*These two are clearly Ravenclaws,* Alan thought to himself. *No wonder Augusta described them that way. Ravenclaws can be intensely focused on their own interests, and to the outside world, that often looks like eccentricity.*
Alan actually found himself quite liking them. Given his own scholarly habits and quiet deanor, he had once suspected he might end up in the house of the eagle himself.
The Longbottoms kept the conversation flowing as they led everyone out to the courtyard. The weather was pleasant—unusually sunny for the English countryside. The adults sipped their drinks and chatted, while the children ran circles around each other in a rare mont of warti harmony.
In the kitchen, Alan wiped his brow, finally finishing the last of the preparation. He used his magic to levitate the food into large porcelain serving dishes. The platters floated in a disciplined line, following him out to the courtyard like a small parade. He settled each dish into its tal warr on the buffet table and lifted the covers. Everything was ready.
Augusta tapped her glass, the ring of silver on crystal drawing everyone's attention. "Welco, everyone, to our ho. And a special thank you to Alan for providing us with this magnificent spread. Now, let's not let it get cold. Please, help yourselves!"
If Alan had to summarize Augusta's speech, it was simply: eat, drink, and go all out.
The announcent brought the gathering to a peak. The children rushed the table imdiately, a sea of red hair leading the charge. Alan watched the Weasley brood with a mix of amusent and wariness.
Molly Weasley, looking radiant despite her pregnancy, walked toward him. "Alan, I've heard my brothers ntion you. I never expected you to have such a gift for cooking. I could sll the aroma from the garden the mont we arrived."
"You're too kind, Molly. If you ask , you're the remarkable one, managing a family of this size," Alan replied politely.
"It takes a fair bit of work, I won't lie," Molly said with a warm laugh. "You have no idea how much effort goes into feeding this lot every day."
Arthur Weasley, who was holding a toddler about Neville's age, joined them. "Alan, it's a pleasure to finally et you. I've heard your na from Moody and Kingsley. They ntioned you helped them fend off Death Eaters over the holidays. Is that true?"
The couple's interests were worlds apart, and Alan found himself bouncing between topics until his head began to ache. As the children finished serving themselves and headed back to the long table with loaded plates, Alan turned back to the Weasleys. "Please, help yourselves to so food before it's all gone. We can talk while we eat."
The couple readily agreed. Arthur handed one-year-old Ron to Alan and headed for the buffet, patting his stomach in anticipation.
Alan looked down at little Ron, who had a shock of bright red hair. The boy looked sturdy and well-fed, though his expression was sowhat vacant and simple, staring up at Alan with wide, blinking eyes.
The guests settled around the long table, the air filling with the sounds of cutlery on porcelain and satisfied murmurs. The Diggorys were a picture of cheer, while the Lovegoods remained sowhat reserved, though clearly enjoying the al. The Weasley family provided most of the noise; Arthur was in high spirits, and Molly spent the al supervising her younger sons, though Bill and Charlie were old enough to help her keep order. Fred and George, predictably, were a handful.
However, everyone shared one sentint: the food was spectacular. Even the children were focused on their plates, faces covered in grease—including the normally shy Cedric.
Once word got around that Alan had prepared the entire feast, the complints ca thick and fast.
"How exactly do you make this mushroom soup?" Molly asked, looking genuinely stunned. "The flavor is so rich, but it's so light. It's completely different from the way I cook." She spent a good portion of the afternoon asking Alan for the recipes, and despite the age gap, they were soon talking like old friends.
"Alan, can you co over to our house?" eight-year-old Charlie Weasley asked, a chicken wing in each hand. "If you visit, will you cook for us too?"
"If the opportunity arises, I'd be happy to," Alan replied.
"Really? We'd love to have you," Arthur added, his mouth glistening with oil.
By the ti the main course was over, Alan had firmly secured the friendship of the Weasley family.
The luncheon transitioned into afternoon tea as the children returned to their gas. Xenophilius Lovegood approached Alan with a dreamy expression. "Young man, thank you. My wife is very happy today, and Luna can sense it. She hasn't stopped smiling."
Alan smiled back. "I'm just glad everyone enjoyed the al, Mr. Lovegood."
"Oh, we did. And Luna did too. She can't eat solid food yet, of course, but you can tell she appreciates the atmosphere," Lovegood said.
Alan wasn't sure how he'd reached that conclusion, but he stayed polite. "I'm glad your daughter is happy. I heard you're a magazine editor; that must be quite a demanding job."
Xenophilius's eyes lit up. "Yes! Have you heard of *The Quibbler*? We are the only publication willing to print the truth about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Nargles. Other magazines are full of liars who hide the facts of the world."
Alan managed to keep a straight face as the man criticized his peers. It was clear that Mr. Lovegood spoke with a directness that bypassed all social tact.
"May you remain unbothered by Blibbering Humdingers," Lovegood said, spotting his wife beckoning him. "Pandora is calling. Perhaps you could publish so of your recipes in our magazine one day? I believe they would be a sensation." He gave Alan a final smile and wandered off.
Alan didn't quite follow the man's logic, but he could tell Xenophilius wasn't a bad person—his mind was simply tuned to a different frequency.
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