Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows hp-7 Page 35

“But Harry, it’s an Erumpent horn! It’s a Class B Tradeable Material and it’s an extraordinary dangerous thing to have in a house!”

  “How’d you know it’s an Erumpent horn?” asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.

  “There’s a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don’t you know it can explode at the slightest touch?”

  “The Crumple Horned Snorkack,” said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, “is a shy and highly magical creature, and it’s horn—”

  “Mr. Lovegood, I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that’s an Erumpent horn and it’s incredibly dangerous—I don’t know where you got it—”

  “I bought it,” said Xenophilius dogmatically. “Two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now,” he said, turning to Harry, “why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?”

  “We need some help,” said Harry, before Hermione could start again.

  “Ah,” said Xenophilius, “Help, Hmm.”

  His good eye moved again to Harry’s scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.

  “Yes. The thing is… helping Harry Potter… rather dangerous…”

  “Aren’t you the one who keeps telling everyone it’s their first duty to help Harry?” said Ron. “In that magazine of yours?”

  Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.

  “Er—yes, I have expressed that view. However—”

  “That’s for everyone else to do, not you personally?” said Ron.

  Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Harry had the impression that he was undergoing some painful internal struggle.

  “Where’s Luna?” asked Hermione. “Let’s see what she thinks.”

  Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, “Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She… she will like to see you. I’ll go and call her and then—yes, very well. I shall try to help you.”

  He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front open and close. They looked at each other.

  “Cowardly old wart,” said Ron. “Luna’s got ten times his guts.”

  “He’s probably worried about what’ll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here,” said Harry.

  “Well, I agree with Ron, “ said Hermione, “Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm our of it himself. And for heaven’s sake keep away from that horn.”

  Harry crossed to the window on the far side of the room. He could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as he stared in the direction of the Burrow, now invisible beyond another line of hills. Ginny was over there somewhere. They were closer to each other today than they had been since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but she could have no idea he was gazing toward her now, thinking of her. He suppose he ought to be glad of it; anyone he came into contact with was in danger, Xenophilius’s attitude proved that.

  He turned away from the windows and his gaze fell upon another peculiar object standing upon the cluttered, curved slide board; a stone but of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wing was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.

  “Look at this,” said Harry.

  “Fetching,” said Ron. “Surprised he didn’t wear that to the wedding.”

  They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophilius climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encase in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.

  “Ah, you have spotted my pet invention,” he said, shoving the tray into Hermione’s arms and joining Harry at the statue’s side.

  “Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw, ‘Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure!’”

  He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.

  “These are the Wrackpurt siphons—to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker’s immediate area. Here,” he pointed out the tiny wings, “a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally,” he pointed to the orange radish, “the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary.”

  Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.

  “May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?” said Xenophilius. “We make it ourselves.” As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, “Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plumpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.

  “Now,” he remove a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, “how may I help you, Mr. Potter?”

  “Well,” said Harry, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, “it’s about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant.”

  Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?”

  21. THE TALE OF THE THREE BROTHERS

  Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. Neither of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had said either.

  “The Deathly Hallows?”

  “That’s right,” said Xenophilius. “You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother’s wedding,” he nodded at Ron, “who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows—at least not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest.”

  He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.

  “I’m sorry,” said Harry, “I still don’t really understand.”

  To be polite, he took a sip from his cup too, and almost gagged: The stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidized bogey-flavored Every Flavor Beans.

  “Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows,” said Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

  “But what are the Deathly Hallows?” asked Hermione.

  Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup.

  “I assume that you are familiar with The Tale of the Three Brothers?”

  Harry said, “No,” but Ron and Hermione both said, “Yes.”

  Xenophilius nodded gravely.

  “Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with The Tale of the Three Brothers… I have a copy somewhere…”

  He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione said, “I’ve got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I’ve got it right here.”

  And she pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.

  “The original?” inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, “Well then, why don’t you read it out aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand.”

  “Er… all right,” said Hermione nervously. She opened the book, and Harry saw that the symbol they were investigating headed the top of the page as she gave a little cough, and began to read.<
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  “‘There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight—’”

  “Midnight, our mum always told us,” said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance.

  “Sorry, I just think it’s a bit spookier if it’s midnight!” said Ron.

  “Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives,” said Harry before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. “Go on, Hermione.”

  “In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

  “‘And Death spoke to them—’”

  “Sorry,” interjected Harry, “but Death spoke to them?”

  “It’s a fairy tale, Harry!”

  “Right, sorry. Go on.”

  “‘And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of the three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

  “‘So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

  “‘Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

  “‘And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.’”

  “Death’s got an Invisibility Cloak?” Harry interrupted again.

  “So he can sneak up on people,” said Ron. “Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking… sorry, Hermione.”

  “‘Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so talking with wonder of the adventure they had had and admiring Death’s gifts.

  “‘In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.

  “‘The first brother traveled on for a week more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

  “‘That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat.

  “‘And so Death took the first brother for his own.

  “‘Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.

  “‘Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her.

  “‘And so Death took the second brother from his own.

  “‘But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And the he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.’”

  Hermione closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading; then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said: “Well, there you are.”

  “Sorry?” said Hermione, sounding confused.

  “Those are the Deathly Hallows,” said Xenophilius.

  He picked up a quill from a packed table at his elbow, and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.

  “The Elder Wand,” he said, and drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. “The Resurrection Stone,” he said, and added a circle on top of the line. “The Cloak of Invisibility,” he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbols that so intrigued Hermione. “Together,” he said, “the Deathly Hallows.”

  “But there’s no mention of the words ‘Deathly Hallows’ in the story,” said Hermione.

  “Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.”

  There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky.

  “Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon,” he said quietly.

  “When you say ‘master of Death’—” said Ron.

  “Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”

  “But then… do you mean…” said Hermione slowly, and Harry could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, “that you believe these objects—these Hallows—really exist?”

  Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again.

  “Well, of course.”

  “But,” said Hermione, and Harry could hear her restraint starting to crack, “Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe—?”

  “Luna has told me all about you, young lady,” said Xenophilius. “You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded.”

  “Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione,” said Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress. His voice shook with the strain of not laughing.

  “Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione began again, “We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But—”

  “Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?”

  Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Harry and Ron glanced at one another, and Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.

  “Exactly,” said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. “None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?”

  He glanced out of the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.

  “All right,”
said Hermione, disconcerted. “Say the Cloak existed… what about that stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?”

  “What of it?”

  “Well, how can that be real?”

  “Prove that is not,” said Xenophilius.

  Hermione looked outraged.

  “But that’s—I’m sorry, but that’s completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn’t exist? Do you expect me to get hold of—of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist!”

  “Yes, you could,” said Xenophilius. “I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little.”

  “So the Elder Wand,” said Harry quickly, before Hermione could retort, “you think that exists too?”

  “Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence,” said Xenophilius. “The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand.”

  “Which is what?” asked Harry.

  “Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it,” said Xenophilius. “Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Baraabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history.”

  Harry glanced at Hermione. She was frowning at Xenophilius, but she did not contradict him.

  “So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?” asked Ron.

  “Alas, who knows?” said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. “Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us.”

  There was a pause. Finally Hermione asked stiffly, “Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?”