Sirius Black and Anduin exchanged a charged, knowing glance. Frank Longbottom's innocent explanation—that Dumbledore suggested the joint Christmas celebration—only confirmed their suspicions: this was no casual holiday gathering.
This was a strategic consolidation. Dumbledore had taken the warning, validated it, and transformed the Potter residence into the primary defensive asset.
If the Death Eaters dared to interrupt this party, they would be met not with merriment, but with a highly prepared, concentrated force—a most unwelcome Christmas surprise from the Order of the Phoenix.
James Potter, oblivious to the grim undercurrent, clapped his hands together, his face alight with infectious joy.
"Excellent! It's the perfect, safe solution. Merry Christmas, Anduin! I'm genuinely thrilled to have you here again. We heard all about your heroics—you know, saving Sirius from getting permanently attached to a wall, defeating a Death Eater... Lily and I were terrified when Padfoot got himself into trouble, but honestly, we never doubted you'd turn up as the little savior of the hour."
Frank Longbottom chuckled, folding his arms. "Yes, I was there for the aftermath! You took down a dangerous duellist with astonishing speed. Anduin, do you still recall our brief, slightly chaotic introduction on Knockturn Alley? Merry Christmas to you, too."
Sirius Black reacted instantly, a sharp, irritated "Ahem, ahem" cutting through the room. His face flushed a deep crimson. The relentless teasing from his friends since the duel was clearly wearing on his composure; the phrase "saved by the first year" was giving him genuine psychological distress.
"Right! Enough about ancient history!" Sirius interjected, desperate to change the subject. He thrust his hand onto Anduin's back. "Let me introduce you properly. This is Anduin Wilson, currently a first-year at Hogwarts, though you'd never guess it."
He gestured around the room with theatrical rapidity. "Anduin: This excessively tall, ridiculously well-read wizard is Remus Lupin. The one attempting to vanish into the wallpaper is Peter Pettigrew. You know the host, James. And here are the excellent Frank and Alice Longbottom."
Remus offered a kind, gentle smile that reached his intelligent, tired eyes. "Hello, Anduin. Seriously, thank you for your critical assistance to Sirius."
Peter Pettigrew, small and plump, twitched slightly. He avoided direct eye contact, stammering out a strained greeting. "Y-you... hello. Nice to meet you."
Anduin executed a polite, precise nod to each of them. He noticed Peter's reaction instantly: not just shyness, but a persistent edginess that seemed disproportionate to the casual atmosphere. Chronic anxiety, or something deeper?
Just as the polite conversation risked stalling, the kitchen doorway framed an imposing figure. Augusta Longbottom, dressed in severe but impeccably clean robes, stood with her hands on her hips, her expression a magnificent blend of impatience and efficiency.
"Well! Are you lot going to continue congratulating yourselves on past victories, or are we going to have the Christmas dinner I've been slaving over? Move! Get in here and help! Do you expect your aging, weary hostess to handle the entire production alone?"
Frank grimaced, sinking lower in his chair. "Mum, please, you're not even fifty yet. Stop using age as leverage."
Augusta's stern gaze landed on her son, sharp as an Unforgivable Curse. "And whose genetics are responsible for my undue stress, Franklin? Who provided me with such a troublesome, careless son?"
Seeing his opening, Anduin immediately removed his tailored coat, folded it neatly, and quickly rolled up his shirt sleeves. He approached Augusta with measured deference. "Mrs. Longbottom, you've clearly put tremendous effort into this evening. Please, allow me to assist. I would be happy to."
Augusta's verbal assault froze mid-sentence. She looked from Anduin's sleek, rolled-up sleeves to her own, uselessly lounging son. "Look at him, Frank!" she snapped triumphantly. "Even a small boy possesses more initiative and basic decency than you!"
Then, her tone changed entirely as she addressed Anduin, the harsh edge softening. "Thank you, dear child. But the kitchen can be chaotic. We adults will manage; I don't want you accidentally scalding yourself."
Frank Longbottom simply covered his face and made a sound of utter defeat. Sirius, however, saw his chance to shift the burden of labor.
"Mrs. Longbottom, you cannot refuse! Please, you must utilize Anduin," Sirius insisted, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Do not underestimate him. His culinary skills are truly extraordinary. I have honestly gained three pounds this week just from eating the food he prepares. He's a wizard with a carving knife, not just a wand."
Augusta, thoroughly intrigued by this endorsement, gave Anduin a sharp, appraising look. The mention of professional-level cooking was enough to break through her remaining resistance. Without a moment's hesitation, she seized Anduin's elbow and pulled him into the bustling kitchen.
Lily was indeed the primary force, navigating pots and pans with admirable, if slightly frantic, energy. Anduin quickly located an apron and smoothly transitioned into the role of co-chef. He began processing ingredients with practiced efficiency—chopping, blanching, and seasoning with a rhythm and confidence that surprised even Lily.
"I am genuinely impressed," Augusta exclaimed, watching his hands move. "To be so gifted at such a young age! You handle that knife like a professional. You can cook without shortcuts or magic!"
Anduin gave a genuinely modest smile, his hands still working. "I had to be self-sufficient from a very early age, ma'am. One quickly learns that basic survival skills are often more reliable than magic."
Augusta immediately reached out and patted his shoulder with a sudden, overwhelming maternal tenderness. "Oh, my poor child. You must have endured great loneliness and hardship. I wish you had been born into a family like ours—you would never have been made to suffer or fend for yourself."
Anduin was genuinely touched by the sincerity of her pity. He took a brief moment to offer reassurance. "Mrs. Longbottom, thank you for your kindness. But please believe me, your son, Frank, is a deeply courageous man, and your family is full of strength. I know you will both find great happiness." Augusta smiled, satisfied. Frank might be a headache, but he was her pride.
Anduin then turned to Lily, lowering his voice amidst the comforting steam and clatter. "Lily," he asked, keeping his tone measured and professional, "did Professor Dumbledore provide the full security context for this gathering?"
Lily immediately understood. She stopped stirring a large gravy pan, her green eyes becoming sharp and focused. "Yes," she whispered, leaning down.
"We received the Headmaster's complete warning. James and I immediately began reinforcing our entire residence with every protective and concealment charm we know. We haven't left the property in forty-eight hours. We understand this house is effectively a lure now, and we are prepared to be besieged. We were already grateful, but knowing it was your initial intelligence that triggered Dumbledore's urgency—I haven't had the chance to properly convey my thanks."
Augusta, still mixing spices, added dismissively, "Dumbledore is always reliable. Let those Death Eaters come—if they have any sense, they'll stay far away from a house guarded by an Auror, a future Auror, and three Marauders."
Anduin felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. His primary suspicion—that a traitor might already have alerted the Death Eaters to Dumbledore's plan—was still valid.
If this entire, heavily guarded evening passed without incident, it would be the strongest possible evidence that the internal mole had tipped off Voldemort's forces, forcing them to abort the entire operation. This, paradoxically, meant today might be the safest day of the entire war.
With the immediate danger mitigated by preparation and the high probability of an abortive attack, Anduin allowed himself to enjoy the culinary process.
He deftly used the kitchen ingredients to construct two show-stopping additions: a rich, velvety Western-style wild mushroom soup thickened with roux and cream, and small, spicy Asian-inspired tuna and ginger cakes, served with a light lime dressing, providing a much-needed contrast to the heavy festive fare.
Augusta sampled the tuna cake and practically swooned, her gaze toward Anduin solidifying into a fierce, protective adoration.
When the immense meal was finally ready, Anduin was the first to emerge, shedding his apron and smoothing down his sleeves. The others had converged in the living room, their professional vigilance momentarily forgotten as they were absorbed in the sight of the two small babies.
Anduin joined them, his eyes immediately drawn to the two tiny, vulnerable forms on the floor: Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.
The men—grown wizards, powerful fighters—were acting like overly excited older brothers, trying to encourage the two infants into a clumsy, adorable crawling race across the carpet.
But the babies paid them no mind.
Anduin watched them, his heart aching with the weight of his limited, dangerous knowledge. One baby, clearly Harry, was all impetuous motion and wide-eyed curiosity, grabbing for James's dangling watch chain, his tiny movements quick, demanding constant attention.
The other, Neville, was deliberate and cautious, crawling a short distance only to stop, plant his face firmly in the soft carpet, suck his thumb, and then immediately reverse course back towards Alice's skirt.
The Prophecy hangs over them both. Voldemort knew the threat was one of these two. Anduin knew that Harry survived and that Lily died saving him, creating the ultimate sacrifice. But he didn't know the exact mechanism.
His mind was trapped in a relentless ethical loop:
The Information: Anduin knew Severus Snape was the Half-Blood Prince, a Death Eater, and had deep knowledge of the Dark Arts. He also knew Peter Pettigrew was the actual traitor who would later expose the Potters.
The Timing: Unmasking Peter now would save the Potters' lives, but it would not nullify the prophecy. It would only shift Voldemort's singular focus.
The Risk: If Voldemort, robbed of his ability to strike Harry, turned his full, terrible attention to Neville, the entire trajectory of the war—and the fate of the Longbottoms—would be irrevocably altered, likely for the worse. Anduin's interference would save one family only to doom another, fulfilling the prophecy through the child of greater caution and less fame.
The terrible truth was that Voldemort needed to choose one boy and mark him as his equal to set the stage for his eventual downfall.
If Anduin stopped the chain of events entirely, the war would simply drag on, perhaps indefinitely. His knowledge was a dangerous scalpel: perfectly capable of cutting, but with no guarantee of healing.
Was it the attempted murder that gave Harry the ability to defeat him? Anduin didn't know the specifics of the scar, the love protection, or the horcruxes. He only knew the headline. He could save Lily, but at the cost of Frank and Alice?
The choice was paralyzing. He looked at the oblivious, giggling babies and felt the full, crushing weight of his foresight. The adults saw innocent fun; Anduin saw a terrifying lottery.