Molly clapped her hands at our arrival and immediately sprang into action. She fussed over our guest, drying her off and feeding her. But I noticed her enthusiasm waned a bit as she got to know her new charge. After an hour and a half, she was casting glances at the girl that were a mix of disapproval, a hint of pity, and a good dose of thinly veiled irritation.

Mum was straightforward, drawn to straightforward people, the type who responded well to her rather forceful care. She liked it when her efforts got a good reaction, like when we all dug into her cooking with gusto — that meant she’d done a good job. She preferred that over a simple “thank you.”

But Luna… she wasn’t like us. She was like water — calm, detached, flowing quietly, observing but not engaging. Meanwhile, all the Weasleys were like fire, enthusiastically charging ahead, never pausing, always pushing their way in. I’d never seen two people as different as Molly and Luna.

Mum didn’t like that her warm, earnest care seemed so coolly received. She couldn’t see that Luna was answering her questions — almost like she was having a chat with herself — because she was genuinely trying to respond to everything Mum bombarded her with at the door.

She’d answered every question, even though Mum forgot half of them as soon as she asked. The kind of questions people ask to show interest without expecting answers. But Luna didn’t know that and sincerely tried to give Molly the responses she thought she wanted.

Then there was the way she picked at her roast as if she didn’t care for it. Turns out she was forcing herself to eat the carrots, which she probably didn’t like. She’d have eaten every last one too, if I hadn’t swiped most of them off her plate after seeing her struggle. She brightened up, gave me a grateful look, and quickly finished her meal, politely thanking Molly.

But compared to our enthusiastic appreciation, her quiet, distant “thank you” didn’t impress Mum. She seemed almost insulted, as if she’d gone to all this trouble for someone unworthy of it.

Mum hadn’t realized that when Luna entered, looked around, and said, “It’s so warm in the Burrow,” with a soft smile, she wasn’t talking about the fireplace after the cold outdoors. She meant the warmth of family. Luna wasn’t mad; she just spoke in her own way. You had to listen to understand her, and that wasn’t one of Mum’s strengths.

I could tell Mum wasn’t happy that I’d brought such an odd, mismatched girl into our home. But I knew she’d still warm and feed Luna if I brought her a hundred times, even if she’d purse her lips disapprovingly.

The Lovegoods, as it turned out, lived just across the field from us, straight over the hill. Only now, it was too muddy to get there that way. The road was longer but less of a mess, so I thought I’d take my bike. But Luna insisted on going through the field, saying she knew a path. And, like an idiot, I believed her.

There was a path, but the whole way we were hopping from one tuft of grass to another, like bog sprites. Took me a minute to realize that with someone like Luna, things were never going to be simple or straightforward.

The girl herself was hopping from mound to mound like a deer, pausing, turning back to look at me, chattering away non-stop while I tried to stay focused and not fall face-first into the muck, sweating and feeling clumsy as anything.

The Lovegood house was something else. If the Burrow looked like a rustic wooden cottage, this place felt like something from the future. It was shaped like a slightly tilted cone, and the dark polished stones gave it a solid, monolithic look. For a moment, I thought it looked like the spire of a spaceship buried in the ground.

Luna pushed open the heavy black front door, studded with iron spikes as thick as my thumb, and continued chatting about fairies as she ran up the stairs without looking back. I lingered awkwardly in the doorway, curious to see how other wizards lived but not wanting to step inside uninvited.

“Ron, where are you?” came her voice from upstairs. “Did you get lost? I’ll come get you.”

“Why’re you standing there?” she asked, bounding down and staring at me with her big eyes.

“You didn’t invite me in,” I said with a grin.

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” she replied, shrugging as if I was being slow.

“I’ve only just become your friend, so I’m not sure of the rules,” I said, smiling slightly.

“There aren’t any rules with friends,” she said and tugged me up the stairs. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my dad.”

As we hurried up the stairs, I glanced around the house. It was, well, strange. The staircase, wide and spiraling like in a tower or lighthouse, wound all the way to the top, leaving a vast open space in the middle that went down to the ground floor. There weren’t any landings, just the odd door leading directly onto the steps. No windows either, yet light seemed to pour down from above as if the house didn’t have a roof, though I could clearly see a ceiling.

Luna led me into the third door, which opened into a huge, peculiar room. Its walls curved like a tower, and every bit of furniture along the walls and near the three large windows was slightly curved too.

Once, when I was in Spain, I visited Casa Batlló. That experience totally changed my perspective. The strange, intense beauty of the place seemed like a trip into madness — or even beyond it. It opened your mind in ways that made you crave straight lines and gray tones, just to anchor yourself back to normality. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gaudí were related to the Lovegoods because this house looked so similar, even down to the mosaic and painted walls.

Mr. Lovegood was as odd as the house. He greeted us barefoot and disheveled, looking like we’d just dragged him out of bed. Not to mention he was wearing a full-length flannel nightgown with tiny blue flowers, and his wand was tucked behind his ear.

There was no sign of a bed, but there was a big bright orange leather sofa and some sort of clicking contraption that the man of the house was fiddling with when we came in.

“Dad, Dad!” the girl bounded over to him, tugging at his sleeve, but he only snapped out of it after about the fifth call. Finally, he tore himself away from his machine and looked down at her with a slightly unfocused gaze. “Dad, this is Ron. Ron, this is my dad.”

‘Take away the pudding!’ popped into my head for some reason, though I could see a flicker of awareness spark behind his eyes.

“Luna, we’ve got a guest,” he said, running his hand through his tangled hair. “Who are you, young man?”

“Ron Weasley, sir,” I answered, holding out my hand, but he just stared at it blankly, like I was expecting him to hand over a penny for charity.

“Time for tea,” he said, instead of answering, and listened intently. Oddly enough, at that moment the hall clock chimed.

“Yay, tea!” Luna cried, bouncing up and grabbing my hand to drag me back out, while her dad scratched his head thoughtfully with his wand, as though he’d forgotten what he was about to do.

Stolen novel; please report.

We went back down to the first floor and into the kitchen, which was just as warped as the rest of the house – even the ancient cooker and the cupboards on the wall had strange curves to them.

Luna dashed forward and bustled about, putting a small, chubby kettle on the burner. The flame sparked on with a turn of the handle, rather than by wand, like we’d do at home.

But the table – that’s what threw me off. It looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland, massive, fit for fifteen people. It was a huge rectangular thing, crowded with cups, plates, bowls, and dishes of all sorts – from sandwiches to tiny cakes, even a big sliced ham.

Some of the cups still had tea in them, with steam rising as if they were freshly poured. Plates were scattered with half-eaten sandwiches and crumbs from biscuits, like people had only just left the table. I was surprised, thinking the Lovegoods lived like hermits, but it looked like they had crowds over for tea.

While I stood there goggling, Luna took the kettle off the stove and called to me.

“Ron, have you picked a seat?” she asked.

“Anywhere’s fine, let’s sit here,” I replied, pointing to the nearest chair. “Need any help?” She shook her head, came over, and poured me a cup of what looked like regular tea – not some purple-root brew, thankfully.

She poured herself some as well, into a little blue mug, and flopped down into a chair, carefully moving a large teddy bear over by two chairs. The table was populated by at least six stuffed animals, and they weren’t your average toys – these ones were magic, occasionally rubbing their foreheads with their paws and turning their heads. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a plush dog the size of me gave a big yawn from the chair next to mine, so I shifted further down the table.

“Help yourself,” she offered, grabbing a biscuit from the nearest dish.

“Er… shouldn’t we wait for the others?” I suggested.

“No one else is coming,” she replied, looking up at me. “I’ve only got one friend. And Dad’s not going to be free for ages.”

“What about…?” I pointed to the stuffed toys.

“Oh, that’s Dad’s idea,” she brightened up. “So I don’t forget to eat. He’s always busy, and Millie comes over twice a week.”

“Millie?”

“The house-elf. She lives with Uncle Ollie but comes here to cook for us. And Dad put a charm on the table to keep everything fresh and warm.”

“So this table is just for the two of you?” I said, a bit surprised.

“For the three of us,” she grinned brightly. “You’ll come over now and have tea with me.”

Honestly, I hadn’t planned on coming back. I’d meant to deliver Luna safely into her dad’s care and forget all about this whole strange encounter. I wasn’t a nanny, especially not for a little girl. But now I didn’t know what to do. Luna’s dad, unlike her, was clearly spending more in his head than in the real world.

“Come on, I’ll show you my playroom,” she said, springing up after we finished our tea.

“And what about the dishes?” I asked, a bit lost.

“Millie’s coming Monday to clean up,” Luna said breezily. “She loves doing it. Come on.”

We climbed all the way to the top of the tower and ended up in a round room. It had windows spaced out all around, as if it was meant to be an observatory.

There wasn’t much furniture in the huge space, and apart from a few stuffed toys, not many typical children’s toys either. But there were loads of magical games, mosaics, and puzzles – she was working on one huge puzzle at the moment.

“Dad says when I finish it, the dragon in the picture will come to life,” she told me, and I shivered a bit. That two-meter dragon’s head was already moving slightly and blowing fire. You never know with magic – it really might come to life. I just hoped she’d put the last piece in under her dad’s supervision. Just in case.

Then she suggested we watch a meteor shower in the constellation Lyra. I thought it was a game and agreed. So I was properly surprised when two seats appeared and tilted us back comfortably, like I was reclining in a sports car seat. Then some kind of periscope descended into my hands from above.

We watched the promised stars, and it was brilliant. This telescope was as clear as any high-tech model. I could even see animals that looked like mammoths. Mind you, I reckon it was enchanted to show magical illusions, so it’d be more fun for kids to study the night sky.

But the biggest surprise came when I was getting ready to leave.

“I’ll make you a cup for the road,” she declared. “Let’s go! The stairs are slow; follow me – this way’s faster,” she said, and she tapped the railing three times. It disappeared, and she, without hesitation, jumped straight down into the dark void.

I hadn’t expected that, so I didn’t manage to grab her by the hem or even really feel scared. My legs wobbly, I crawled over to the edge, half-expecting to see a crumpled body in a pool of blood – but there she was, still descending gently, slowly floating down to the first floor. The shock hit me later, when I was already on my way home, thinking back on this mad evening.

“Come on, Ron, this way!” she called out, landing lightly and looking up at me. I had no choice but to jump after her. After all, her dad’s a wizard, even if he’s a bit of a nutter. He’d patch me up if anything went wrong.

Back in the kitchen, we just moved over to the next set of chairs – just like the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Luna’s dad didn’t come down, so she was the one to see me off.

“Come back tomorrow, Ron. You have to come, I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, standing there in the doorway with the wind blowing around her, watching me until I was out of sight.

The walk home took over an hour. I wasn’t about to risk going across the fields alone, especially since it was getting dark.

Everyone was gathered at the Burrow by the time I got in, even Bill. He’d finished Hogwarts with top marks this year, and the goblins had already offered him a job. He’d been training with them at the bank for nearly five months.

After dinner, Mum, as usual, was filling Dad in on the day’s events and mentioned Luna as well. The conversation drifted towards the Lovegoods.

Dad told us that Luna’s mum had died nine months ago. She’d been experimenting in her lab at home, and something went wrong. Luna had come downstairs to call her for tea just when her mum got distracted. Then – boom. The house-elf saved Luna, but she passed away herself later. So now it’s just the two of them.

Since then, Xenophilius has been a bit off his rocker, burying himself in his inventions. Word is, he’s working on something to do with Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.

Bill added a few details. He’d gone to school with Ollivander’s nephew, who turned out to be the closest relative the Lovegoods have. Garrick offered help after the tragedy, but Xenophilius refused, only agreeing to let the house-elf help out. Now Millie comes twice a week to clean up and set everything out on the table so they can come down and eat whenever they want. I felt a pang of heat in my chest, imagining that little girl sitting all alone at that massive, fully set table, moving along to a clean cup each time. It wasn’t half as whimsical as Alice in Wonderland made it out to be.

That evening, Ginny and I had a bit of an argument. She was downright jealous of Luna and demanded that I cut ties with her.

“You’re my brother,” she said, stomping her foot. “So stay with me and don’t bring that strange girl to our house.”

“Alright,” I didn’t argue, “but then you’d better be a good sister, and when you get to Hogwarts, you’ll sit by me every spare minute. We’ll go for walks together and hang out in the library. I don’t think we’ll need any friends either.”

The little imp thought about it the whole evening before coming over to me and admitting she might’ve overreacted.

“You heard, Luna doesn’t have a mum,” I said, “and her dad’s a bit unwell. And you know that the princesses in stories, the ones princes and heroes fall in love with, they’re always not just beautiful but kind, too.” Ginny blushed, a bit embarrassed, and nodded. Her little crush on Harry Potter wasn’t exactly a secret anymore. Though to be honest, I think Harry was more of a dream than a real person to her, especially since I’d bought her a bunch of proper Muggle fairy tales at the bookshop.

Turns out, Ginny and Luna had tried being friends when they were both six. Luna even came to our house once. I must’ve missed her since I was laid up in St. Mungo’s at the time, and later I didn’t leave my room for a few months. But for some reason, Luna’s mum hadn’t liked Ginny much back then, and Ginny picked up on it and fell out with her. So, my sister’s still a bit sour about the whole thing. And now Mum didn’t much like Luna either. Why are things always so complicated?

The next day, I forgot all about my new friend until I was on my way home. I decided to let it go, already more than halfway back when I stopped dead, swore under my breath, and rushed back. I just pictured that sweet, daft girl standing out in the wind again or waiting in some cold puddle, convinced I’d come because some magical, invisible creature told her I would. Luna had me firmly hooked, and as Antoine de Saint-Exupéry has said, “we’re responsible for those we tamed”.