Once the menu was settled, Alan and Augusta spent the afternoon preparing the initial ingredients. Augusta retrieved her finest ceramic tableware and the large silver-plated serving dishes required for a buffet-style spread.
Early the next morning, the real work began. Augusta was a whirlwind of activity, her hands moving in sync with her cooking magic as she kneaded dough for bread and desserts and prepared various fruit juices. Alan, meanwhile, managed three cutting boards at once. He busied himself processing the pork, chicken, lamb chops, and the massive ham, meticulously sorting the meats, vegetables, and seasonings so everything was within arm's reach for the final push.
Frank and Alice, enjoying their rare day off, were just as excited to host. They helped arrange the long tables and serving stations in the yard, layering the perimeter with Muggle-Repelling Charms and Shield Charms. Although many wizards lived in the village, there were just as many Muggles, and they had no desire for uninvited onlookers.
Just as Alan fired up the four-burner stove to start the long-simmering mushroom chicken and braised pork, the first guests arrived.
The Diggorys were the first on the scene: Amos Diggory, his wife, and their four-year-old son, Cedric. Hearing the conversation in the living room, Alan stepped to the kitchen door to peek out. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory looked like a perfectly pleasant, slightly plump couple. Little Cedric stood quietly by his parents' side, though his head darted around with quiet curiosity. When he caught Alan looking at him, he blushed shyly and offered a small, polite smile. Alan smiled back before ducking back into the heat of the kitchen.
The aroma of the slow-cooked dishes was already beginning to fill the house. Alan moved on to the frying, dropping sweet and sour ribs, chicken wings, and onion rings into the sizzling oil.
Just then, a second wave of guests hit the house. The living room instantly transformed into a bustling marketplace, filled with the high-pitched shouts and frantic clamor of a pack of children. Alan guessed it was the Weasley brood, but he was too busy with the hot oil to go and greet them.
He didn't need to go out, however, as the guests came to him.
A pair of three-year-old twins with fiery red hair burst into the kitchen, hooting and hollering as they ran. Alan, who had little patience for rowdy children—especially near a pan of boiling oil—stiffened. He didn't want a stray splash to injure the boys; explaining that to a guest would be a nightmare.
But the twins seemed determined to be underfoot.
"Ah, it smells amazing! George, do you smell that?"
"You're George, I'm Fred, you idiot!"
The two red-headed blurs skidded to a halt at Alan's feet, tiptoeing desperately to see over the edge of the stove.
"Don't stand there, you'll get burned," Alan said firmly, trying to usher them away. "You can taste everything once it's served."
"No! I won't!" one of them chirped in a high, childish voice. "You're only a bit taller than my big brother, why should I listen to you?"
"Exactly," the other chimed in. "Unless you pick me up so I can see what smells so good. It smells even better than Mom's cooking!"
"You're talking nonsense!" the first twin interrupted, glaring at his brother. "Nobody's cooking is better than Mom's. Your nose must be broken!"
"Your nose is broken! And your ears, too!"
Before Alan could even get a word in, the two were already squaring off, looking ready to settle the matter with their fists. Just as Alan was about to intervene, a third red-headed child walked in. He looked to be about five or six and appeared much more well-behaved than the twins.
"George, Fred, Mom is calling for you. Stop bothering people!" he reprimanded them.
Alan let out a sigh of relief. *Thank goodness, a sensible one.*
"Nyah nyah nyah!" The twins stuck out their tongues in perfect unison. "No way, crybaby Percy! Come and catch us!"
They ignored their brother and began running laps around the large marble island in the center of the kitchen. Percy, looking exasperated, began to chase them. Alan watched the chaos, his irritation levels reaching a boiling point.
Just as he was about to erupt, another figure entered. This boy was much older, nearly ten, and possessed the same red hair but a far more composed demeanor.
"Bill! Look at them!" Percy cried out, sounding deeply slighted. "They aren't listening, and they called me names!"
"Nonsense! You were mean first!" the twins shouted back. "Percy's just a tattletale!"
Bill didn't waste breath on an argument. He moved with efficient speed, scooping up a twin in each arm. He looked at Alan with a look of genuine apology. "I'm sorry. My brothers shouldn't have disturbed you."
"It's alright," Alan said, finally able to turn back to his stove. "But the kitchen is dangerous for small children. They could easily get hurt if they keep running around in here."
Bill nodded respectfully, then dragged the protesting, shouting twins out of the room. Peace finally returned.
Alan took a moment to breathe, marvelling at the sheer volume of a large family. He felt a sudden, profound respect for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for managing such a rowdy household.
With the distractions gone, Alan finished the bulk of the cooking. Augusta returned to the kitchen to check on the desserts in the oven just as the final guests arrived. Alan, having a moment of reprieve, walked to the doorway to see the family Augusta had described as "peculiar."
Xenophilius Lovegood was an artistic-looking man with shoulder-length, snowy white hair. He wore a vibrant yellow robe and a gold chain adorned with a strange, triangular accessory. His wife, holding an infant, wore a light blue robe and possessed a quiet, scholarly air.
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