Kyle had been invited to Nicolas Flal’s ho as a guest, a detail ant to stay confidential. But, as Dumbledore had once told Harry, secrets had a knack for escaping into the open. By the ti Kyle returned, it seed everyone knew.
At dinner, Mr. Weasley, much like Chris had done earlier, kept asking Kyle about Nicolas Flal and whether he’d encountered any talking refrigerators or enchanted muggle gadgets.
“Dad worships Nicolas Flal,” Fred whispered conspiratorially. “He’s been practically vibrating with excitent ever since he accidentally ran into Headmaster Dumbledore and found out where you’d gone.”
George added with a grin, “I think he’s convinced Flal’s house is full of talking muggle appliances.”
In the end, with Mr. Weasley’s eager gaze fixed on him, Kyle had to gently break it to him that Nicolas’s house did not have a talking refrigerator, nor did the lawnmower tell jokes while tap-dancing. In fact, none of the magical muggle appliances Mr. Weasley imagined could be found there.
This news left Mr. Weasley visibly deflated.
But Kyle really couldn’t do much to cheer him up; Nicolas’s estate in Paris was where he had lived for centuries, long before even the invention of light bulbs. Even the beach chair on which Nicolas sat listening to his opera recordings had been brought over from Devon and was simply an old favorite.
Though disappointed, Mr. Weasley perked up with a new idea: he decided to buy a similar beach chair and enchant it himself to feel closer to his alchemical hero.
Mrs. Weasley, however, did not share his enthusiasm. With the flying car incident still fresh in her mind, she was hardly thrilled about the prospect of another experintal muggle object in the house. Her sharp, disapproving gaze was enough to signal that Mr. Weasley would likely face an earful once dinner was over.
...
The others were curious about Kyle’s recent experiences, but when Fred, George, and Ron learned he’d spent the entire month reading, their interest evaporated.
In their view, sumr was for fun, and dedicating it to books seed like a scandalous waste of ti. Percy asked a few questions, but he didn’t seem particularly engaged either; with no alchemy on the Hogwarts exams, he saw no reason to bother with extra studies.
Harry, however, was stunned, his mouth slightly agape ever since Mr. Weasley had brought up the topic. He’d known that Kyle was a guest sowhere, but he never imagined it was with the Nicolas Flal, a wizard over 600 years old and creator of the Philosopher’s Stone. While he was busy worrying about his howork, Kyle had been visiting a legend’s ho. It made Harry feel that sotis, the gap between wizards was wider than that between wizards and gnos.
After dinner, Mr. Weasley was indeed pulled aside by Mrs. Weasley, while Fred and George, feeling overstuffed from the al, invited Kyle and Harry to join them in a traditional activity of St. Catchpole Village: a round of gno-tossing in the garden.
"The rules are simple, Harry," Fred explained as they reached the garden. He grabbed a gno, a creature resembling a potato with limbs, from the flowerbed. "You just need to throw it or use a bat to send it flying as far as possible. Like this…”
With a swift swing, Fred whacked the gno with a short bat, sending it soaring through the evening sky. At Harry’s surprised expression, George clarified, "Gnos have tough skin, so a wooden bat barely bothers them. Sotis I think they'd make decent Bludgers." Harry, hesitant at first, soon found himself bitten by a particularly feisty gno and quickly morphed into a dedicated batting machine.
“Oh, that last one was at least 200 feet, Harry!” said Fred, watching the flight of the gno.
“More like 250,” said George, nodding. Since it was late, they didn’t bother with strict asurents and simply estimated distances as they went along.
“I think I had the angle off on that last one... I bet I can hit it farther this ti!” Harry said, grabbing another gno, which had been watching the fun, and swung again.
"Nice one, Harry," George said with approval. "That was a textbook straight fly. You’ve got a knack for Beater skills—"
"Ow!"
A painful yelp echoed from sowhere in the distance. The group exchanged alard glances and rushed towards the sound. When they reached the spot, they saw a figure crouched down, clutching his head.
“I’m really sorry, sir!” Harry stamred. “I didn’t know anyone was there…”
The man looked up, a little dazed, and smiled weakly. “No worries—it’s my own fault for not paying attention.” But then he noticed the group and froze, a faint smile dawning on his face. "Ah, Fred, George, Kyle… good, you’re not throwing garden gno again this ti, right?"
It was then that they all recognized him: a man with slightly crossed eyes, fluffy white hair like cotton candy spilling down to his shoulders, dressed in a bright yellow robe. A gold chain hung around his neck with a pendant resembling a triangular eye.
“Mr. Lovegood?” Kyle asked, a little surprised.
The unfortunate man hit by the gno was Xenophilius Lovegood, who lived just north of St. Catchpole Village.
"Just back from a trip?" Kyle asked.
"Yes," replied Lovegood, rubbing his head with a chuckle. "I was so caught up with Luna, searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, I lost track of ti."
Just then, a little girl dashed up to them from the distance. She had long, ssy blonde hair, wore carrot-shaped earrings and a necklace made from Butterbeer bottle caps, and was clutching half a leaf she’d picked up sowhere. Her whimsical look made her seem almost otherworldly.
“Dad, I found sothing interesting… Oh! Kyle, it’s been ages!” Luna Lovegood said, bouncing over to him. Tilting her head, she fixed her slightly protuberant silver eyes on him.
“Long ti no see, Luna,” Kyle replied warmly. “Have you been hunting for Wrackspurts?”
“I’ve never seen Wrackspurts on you, and I don’t see any now, either,” Luna said, her voice lilting like a song. She then pointed at Harry. “But he’s got loads of them, right there, buzzing around his ears.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)