"Those two, Lovegood and his wife, possess a remarkable capacity for focused introspection, unburdened by social convention," Anduin mused to himself, watching the peculiar pair settle down. "They exhibit the kind of solitary, almost selfish intellectual pursuit that characterizes the most extreme Ravenclaws."
No wonder Augusta, a traditionalist to her core, found them eccentric. He had, after all, once believed his own analytical mind would lead him to the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw, giving him a quiet affinity for anyone who valued clarity over consensus.
The atmosphere in the Longbottom courtyard was transforming. The brilliant summer day—a rare occurrence of clear, warm sunshine—had drawn everyone out. The adults distributed themselves amongst the various garden benches, engaging in animated conversation, glasses clinking with soft drink or, in Frank's case, an illicit sip of Firewhisky.
A pack of children, a blur of red and brown hair, were already engaged in a raucous game of tag, lending the whole scene a vibrant, slightly chaotic rhythm.
In the kitchen, Anduin worked in a final, intense surge. Sweat beaded on his brow, but his focus was absolute. All the dishes were completed and resting. Using only focused, highly controlled Levitation Charms, he manipulated the culinary bounty.
He lifted the large, heavy pots one by one, carefully transferring the Braised Red-Cooked Pork and the Lamb Chops with Crushed Pistachios onto the massive porcelain serving platters. This wasn't showy, explosive magic; it was precise, disciplined control, demonstrating a mastery over telekinesis usually reserved for complex dueling scenarios.
Then, with a silent command, all the prepared dishes—the savory stews, the vibrant cold salads, the crispy fried meats, the steaming Ham-Fried Sentinel Rice—rose smoothly into the air, arrayed in a neat, impressive formation behind him. They glided through the kitchen door and into the sun-drenched courtyard, following Anduin as he moved towards the long buffet table.
In front of the assembled guests, the floating platters descended with perfect synchronization. Anduin then exerted a final, delicate control, guiding the contents of each platter directly into the chafing dishes—the metal containers designed to keep the food warm on the buffet line.
With another crisp movement, the lids of the containers snapped shut, sealing in the heat and aroma. The entire presentation, executed without a single word or wand flourish, was a subtle but profound display of magical efficiency. Everything was ready.
Augusta, presiding at the head of the table, stood and rapped her glass gently with a fork, a pleased smile creasing her stern features.
"Welcome, everyone, to the Longbottom family gathering. I must, first and foremost, give heartfelt thanks to Anduin for the magnificent preparations. We are truly honored to host you all. Now, let's abandon formality! Enjoy your lunch to your hearts' content, and please, eat whatever you like!"
Her words, essentially translating to, "Eat well, drink well, and indulge to your heart's content," were the signal. The children, already energized, swarmed the table, the pack of red-haired brats leading the charge. Anduin couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement watching the organized chaos.
A gentle hand touched his elbow. It was Molly Weasley, the plump, heavily pregnant matriarch, her face flushed with the heat and the exertion of managing her large brood.
"Anduin," she began, her voice rich and warm, but with an underlying sharpness of observation. "My Bill and Charlie have spoken highly of your intelligence, but I didn't expect such mastery in the kitchen. As soon as I walked through the door, the scent of those spices—the balance was exquisite. What is in that broth?"
"You're too kind, Mrs. Weasley," Anduin replied gently. "It is my pleasure. Though, if I may say so, it is truly remarkable how well you manage to nurture and care for such a large family. That is a task far more complex than any culinary effort."
Molly waved a dismissive hand, though her pride was evident. "Call me Molly, dear. And managing them is simply survival! But cooking for them every day… that is a different battle. I bake and make hearty stews, but this—this Chicken and Mushroom Stew—is a revelation! It has no trace of cheese, no butter, yet it is so rich and deep. How do you achieve that depth without a Roux?"
As Anduin humbly began to share the secret—the technique of slow-reducing high-quality stock and the precise use of dried shiitake mushrooms for their umami flavor—Molly hung on every word, her mind instantly dissecting the recipe's structure.
However, their shared focus was interrupted. Arthur Weasley, carrying a slightly squirming baby Ron, who was barely a year old, approached.
"Anduin, delighted to finally meet you," Arthur said, his usual enthusiasm slightly dimmed by professional concern.
"Though this is our first introduction, I've heard quite a bit. Moody and Kingsley—colleagues in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—both mentioned you in their reports following the events near Hogsmeade. They credited you with extraordinary strategic thinking under fire. Is it true that you were instrumental in disabling several Death Eaters during the ambush?"
The two Weasleys had concerns that were worlds apart—Molly focused on the practical security of her family through nutrition, and Arthur focused on the security of the wider wizarding world through combat. Trying to navigate between Arthur's intense, specific inquiry and Molly's deep, technical questioning gave Anduin an unaccustomed mental headache.
"Please, both of you," Anduin interjected smoothly, gesturing to the overflowing buffet table. "Let us prioritize eating first. The food is at its peak right now. We can converse more freely once you've had a chance to enjoy the meal."
They readily agreed. Arthur, after carefully serving a plate for Molly, gently placed the infant Ron into Anduin's waiting arms. "Here, hold young Ron for a moment. He's usually quiet once he's fed."
Anduin found himself holding the baby. Ron was a sturdy, well-fed boy with the bright Weasley red hair, but his expression was perpetually slack and slightly bewildered, giving him a guileless, almost vacant look.
Anduin held the child against his shoulder, gently patting his back while observing the sheer, bewildering genetic diversity of the Weasley clan.
How could one couple produce such a vast spectrum, from the shrewd brilliance of the twins to this placid, uncomprehending innocence? he wondered, comparing it to the highly regulated, precise genetic lines he had studied in his past life.
Ron, meanwhile, was delighted, happily patting Anduin's cheek with a sticky hand as he watched his father gleefully pile food onto his plate.
The guests settled around the long table, the chatter rising in volume and cheer. The Diggory family—always cheerful and approachable—engaged Frank and Alice in boisterous conversations about the Quidditch League.
The Lovegoods, however, kept mostly to themselves. Xenophilius and Pandora sat quietly, observing the company with mild detachment, speaking in soft, rapid whispers to each other, barely participating in the mainstream dialogue, a contained, happy world unto themselves.
The Weasley family, unsurprisingly, was the epicenter of the liveliness. Arthur, mouth glistening with the sweet-sour sauce, was in high spirits.
Molly, despite needing to keep a constant, sharp eye on the Fred and George (who were already planning a raid on the dessert table), managed to savor her meal. Only the elder boys, Bill and Charlie, offered consistent, responsible assistance, policing the twins and helping pass plates.
But the one unifying factor was the food. Every single guest, from the most reserved to the most chaotic, was raving. Even the shy, meticulous Cedric Diggory was eating with gusto, his face smeared with grease from the juicy lamb chop.
Molly, having secured the recipe for the stew, turned her attention to the rest of the meal. "Anduin, the texture of this rice—it's firm, each grain separate. And the sauce for the cold pork—it has a powerful citrus component. You truly have a gift."
"So, Brother Anduin," a small, innocent voice chimed in. It was Charlie Weasley, eight years old and already exhibiting a fierce, focused energy, holding a crispy chicken wing in each hand. "Can you come and cook at our house often? When will you come and make this sweet and sour pork for us?"
Anduin smiled, an easy, genuine expression. "If the opportunity arises, and it would not be an inconvenience to your family, I would be happy to."
Arthur Weasley's face lit up, dropping his fork with an enthusiastic clang. "An inconvenience? Nonsense! Our entire family would welcome you, Anduin! A full-time chef would solve half of my problems! Come any time!" The invitation, simple and heartfelt, sealed a friendship forged in the shared experience of exceptional food.
The lunch transitioned into a relaxed afternoon tea, with the children resuming their games in the courtyard under the watchful eyes of Alice and Frank.
Xenophilius Lovegood, holding his tranquil baby Luna, slowly approached Anduin, who was tidying the buffet table.
"Young man, my sincere gratitude for your abundant hospitality," Xenophilius began, his voice strangely high-pitched and melodic. "My wife, Pandora, is profoundly content today. You see, even Luna can sense her mother's elevated emotional state; that's why she keeps smiling. The Ermetic Fissures in her mind are calm."
Anduin smiled, navigating the unfamiliar terminology. "That is a very kind sentiment, Mr. Lovegood. I am pleased that you and your family enjoyed the meal."
"We all loved it, especially the vibrant colors of the cold dishes," Xenophilius affirmed, gently stroking Luna's wispy hair.
"And Luna loves it too. Even though she cannot ingest solids yet, she is clearly absorbing the positive emotional residue left by the perfectly balanced nutritional profiles. It's truly fascinating, the emotional impact of structured sustenance."
While still perplexed by the concept of "absorbing positive emotional residue," Anduin steered the conversation to a safer topic. "I am glad your daughter approves. I heard Augusta mention you are an editor for a magazine; that sounds like a demanding profession in this age of heightened conflict."
Lovegood's eyes, usually distant, suddenly snapped into sharp focus. "Ah! You've heard of The Quibbler? We are, I assure you, the only truly free press left in the wizarding world. We are the sole publication willing to print accurate articles concerning creatures that the Ministry and the Daily Prophet deliberately deny the existence of—the Snoring Beast with the Curved Horns, the Hookworm, and the pernicious Trembling Worms. The established media is merely hiding the truth, protecting the status quo. They are all, quite frankly, a bunch of compliant, shortsighted liars."
Anduin, who held a similar, though more coldly logical, skepticism toward established authority, was secretly intrigued by his bluntness. Mr. Lovegood clearly operated without the filter of euphemism or social calculation.
"We publish the facts, however inconvenient they may be to the masses or the Ministry," Xenophilius declared with quiet passion. "You, young man, possess an analytical mind. You see the structure in the chaos of cooking. You understand that the simplest truth is often the most complexly hidden."
Suddenly, his focus broke. His dreamy gaze drifted towards the sky, though there was nothing visibly out of the ordinary. "Oh, dear. I believe the air is becoming rather thick with pesky Fwooper Flies. Pandora is calling me over—she says they're attracted to negative magical vibrations in groups this large. Please excuse me for a moment."
He offered a final, earnest smile. "Perhaps, one day, you could pen some of your fascinating recipes for our magazine. I believe a column dedicated to Magical-Muggle Fusion Cuisine would be immensely popular among our readers, who are always seeking unconventional truths." He turned and hastened toward his wife and daughter.
Anduin watched him go, a faint smile playing on his lips. He might not have understood the specific mythological creatures Mr. Lovegood mentioned, but he understood the man's fundamental position: a refusal to accept the commonly agreed-upon reality.
Anduin realized that beneath the eccentric yellow robes was a sharp, if highly unconventional, intellect—a novelty that was far more interesting than the conventional politeness he usually encountered.
The day had provided not just a feast, but a fascinating study in wizarding society's diverse and sometimes bizarre characters.