Ottery St. Catchpole was a quaint wizarding village where Muggle and magical folk lived side by side. A gentle river wound through its heart, and wide plains rolled into soft, undulating hills that felt like stepping over a series of small mountains. Far to the north, beneath a vast blue sky, the faint outline of the Weasley Mountains shimmered on the horizon. The Weasley family's ramshackle home, The Burrow, stood nearby, its crooked charm a familiar sight. But only the Lovegoods called the rarely-trodden mountains their home.
Ethan Vincent gazed out, his sharp eyes catching the peculiar shape of a house in the distance. It stood like an oversized chess piece, its cylindrical form pointing defiantly at the sky, bizarre and otherworldly. Behind it, a dark, looming structure bore the image of a haunting moon, glaring down as if watching their every move.
He trailed behind Luna Lovegood, who skipped ahead with her usual dreamy air. They passed between two withered hawthorn trees, their branches heavy with clusters of vibrant red berries, and arrived at the doorstep of a house that seemed plucked from a fairy tale—equal parts whimsical and eerie.
A sign by the door caught Ethan's attention. "The Quibbler, Editor: Xenophilius Lovegood… Pick your own mistletoe… Don't touch the Dirigible Plums…" he read aloud, his voice laced with amusement.
"Come on, we're picking mistletoe for Christmas!" Luna's voice was bright as she grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward a nearby bush with infectious enthusiasm. "We can decorate the house together later!"
From behind, Xenophilius Lovegood called out, "I… I'll make you some hot tea first!" He watched his daughter bound off with Ethan, his heart swelling with a mix of joy and nerves. "Luna finally has a friend… and such a talented young artist, too. That's wonderful, just wonderful…" he muttered, though a strange unease gnawed at him. "I'll add extra Gurdyroots to Ethan's tea… for health, of course."
Ethan and Luna spent the afternoon transforming the house into a Christmas wonderland. Ethan carefully adjusted a bull's skull mounted on the wall, its horns gleaming faintly in the dim light. Setting his wand aside, he surveyed their work with a satisfied grin. Red velvet curtains, frayed at the edges, draped the windows. An altar displayed one of his oil paintings—a disturbingly lifelike demon crouched atop a stone pillar, its tentacled head seeming to shift in the flickering glow of white candles scattered around. Withered mistletoe hung from the chandelier, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands ready to snatch at passersby.
Luna lounged in a rocking chair, swaying gently. Her pale golden hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light as she stroked a three-headed black dog curled in her lap. She glowed faintly, like a saint in a stained-glass window, serene and untouched by the strangeness around her.
"Perfect," Ethan said, nodding approvingly. The light from above cast a long, ominous shadow behind him, stretching across the room. It fell over Xenophilius, who cowered in a corner, clutching a chipped teacup as though it were his lifeline. His wide eyes darted around, taking in the macabre decorations with growing terror.
The demon spoke again, his voice deceptively calm: "Now, let's prepare our Christmas feast."
With a heavy thud, Ethan set a suitcase on the table. A faint, pitiful wail echoed from within.
Xenophilius froze. "I-Inside… aren't those just your clothes and personal items?" he stammered, his voice trembling.
Ethan shot him an odd look, but before he could respond, Luna chimed in, her tone matter-of-fact. "Dad, don't be silly. Why would he bring a suitcase just for clothes? It's obviously something far more interesting."
Ethan nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Exactly, Mr. Lovegood. Where I come from, we never visit empty-handed. You bring fruit, milk, or… something special." He leaned closer, his cobalt blue eyes glinting. "It's time to prepare the Christmas feast, so I brought some ingredients. Don't worry—freshly sourced, guaranteed fresh."
Xenophilius watched, horrified, as Ethan unlatched the suitcase. Shadows writhed inside, clawing at the edges, and his eyes widened in panic. Help! Somebody, help!
Outside the Lovegood house, a group of wizards huddled among the trees, their whispers tense and cautious.
"Are you sure Luna's family summoned a demon for Christmas?" one asked, his voice low.
A pair of witches, still shaken from an earlier encounter with the three-headed dog, nodded frantically. "I told you! Something awful was bound to happen with that family eventually!"
They shivered as they spoke, their eyes darting toward the house.
"Hmph, what's there to be scared of?" A burly wizard named Jack stepped forward, his broad frame and gruff demeanor radiating confidence. "It's just two kids and a nutty old man. I'll see what they're up to."
He marched down the path, his heavy boots crushing thorny roses underfoot, and reached the door. Raising his fist to knock, he froze as a blood-curdling scream tore through the air.
[Ahhh!]
The sound was hoarse, guttural—not remotely human. Jack's bravado faltered. What in Merlin's name…?!
His heart skipped a beat, and he nearly turned to flee. But the eyes of the others were on him, watching expectantly. Swallowing hard, he pounded on the door. "Thump thump thump!"
The house fell silent. Then, two young voices drifted through the wood.
"Someone's at the door, Luna. Hold it down for me, I'll handle this," Ethan said.
"Mm, okay," Luna replied, her tone airy and unconcerned.
Handle… what? Jack's stomach twisted with doubt. He pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear.
CRACK!
A sharp, sickening snap—like a bone breaking—exploded right by his ear. Jack's scalp prickled, every hair on his body standing on end. He stumbled back, staring at the door in horror, his mind screaming one word: Run!
But his legs refused to move.
Click.
The door creaked open, revealing a black-haired boy drenched in blood. Reddish-white gore splattered his pale face, streaking his thick yellow gloves with brownish stains. In his hand, he held a gleaming serrated knife, flecked with bits of minced meat.
Ethan Vincent looked down at Jack, his cobalt blue eyes glinting with an unsettling calm. "Hello," he said softly, a chilling smile spreading across his blood-streaked face. "Would you like to join our Christmas party?"
"Ahhh!" Jack's scream echoed through the village as he scrambled backward, tripping over his own feet.
Ethan tilted his head, puzzled, watching the burly man flee. Is he… shy?
"Wizarding villages really are full of simple, friendly folk," Ethan mused, a touch of warmth in his voice. He licked a smear of plum sauce from the corner of his mouth—tangy, not too sweet, with a fragrant bite. With a flick of his wrist, the serrated knife transformed back into a harmless table knife. At Luna's call, he turned and stepped back inside.
Click. The door closed, sealing away the chaos within.
"You know, Luna, I'm planning a mural for a professor at Hogwarts who's been kind to me," Ethan said, his voice carrying over the sound of crunching. "Something grand, unprecedented."
"Crunch crunch crunch."
"That sounds wonderful!" Luna replied, her voice bright. "What are you going to paint?"
"Squish squish squish."
"I did some research and settled on recreating an ancient castle with a rich history, designed by the legendary architect Miyazaki Hidetaka." Ethan's voice grew animated. "It's called Sen's Fortress."
Meanwhile, in a shadowed corner of Hogwarts, a different scene unfolded.
[You disappoint me, Quirrell! Utterly useless!]
"Please, please… hear me out!" Quirrell knelt on the cold stone floor, trembling uncontrollably. Tears and snot streamed down his face, his eyelids twitching from the agony coursing through him. He had failed again. Not only had Ethan Vincent survived the challenge, but he'd emerged victorious, drawing Dumbledore's attention. Quirrell knew his chances to act against the boy were gone—every move he made was now watched.
Ethan Vincent had become Quirrell's waking nightmare, haunting his thoughts day and night.
[Enough! Forget that brat for now. Focus on the Philosopher's Stone!] The voice was sharp, commanding. [Once I have the Stone and complete my resurrection, this pathetic school will bow to me!]
"Y-Yes, Master…" Quirrell whimpered, his forehead pressed to the ground in submission. Relief washed over him. At last, he could stop chasing that monstrous boy. Ethan only cared about his art, his paintings. There was no conflict with Quirrell's mission to steal the Philosopher's Stone. The boy wouldn't torment him anymore.
Ethan Vincent… you're a force of evil beyond imagining, Quirrell thought, a bitter snort escaping him as he imagined the boy humbled once the Stone was his Master's. But when I deliver the Stone and revive the Master, you'll be finished.
[What's so amusing?] The voice cut through his thoughts, icy and menacing. [It seems my punishment hasn't been thorough enough.]
"No, no! Master—I'll retrieve it, I swear…" Quirrell's pleas echoed in the dark.
Back at the Lovegood house, the night was calm.
"Merry Christmas, Luna," Ethan said, lounging on a narrow sofa, a rare softness in his voice.
Luna paused on her way upstairs, a candle in her hand casting a warm orange glow across her serene face. "Merry Christmas, Ethan. The plum sauce cake was delicious tonight."
"Goodnight," he called after her.
Her footsteps faded up the stairs. Ethan rolled over, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the withered mistletoe dangling above like grasping hands. He closed his eyes, a contented smile tugging at his lips.
This was the best Christmas he could remember.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze