Sirius, hearing that the gathering was Dumbledore's suggestion, exchanged a meaningful glance with Alan. They both understood that this was part of the Headmaster's defensive arrangement. Dumbledore had likely already set his pieces on the board.
If the night passed quietly, that would be ideal, but if the Death Eaters dared to intrude on the festivities, Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix were undoubtedly prepared to hand them a very distinct Christmas gift.
James Potter seemed particularly high-spirited, looking at Alan and laughing. "Merry Christmas, Alan! I didn't expect to see you again so soon. I heard you saved Sirius's skin. Lily and I were terrified when we heard he'd nearly gotten cornered, but I suppose the old dog is lucky enough to have a young hero looking out for him."
Frank Longbottom interjected with a warm smile, "I was there that night, too. Word reached the Ministry that Alan actually took down a Death Eater! Alan, I don't know if you remember me from the alley, but in any case, Merry Christmas."
Sirius scowled as the topic resurfaced. Ever since the skirmish in Knockturn Alley, his friends had been relentless with the teasing. He felt as though he was developing a case of Little Wizard PTSD.
"Cough, cough." Sirius cleared his throat loudly to change the subject. "Listen, I haven't even introduced you properly. Everyone, this is Alan Wilson, currently a first-year at Hogwarts."
He turned to Alan, gesturing around the room. "The tall one is Remus Lupin; the stout one is Peter Pettigrew. You've met James already. And these two are Frank and Alice Longbottom."
"Hello, Alan. Thank you for helping Sirius," said the tall, soft-spoken Lupin.
"H-hello, it's a pleasure," stammered Peter Pettigrew, looking somewhat overwhelmed.
Alan nodded politely to the group. As the greetings concluded, a middle-aged woman marched out of the kitchen, hands on her hips, and addressed the room with a fierce shout. "Alright, you lot! Are we eating Christmas dinner tonight or not? Someone get in here and help! Are you really going to leave an old woman to do everything herself?"
Frank Longbottom couldn't help but retort, "Mom, you're not even fifty. Stop talking like you're ancient."
Augusta Longbottom glared at her son. "And whose fault is it that I feel ancient, with a son as troublesome as you?"
Alan stepped forward to de-escalate the tension. "Mrs. Longbottom, you've done a lot already. Please, let me help you."
Augusta watched as Alan took off his coat and efficiently rolled up his sleeves. She turned back to her son and barked, "Look at him! Even a child has more sense than you."
Then she softened her expression for Alan. "Thank you, dear, but let the adults handle the kitchen. I wouldn't want you getting burned."
Frank shrank back at his mother's roar, awkwardly sticking out his tongue. Sirius, however, chimed in, "Don't underestimate him, Mrs. Longbottom. Alan's a genius in the kitchen. I've been eating his cooking for the past few days, and I'm convinced I've put on five pounds."
Surprised, Augusta looked Alan over once more before leading him into the kitchen without further protest.
Lily was already busy at the stove. Alan donned an apron and began skillfully prepping ingredients. Augusta watched him work for a few minutes before offering a compliment. "I didn't expect someone your age to be so capable, let alone know your way around a kitchen."
Alan offered a modest smile as he chopped vegetables. "I've lived alone since I was young. Learning to take care of myself was a necessity."
Augusta's face softened with genuine sympathy. She reached out and patted his head. "Poor child. You must have had a hard time of it. It's a pity you weren't born into our family; we certainly wouldn't have let you struggle on your own."
Touched by the sudden burst of maternal warmth, Alan replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom. That's very kind of you. Your son is a brave man, and I'm sure you're all very happy together."
Augusta beamed. Despite her constant scolding, Frank was clearly her greatest pride.
Alan leaned closer to Lily as they worked. "Lily, did Dumbledore talk to you? About the situation?"
Lily stopped stirring a pot and looked at him. "Yes, we all received the warning. James and I have been layering the house in protective charms for days. Professor Dumbledore has made his arrangements, and I know it was your tip that gave us the lead. I haven't had a chance to thank you properly."
Augusta added firmly, "Dumbledore is a man of his word. If those Death Eaters value their lives, they'd best stay far away from this house tonight."
Alan felt a bit more at ease. He still suspected a mole within the Order was feeding info to the Death Eaters. If the night remained calm, it likely meant the enemy had been tipped off about the ambush and had called off the strike. Either way, the immediate danger would pass.
He focused on the tasks at hand, using the available ingredients to whip up a rich mushroom soup and some spicy tuna cakes. When Augusta tasted the samples, her eyes lit up. Her gaze toward Alan became increasingly affectionate.
Once the prep was nearly finished, Alan headed back to the living room. The men were gathered in a circle on the carpet, watching two babies crawl about.
Alan joined them, though he couldn't tell the infants apart at first glance. The adults were trying to coax the two into a race, but the young wizards had their own agendas. One crawled a few inches before sitting up to suck on his thumb, while the other wandered aimlessly in circles before eventually retreating to his starting point.
One of these boys was Harry, the one destined to face Voldemort. As a baby, he looked perfectly ordinary. Alan was still frustrated by his hazy memory of the original story; he didn't know if his presence here would change anything or if Lily's fate was already sealed by some future betrayal. He desperately wanted to prevent the tragedy he knew was coming, but he didn't know the "how" or the "when." Was it a single mistake that gave Voldemort an opening, or something more systemic?