Adrian awoke to the scent of lavender and something that smelled suspiciously like toasted daffodils. His eyes fluttered open to a warmly lit room adorned with floating crystals, dreamcatchers, and a wallpaper pattern that seemed to change when you weren't looking.
He sat up slowly, his smaller frame protesting slightly with unfamiliar creaks and groans. His hands—so tiny—grasped the patchwork quilt covering him. The room was round and cozy, with slanted walls and wooden beams. Sunlight trickled through a circular window that framed a field of fluttering dirigible plums.
There was a soft knock.
"Come in?" Adrian croaked.
The door creaked open, and Pandora Lovegood floated in with a tray of breakfast—pancakes shaped like magical creatures, scrambled eggs speckled with edible stardust, and a tall glass of sparkly pumpkin juice.
"Morning, my starshine!!" she said, placing the tray on his lap. "Did you sleep well, or were the Wrackspurts at it again?"
Adrian blinked. "I… think I slept? Definitely not haunted. Probably."
She smiled warmly and kissed the top of his head. "You'll feel more like yourself soon. Magical resets can be disorienting. Luna went around singing to mushrooms for a week."
"I still do," Luna chimed from the hallway, wearing slippers shaped like badgers and carrying a feather quill like a sceptre.
Adrian chuckled, a small laugh that felt like it belonged in this world. "You lot are… brilliant."
After breakfast in bed, he finally gathered himself and padded barefoot down a spiraling staircase that resembled a corkscrew carved from driftwood. The Lovegood house—The Burrow's equally eccentric cousin—stood like a tower woven from wild magic and whimsy. Each floor had its own eccentricities: one was upside down, another was filled with floating books, and a third had a colony of luminous butterflies that helped dust the furniture.
The kitchen was alive with motion. A self-playing harp plucked a soft melody in the corner. Dishes washed themselves while spoons stirred teacups on their own accord. The air smelled of peppermint and something earthy, like fresh moss.
Xenophilius Lovegood, resplendent in lemon-yellow robes and peacock feather slippers, sat at the kitchen table reading The Quibbler upside down. He glanced over the rim of his onion-shaped spectacles and smiled.
"Morning, my boy!" he said, pouring Adrian a cup of nettle tea from a floating kettle. "Sleep soundly? Any prophetic dreams about Snorkacks?"
"No prophetic dreams," Adrian replied, sliding into his chair. "But I do feel... lighter. Maybe a touch taller."
"You'll shoot up like a bouncing bulbadox in spring," Xenophilius declared solemnly. "Family tradition."
Luna was doodling a Crumple-Horned Snorkack with dragon wings. "You were giggling in your sleep," she said dreamily. "I think the stars were tickling your brain."
Adrian grinned. These people—odd, loving, wildly whimsical—already felt more like home than anywhere he could remember. There was an effortless ease to the way they included him in the rituals of their day: a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, a shared joke, the way Pandora instinctively handed him the strawberry jam first.
After breakfast and a few minor kitchen explosions (a self-stirring cauldron had strong opinions about eggs), Pandora clapped her hands. "Right! Come along, Adrian! We'll miss the Portkey to Diagon Alley, and that thing has the punctuality of a Ministry owl!"
Adrian fumbled with his boots. Eleven-year-old fingers were appallingly clumsy. "In my defence," he muttered, "laces are a menace. Velcro is vastly underrated."
"You're talking to your boots again," Luna observed serenely, balancing a spoon on her nose.
"It's called a coping mechanism, thank you very much."
Within minutes, the Lovegood family was swept up by an old, slightly glowing tennis shoe that whooshed them from their wildflower-draped backyard to the cobbled chaos of Diagon Alley. Adrian stumbled upon landing, as one does when magic hurls you across the countryside without consent.
"This place is mental," he whispered, eyes wide. Shops with animated signs, enchanted displays, and an alarming number of things that could explode lined the street.
"Welcome to the market of dreams," Xenophilius said proudly, his hat—a large turnip enchanted to hum lullabies—tilting in agreement.
First stop: Gringotts. Adrian approached the goblins with the wide-eyed fear of someone unsure if they'd be judged on moral fibre or shoe size. Fortunately, the Lovegoods had a modest vault that required only minor deciphering of riddles and a single trust fall into a minecart.
Second stop: Flourish and Blotts. Adrian got lost somewhere between A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration and The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. Pandora had to fish him out before he started dramatically narrating his autobiography to a stack of enchanted quills.
Third stop: Madam Malkin's.
Adrian eyed his reflection. "I look like a wizard-themed cupcake."
"You look splendid," Pandora said, tightening his robes with maternal menace.
But it was at Ollivanders where destiny cleared its throat.
The shop was dim, dusty, and humming with the kind of energy that said, Important Things Happen Here.
"Ah," came a whisper behind them. "Mr. Lovegood."
Adrian turned. Garrick Ollivander emerged from the shadows like a man auditioning for a haunted opera.
"You've been expected."
"Cool," Adrian said. "Do I get a wand or does it get me?"
Ollivander blinked. "Quite right."
The wand-trying began. One wand exploded a jar of ink. Another summoned a raincloud indoors. A third began reciting Hogwarts: A History aloud in Gobbledygook.
"Hmm," Ollivander mused. "Curious…"
Finally, Adrian's fingers brushed a box tucked away near the back. Twelve inches, rowan wood, phoenix feather core.
The moment he touched it, a golden glow sparked. Wind whooshed through the shop. Shelves rattled. Luna sneezed.
"Oh, splendid," Ollivander whispered. "A wand for the unexpected. Strong, curious, protective. Good for those with a destiny both great and… inconvenient."
Adrian gave it a casual flick. A quill soared into the air, did a backflip, and landed in his pocket.
"Mate," he whispered to the wand, "you and I are going to get along brilliantly."
Shopping complete, the Lovegoods treated themselves to ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, where Adrian learned three things:
Pumpkin pasties are divine.
Florean Fortescue used to date a banshee.
Wizarding tabloids were absolutely unhinged.
As they sat in the sun-dappled square, Pandora brushed his hair from his face. "Your first steps into the magical world, my boy. How does it feel?"
Adrian looked around, wand tucked behind his ear, heart full of thunder and starlight.
"Like I finally belong somewhere."
He didn't say it out loud, but a certain trio of names flickered in his thoughts—Harry, Ron… and Hermione.
Soon, he thought.
The magical world wasn't ready for Adrian Lovegood.
And frankly, neither was he.