The Fall of the Fitchburg Finches

With sweet potatoes and potatoes to line their stomachs, everyone gathered around the campfire looked at the skewers teased by the flames and unconsciously sniffed, only to feel even hungrier.

Wizet snapped his fingers, and the flames rapidly spread outward, enveloping the skewers before instantly retreating back into the coals;

Before the firelight had even finished painting their faces red, the rich scent of spices hit them, and everyone swallowed in unison.

After all, they had been busy all day, and with such an irresistible barbecue aroma in the air, no one could hold back any longer.

"It's ready..." Wizet's voice was like the crack of a starting pistol. Everyone reached for the skewers before them, attacking like well-trained Aurors.

"Dear Ronald, you really need to work on your speed... hey!" Fred and George laughed as they moved just a little faster than Ron, snatching away two skewers;

That only made Ron more anxious. Once he got hold of a skewer, he did not care that it was scorching hot. After blowing on it with a few hasty puffs, he bit into the topmost piece of meat and let out a string of satisfied hums.

They usually barbecued using a smoker, since that made the heat easier to control;

To them, Wizet's skewers felt entirely new, both in the method of grilling and in the spice-based seasoning;

Thanks to his precise control over the flames, the lightly charred, crisp exterior gave off an enticing aroma of spices, while the inside retained its juices and remained perfectly tender.

Xenophilius and the others especially enjoyed alternating between a bite of skewer and a sip of Butterbeer. Amid a series of long, contented burps, they had already sunk into their chairs, looking thoroughly lazy and comfortable.

Wizet blew on a skewer to cool