Once the comprehensive menu was finalized, the Longbottom house transformed into a whirlwind of preparation. Augusta, delighted to have a capable co-commander, immediately brought out her finest exquisite ceramic tableware, the heavy, large silver-plated serving plates, and the various accessories needed for the planned garden buffet.
That same afternoon, Anduin and Augusta began the intensive process of mise en place—the sorting and preparation of every single ingredient. Augusta focused her considerable magical talent on the baking section.
She constantly used controlled, internal cooking Charms—subtle bursts of warmth and kinetic energy—to perfectly knead the dough for bread, regulate the temperature for delicate pastries, and conjure vats of freshly squeezed fruit juices. Her magic was domestic, focused, and profoundly efficient.
Anduin, meanwhile, orchestrated the main preparation area. He supervised three large cutting boards simultaneously, his movements a blur of non-magical precision. He meticulously portioned the large cuts of pork, lamb chops, chicken, and the massive Tepo ham.
Every vegetable was diced to a uniform size—a practice he employed to ensure even cooking and maximum flavor distribution. He was sorting and preparing all the necessary spices, sauces, and ingredients, laying them out in organized, labeled containers so they could be added to the pots and pans with immediate efficiency the following morning.
The kitchen, under his direction, became a sterile, hyper-organized laboratory of culinary chemistry.
Frank and Alice, grateful for the respite from their Auror duties, spent their free time setting up the garden. The area was meticulously raked and adorned with comfortable tables and chairs. They then cast a complex array of Charms around the perimeter.
These included the necessary Muggle-repelling wards to discourage inquisitive neighbors and several layers of high-level protective wards, ensuring that the sudden influx of magical energy and the presence of high-profile Ministry personnel would not be disrupted by outside magical forces.
Although Autri St. Catchpol Village had many wizarding residents, security, especially in wartime, was paramount.
Early the next morning, the cooking commenced in earnest. Anduin lit the four-burner stove, a massive antique range that sat at the heart of the kitchen, and started the time-consuming dishes first. The Mushroom Chicken Stew and the Braised Red-Cooked Pork began to simmer gently, filling the house with a comforting, savory aroma that promised warmth and depth.
Just as the scents began to fully bloom, the first guests arrived.
Hearing the formal greetings exchanged in the living room, Anduin paused his stirring and walked to the kitchen door, peeking out for a quick assessment.
The Diggory family—Amos, his wife, and their young son Cedric—were being received by Augusta. Amos was slightly corpulent and wore a tweed suit, exuding the air of a dedicated but slightly verbose Ministry functionary. His wife was quiet and elegant.
Four-year-old Cedric stood patiently by his parents, dressed in a neat little waistcoat. His head was cocked, his eyes wide with frank curiosity, fixed on the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen. When his gaze met Anduin's at the doorway, Cedric, surprisingly, did not look away. He broke into a wide, shy, but genuinely friendly smile.
Anduin felt a moment of cold, analytical observation soften into an almost involuntary flicker of warmth. He returned the boy's smile—a rare, brief relaxation of his features—before turning back to the methodical rhythm of the stove.
The two simmering dishes were now robustly fragrant. Anduin began work on the first of the faster, fried preparations: the Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs and the Fried Chicken Wings. He was just testing the temperature of the oil when the second wave of guests crashed into the Longbottom manor.
The living room suddenly dissolved into a chaotic symphony of booming adult greetings, the high-pitched screams of delighted children, and the distinct sound of a collapsing coat rack.
Anduin correctly guessed the arrival of the numerous and famously energetic Weasley family. He concentrated on ensuring the oil didn't overheat, mentally bracing for the inevitable fallout of such an energetic arrival.
He didn't have to wait long. Instead of an adult managing the children, the kitchen door burst open and two identical miniature fireballs—twin boys with impossibly bright red hair and matching mischievous grins—came tearing into the space. They were barely three or four years old, utterly devoid of caution, and running straight toward the hottest part of the kitchen.
Anduin's internal alarm bells went off. He was holding a ladle of shimmering hot oil; a sudden collision could lead to severe burns and a cascade of problems he did not wish to explain. The need for immediate spatial control overcame his usual neutrality.
The twins skidded to a halt near his feet, stretching up on their tiny toes to peer over the marble counter and towards the stove.
"Oh, that smells incredible, George! Smell it! It's better than the smell of the sweets shop!" the boy on the left shouted.
"You idiot, I'm Fred! You're George! And you're right, it smells like magic but better!" the boy on the right retorted.
"Move away from the counter immediately. You are too close to the heat," Anduin ordered, his voice low and firm, carrying the cold authority he usually reserved for duels. "You will enjoy the meal when it is time to eat. This area is dangerous."
The twins, however, were not intimidated; they were fascinated.
"But you're only a little taller than Bill! Why should we listen to you?" the one who was Fred challenged in a precocious, squeaky voice.
"Absolutely! Unless you can prove this smells even better than Mum's Christmas cooking, we're staying," George interjected, his eyes glued to the sizzling ribs.
"Better than our mother's cooking? Impossible! Your nose must be broken, George!" Fred countered, turning his attention from the food to his brother with immediate offense.
"It's your nose that's broken, Fred! And your ears! You never listen to anyone!" George fired back.
Before Anduin could enforce his command, the two brats were locked in a ferocious, escalating whisper-fight, threatening to escalate into a full physical tussle right at his feet. Anduin felt a spike of pure, detached irritation. Their chaos threatened his methodical process.
Bill's Apology and the Brief Silence
Just as Anduin was considering a simple, non-verbal Levitation Charm to float them harmlessly to the door, another boy entered. He had the same vibrant red hair, looked perhaps two or three years older than the twins, and wore a look of intense, slightly pained responsibility.
"George, Fred! Mother is calling you to the garden. Stop bothering the guest and get out of the kitchen!" the older boy commanded, his tone prim and stressed.
Anduin felt a wave of relief that lasted only a fraction of a second.
"Hehehe!" the twins chorused, sticking out their tongues simultaneously at their older brother. "No, crybaby Percy, come catch us!"
Ignoring Percy's stern face entirely, the twins dodged past him and began a frantic, dizzying circuit of the long marble prep counter, turning the kitchen into a high-speed racetrack.
Percy, red-faced with indignation and fury at being called a "crybaby," immediately took up the chase, adding a third element of uncontrolled motion to Anduin's precise workspace.
Anduin was genuinely furious now. His focus was broken, his control challenged. But before he could unleash a controlled, non-damaging Stunning Charm on the trio, the door opened a fourth time.
The newcomer was significantly older, perhaps ten or eleven, with a maturity that seemed ancient compared to his siblings. This was Bill Weasley. He was the tallest of the children, with a calm, discerning expression.
"Bill! Look at these two! They're completely unruly, and they called me a crybaby!" Percy shouted, appealing instantly to his elder brother, his voice cracking with hurt feelings.
"We only yelled at him after he started gossiping! Bill, Percy is always tattling!" the twins responded in perfect unison, never breaking stride in their circuit.
Bill simply walked in, his eyes quickly assessing the damage. He didn't waste time arguing. With two quick, expert lunges—the movements of someone very experienced in wrangling smaller, volatile beings—he scooped up both Fred and George, tucking one under each arm. They immediately began squirming and shouting muffled protests.
Bill ignored them. He turned to Anduin, his expression genuinely apologetic. "I am sincerely sorry, sir. My brothers are... particularly energetic. They meant no offense."
Anduin, relieved that a competent authority had finally arrived, offered a curt nod. "It is resolved. However, the kitchen is dangerous, particularly with hot oil. It is best to ensure they do not wander into this area unsupervised, or they could easily suffer injury."
Bill nodded solemnly, accepting the warning without argument. He then looked down at his struggling passengers, gave them a firm shake, and wordlessly dragged the two menaces out of the kitchen, followed by a still-sulking Percy.
The world suddenly returned to silence. Anduin took a deep, controlled breath, feeling the residual tension in his jaw. He had witnessed firsthand the pure, unadulterated chaos a large family could unleash. Each child possessed a unique, strong, and highly volatile personality.
He found himself developing a profound, detached admiration for Molly Weasley's ability to manage such a turbulent household. The experience, while frustrating, was a fascinating study in group dynamics and the limits of purely rational control.
With the kitchen secured, Anduin resumed his work, now moving with renewed, heightened focus to make up for the lost time. He swiftly completed the frying, prepared the large bowls of sliced cold ham, and ensured the chowder was gently simmering.
Augusta, having greeted the majority of the guests, returned to the kitchen to check on the desserts, ensuring the bread and cakes were perfectly golden.
Just then, the final set of guests arrived.
"The Lovegoods are here, Anduin," Augusta announced, checking the timer on the oven. "Remember, they're… different. Just be polite."
Anduin, finally finishing his work on the ham-fried rice base, went to the kitchen door to observe the final arrivals. The Lovegood family was precisely as strange as Augusta had implied, an oasis of vibrant peculiarity in the Longbottoms' stiff, traditional environment.
Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood had a distinctly ethereal, almost artistic air. His thick, unkempt white hair cascaded over the shoulders of his intensely bright yellow robes. Around his neck, a chunky gold chain bore a prominent triangular ornament—a curious symbol Anduin did not immediately recognize. His eyes held a dreamy, unfocused quality.
Beside him stood Mrs. Lovegood, cradling a baby girl. She wore a pale blue robe that clashed beautifully with Xenophilius's yellow, and her demeanor suggested a calm, knowledgeable eccentricity.
The baby, Luna, was remarkably serene, staring up at the world with disproportionately large, light eyes. They seemed to exist on a slightly different frequency than the rest of the world.
As Augusta ushered them toward the garden, the stage was set. The scent of savory stews, sweet sauces, and rich ham mingled in the air. The long tables were laden, the silver gleaming under the soft sunlight filtering through the protective wards.
The feast was ready, and the diverse, eccentric collection of the Order of the Phoenix's closest allies and friends were gathered in the Longbottom garden.