Three days passed.
At the moment, Victor was sitting in the garden behind the Lovegood house with a shovel resting beside him while Luna sat nearby painting a tree.
Victor stared at the scene for a long moment. Sometimes he genuinely wondered why the genre seemed to have changed. This was supposed to be the cruel wizarding world.
The return of Voldemort was approaching. Death Eaters were gathering in the shadows. A war was waiting in the future. There were still Horcruxes to destroy.
So why had the genre suddenly turned into a slice-of-life story involving gardening and painting?
"Victor, dig another hole." Luna pointed toward an empty patch of soil while holding a flowering plant.
Victor sighed. The genre shift was getting worse.
Just as he was about to start digging, the sound of an owl hooting echoed from above. A familiar owl descended and landed neatly on his shoulder before dropping a letter into his lap.
He picked it up and opened it. The handwriting told him immediately who had sent it. His mother.
Narcissa was asking whether he planned to return home soon or continue staying with the Lovegoods. Apparently Lucius wanted to know whether Victor intended to accompany him and Draco to the World Cup.
Victor lowered the letter and thought about it.
Travel with Father and Draco?
The image formed instantly. Lucius would turn the trip into another lecture about politics, influential families, and the future of wizarding Britain. Draco would spend half the journey talking about Quidditch and the other half talking about himself.
Then he thought about the alternative. Harry and Hermione would be arriving soon. Luna was already here. Compared to days listening to Lucius explain why every problem in Britain connected back to Ministry incompetence, the choice wasn't difficult.
Luna looked up from her painting. "Something interesting?"
"My father is attempting to be social."
Luna nodded as though that explained everything.
Victor flipped the letter over and wrote a short reply, informing his mother he'd stay with the Lovegoods a little longer and meet everyone at the World Cup. He attached it to the owl, which immediately took flight.
He watched it leave before looking down at the shovel still in his hand. Then at Luna. Then at the flowers. Then at the half-finished garden.
The genre really had changed. Somehow the future Dark Lord and the coming war had temporarily lost to gardening.
With another sigh, he picked up the shovel and started digging the next hole.
***
Two days before the Quidditch World Cup, Harry and Hermione finally arrived at the Burrow.
Hermione's parents were Muggles with no idea how to reach the campsite on their own, while Harry's situation was even simpler — there was nobody willing to take him. Both would be traveling with the Weasleys.
Molly welcomed them warmly. Harry settled into Ron's room while Hermione stayed with Ginny.
Ron looked far too excited to sit still. "I can't wait for the World Cup," he said for what was probably the twentieth time that day.
Harry laughed. "Ron, that's the fourth time you've said that in the last hour."
"Because it's the World Cup." Ron looked as though that answered everything. To him, it probably did.
Harry shook his head and sat down on one of the beds. "Why are you making the same face Victor does whenever someone says something obvious?"
"I do not make Victor faces."
"You absolutely do." Before Ron could argue, Harry changed the subject. "Speaking of Victor, when did you meet him this summer?"
"He's been staying near the Lovegoods' house. I saw him yesterday."
Harry blinked.
Before he could ask another question, the bedroom door opened. Hermione walked in. The moment she heard Victor's name, her attention shifted. "Wait. Did somebody mention Victor?"
Following Ron, Harry, and Hermione, the three of them made their way toward the Lovegood house. Hermione still couldn't understand why Victor would choose to spend part of his summer there. The closer they got, the more curious she became.
When they finally arrived, all three stopped. For a moment nobody spoke.
In front of the house, Victor was digging a hole. A shovel.
Harry blinked. Ron stared. Hermione looked as though her brain had temporarily stopped working.
"Umm... is that really Victor?" Ron asked.
"I think it is," Harry replied, sounding just as uncertain.
"Why is he digging?"
None of them had an answer.
As though sensing their presence, Victor paused and looked up. Sweat covered his forehead, dirt stained his clothes, the shovel resting over one shoulder.
For several seconds nobody said anything.
Then Victor pointed at them with the shovel. "This is all your imagination."
The three of them continued staring. Victor stared back.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Hermione finally spoke. "Victor, you're holding a shovel."
Victor glanced at it. "Your imagination is very detailed."
Ron looked genuinely impressed. "You know, somehow that's not even the strangest thing you've ever said."
*****
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