned, to face the sudden hole in reality.
There was a man with a heavily scarred face and a large, electric-blue eye that spun wildly in its socket—Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. Next to him, a tall, handsome man with an air of ragged nobility, his grey eyes wide with shock—Sirius Black. And a weary-looking man in patched robes, who somehow seemed the most normal of the three—Remus Lupin.
"Merlin's baggy Y-fronts!" Moody growled, his magical eye whizzing as it tried to analyse the portal. "What in the name of all that's secret is this?"
"A door, by the looks of it," Sirius said, a reckless grin spreading across his face despite the situation. "A very flashy one. Coming, Moony?"
Lupin, ever the pragmatist, just sighed. "It seems we're expected." He was the first to step through, his eyes immediately finding and softening at the sight of Luna. "Hello, Luna. You're looking well. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances."
Sirius bounded through next, his gaze sweeping the curious room with interest before landing on Elian. "You must be the famous Elian Throne. Dumbledore wasn't exaggerating the dramatics."
Moody clunked through last, his wooden leg tapping on the floor, his real eye and magical one scrutinising Elian, the portal, and the Lovegoods with equal suspicion. "Unsecured gateway! Massive breach of operational security!"
Lupin stepped forward, offering a kind, tired smile to the shell-shocked Xenophilius. "Mr. Lovegood, my apologies for the intrusion. My name is Remus Lupin. I was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts a few years ago. This," he gestured, "is Alastor Moody, and Sirius Black. We are here under Professor Dumbledore's orders."
He paused, his voice dropping into a more solemn register. "We are members of the Order of the Phoenix. Albus Dumbledore is our leader. And we believe your home is about to be attacked by Death Eaters. We're here to help you defend it."
The portal behind them winked out of existence, leaving the three Order members in the Lovegoods' sitting room. The cosy Christmas scene was now a war council. Elian met Sirius's gaze and gave a short nod. The time for dinner was over. The battle for the night had just begun.
(End of Chapter)
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