The clatter and clamor of the Weasley lunch faded into a distant murmur as Anduin's mind drifted. He had just taken a few mouthfuls of the hearty stew, but his gaze was fixed, distant. He wasn't seeing the chaotic, joyful scene before him; he was comparing it to the sterile, emotionally distant future he knew was coming.
Molly Weasley, perpetually vigilant, saw the shift in his eyes. "What's the matter, Anduin? Did the flavor fade? Are you not enjoying the food?" she asked, her tone softening from her usual battlefield command to one of gentle concern.
"No, Molly. The food is magnificent," Anduin replied, pulling himself back to the present with a mental shake. The intensity of the Weasley atmosphere had created an emotional short circuit. "I was just overcome, that's all. I am deeply jealous of the vitality of your family, and it brought back some old, sharp memories that aren't quite mine anymore."
Molly softened completely. She knew the boy was an orphan, though she didn't know the depth of his loss. "Ah, Merlin's beard, I wouldn't wish this many little rascals on anyone," she sighed, though her eyes held a spark of deep pride. She then immediately redirected her frustration.
She looked across the table at Arthur, who was focused solely on happily excavating the remnants of the meal. "And you, Arthur! You eat like a field hand and you don't even know how to look after them properly, leaving me to police a dozen pairs of hands!"
Arthur, caught in the act of consuming his seventh sausage, merely shrugged with endearing innocence, offered Molly a wide, apologetic smile, and returned happily to his meal. His serenity, Anduin noted, was a unique form of marital defense mechanism.
The noisy lunch ended as abruptly as it began, leaving a battlefield of sticky plates and smeared faces. Anduin, eager to practice his non-verbal control, used a rapid, multi-target cleansing spell to wash away the stains on all the children simultaneously.
The quick, effective charm was silent, and it worked with perfect precision, leaving the little ones spotlessly clean down to the hands he gently inspected.
"Your spellcasting is truly magnificent, Anduin," Arthur praised, genuinely impressed by the smooth, quiet efficiency. "I distinctly remember being incapable of casting such a flawless, non-verbal purification spell until I was almost twenty."
"It's just dedicated practice, sir. The principle isn't as complicated as one might think," Anduin replied with a modest, genuine smile. The complexity was in the focus, which was his one advantage.
The four adults—Anduin, Augusta, Arthur, and Molly—retreated to the cozy, slightly battered living room. The afternoon was dedicated to fruit, tea, conversation, and the wizard radio broadcast.
The children, thankfully, were not interested in the Wizard Radio News; they preferred the eccentric talk show "Toots Sprouts and Takes Root" or the musical program "Wizard Time," and had all run outside to the garden to play and expend their considerable, post-meal energy. The adults settled into the quiet hum of the wireless.
The news anchor was reading a slow, routine report when the voice suddenly cut through with a chilling, urgent timbre:
"...and now, listeners, urgent news from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A massive, violent explosion has just occurred in the northern sector of Cornwall. The Ministry of Magic strongly suspects active engagement by Death Eaters in the area. We can confirm that Aurors, Strike Teams, and the Incident Response Team have been immediately dispatched to investigate this atrocity.
All wizards currently residing in the wider Cornwall region are urgently advised to take maximum precautions for their personal safety and not to approach the affected area. Further information on the extent of the damage and precise casualty figures will be provided in subsequent reports."
The atmosphere in the Weasley living room instantly froze. The pleasant domesticity shattered.
"Damn those vicious cowards!" Arthur exploded, his hand clenching on his mug, his face twisting into a deep frown of immediate anger and frustration.
Augusta's concern was more targeted, more chilling. "We've been hearing far too much news like this lately. The attacks are escalating, not stopping. I only hope nothing bad has happened to the good people down there. I remember Marlene McKinnon and her fiancé live relatively near that sector. I pray they weren't caught up in this."
Anduin felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The location meant nothing to him yet, but the description—"massive explosion" and "Death Eaters suspected"—fit the predictive pattern of his memories. The response was too slow. Even with the dispatch, the official apparatus was still hopelessly reactive. He could only wait in agonizing silence for the inevitable, darker news.
The group sat for what felt like an eternity, listening to the static and the nervous chatter of the anchor, but no further details emerged from the scene. The silence was heavy, but it was abruptly shattered by a new sound.
A sudden, intense white light pierced the walls of The Burrow, cutting through the shadows of the late afternoon. The light coalesced, solidifying into a luminous, spectral animal. It was a small, sleek ferret—the Patronus of Frank Longbottom.
The ethereal guardian glided through the room with the grim solemnity of a herald of tragedy, coming to rest directly in front of Augusta. From the pure white light and shadow of the Patronus, a voice—Frank's voice, tight with professional discipline struggling against personal grief—was projected with unnatural clarity:
"Mother, there has been a devastating strike in Cornwall. The news is far worse than the radio reports. Marlene McKinnon and her family—father, mother, brother, and fiancé—have been all murdered. But the attack didn't end there. A few miles away, the team sent to provide reinforcements—which included Gideon and Fabian Prewett—were ambushed and killed by a second wave of Death Eaters. Their bodies are currently located approximately three miles north of the McKinnon wreckage. Moody felt it necessary to inform you first due to the sensitive nature of the losses. He wants you to consider the effect on Mrs. Weasley, who is about to give birth, before relaying this terrible news to Arthur."
Anduin was on his feet instantly. He recognized the names. The McKinnons were one of the first families to fall in his previous life's narrative. More urgently, the Prewett brothers—Molly's own siblings, the source of her fierce maternal loyalty—were gone.
Arthur sat in stunned, frozen shock, his face draining of color as the awful words registered. Augusta had barely opened her mouth to speak when a sudden, sickening sound of porcelain crashing rang out behind them.
They all spun around.
Molly had been standing silently in the doorway, a tea tray in her hands, drawn by the unusual glow of the Patronus. She had heard every single word. Her face was bone-white, translucent with shock.
Her hands were shaking violently—the tremors so profound she couldn't maintain her grip on the tray or the glass she'd been carrying. She looked not just grieved, but physically moments away from total collapse.
Anduin acted before Arthur could. He rushed forward, reaching her side and gently easing her collapsing weight, stabilizing her heavy, pregnant form. Arthur, galvanized by the immediate physical danger to his wife, rushed over and helped Anduin guide her to the nearest sofa.
The thick, heavy air in the room was now oppressive, filled with unshed tears and unspoken horror. Anduin, Augusta, and Arthur could only stare at Molly, their own grief momentarily suspended by the shock of hers.
Anduin quickly fetched a clean glass of water and handed it to her. Only then did Molly's eyes finally focus, locking onto the glass. She clutched it with white-knuckled, trembling hands. Silent, enormous tears began to track paths down her pale cheeks, falling onto the fabric of her apron.
Arthur knelt beside her, his large frame shaking slightly, utterly incapable of forming a coherent sentence. He could only pat her heaving back, his own anguish trapped in his throat.
After what felt like an agonizing eternity, Molly looked up at her husband, her eyes haunted. Her voice was a cracked, desperate whisper.
"Arthur... Please. You must go. You have to go and check on them for me," she pleaded, the words forcing their way through her constricted throat. "My poor, foolish, brave brothers. I need to know it's them. I need to know."
The request broke the dam. Molly suddenly let out a raw, primal scream of pure agony—a sound that shook the very rafters of The Burrow and was unlike any noise Anduin had ever heard. The children, drawn by the terrifying sound of their mother's distress, ran inside from the garden and stood huddled together, staring at their mother with wide, frightened, incomprehending eyes.
Arthur nodded gravely, kissing Molly's forehead. He turned to Augusta. "Mrs. Longbottom, please. She needs you now. I must leave immediately to confirm this news for myself." He then looked at his eldest son, Bill. "Bill, you are the man of the house until I return. Look after your brothers and take absolute, vigilant care of your mother. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Anduin stepped forward, his expression hard, his internal strategist fully engaged. "Mr. Weasley, I am coming with you."
Arthur spun to face him, his eyes wide. "Absolutely not, Anduin. It is a fresh scene. We don't know if the area is secured or if a third wave is waiting. It is far too dangerous for you to go."
Anduin stood his ground, meeting Arthur's panicked gaze with cold certainty. "I understand the risk, sir, but you need a second pair of eyes, and someone who can focus solely on defense and logistics. I am proficient enough to protect myself, and more importantly, you will have someone dedicated to watching your back when your mind will understandably be elsewhere. I'm not asking to fight; I'm asking to observe and defend."
Augusta, who had moved to sit beside Molly, placed a steady hand on the pregnant witch's shoulder. She looked at Arthur and gave Anduin the quietest, most profound endorsement she could.
"Let Anduin stay with you, Arthur. He is indeed a very stubborn child, but he is fiercely capable. He may provide you with clarity and counsel when your judgment is understandably compromised."
Seeing the unified front, Arthur finally relented. He was too emotionally compromised to argue further. "Very well, thank you, Anduin. I will rely on your judgment. I leave The Burrow in your capable hands, Augusta."
Anduin immediately shifted to an emergency footing. "Augusta, please contact the Diggory family—Amos and his wife. Ask them to come here immediately to assist you and Molly. They are neighbors and reliable Ministry personnel. I remember you can also send a response with your Patronus. If there is anything urgent or if the children need immediate attention, find me and send the message."
Augusta simply nodded, her eyes confirming her trust in the young wizard's competence. In her eyes, Anduin, though still in his youth, was demonstrating the composure and strategic thinking of a seasoned Auror, proving far more trustworthy than many adult wizards she knew.
After the quick planning, Arthur gripped Anduin's shoulder and pulled him out of the house. "I know the Apparation point closest to Marlene's house. We'll jump directly to the perimeter of the scene. Hold my hand tightly, Anduin."
Anduin took a firm grip of Arthur's forearm. The next moment was a sickening, disorienting squeeze—the sensation of being violently forced through a tight, airless rubber tube. Then, with a sudden CRACK, they reappeared.
They stood on a small, muddy, grass verge, the air thick with the acrid, metallic smell of burnt ozone and pulverized stone. The scene was a devastation.
A single house in this quiet northern Cornwall suburb had been almost entirely erased. It hadn't just been damaged; it looked as if a bomb had utterly atomized the structure, leaving only rubble, smoking debris, and the tattered remnants of a life brutally ended.
Several Aurors, easily identifiable by their dark, protective robes, patrolled the perimeter, casting sweeping detection spells. The atmosphere was one of grim, tense professionalism.
Outside the destroyed residence, two bodies lay on the ground, carefully wrapped in large, white linen sheets. They were silent, still mounds, waiting for collection. Frank and Alice Longbottom stood nearby, their faces streaked with soot and hollow with exhaustion.
They looked older, harder, and their eyes held the thousand-yard stare of those who had seen too much. They immediately recognized Arthur and Anduin, offering a brief, somber nod that spoke volumes more than any shouted greeting. The tragedy had officially begun.