There is a dark spirit. They call it void. It draws its power from pain and tragedy, strife and chaos. Destroy it.
Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broke-down gate. The first read, THE QUIBBLER EDITOR, X. LOVEGOOD. The second, PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE. The third, KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS. The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings.