Are You Experienced?
Summary: Ron decides that he wants to spend the rest of his life thinking about food. He offers to become a business partner to a wizard who owns a restaurant in Italy, and build its sister in Diagon Alley. But part of the deal is that Ron has to take on the Italian's apprentice, Pansy Parkinson, as his Executive Chef. (Ronsy! with mentions of Harry/Hermione/Draco)(Rated "M" for language and later smut)(ALBUM!FIC "Are You Experienced?" by Jimi Hendrix)
A/N: Oh yeah! Another fic comin' at ya! This is set 11 years after "Le Don". You don't necessarily need to read that to understand, but you should know that Harry, Hermione, and Draco are a triad!
I must thank storygirl1015 for being a huge reason that this fic has a plot! She helped me decide on the triad's kids' names, as well as their features and temperaments! I must admit that that was a little bit too much fun! Thanks for that!
Disclaimer: I do not own HP or Jimi Hendrix or anything associated with either!
Part 1- Red House
Ronald Weasley sat below a shade tree behind a restaurant in wizarding Amalfi, Italy, named the "Red House".
It was home to some of the best food he had ever tasted; on a scale he didn't even know existed! And Ron had eaten quite a bit of food in his 36 years.
It was a farm to table restaurant that was run by a half-blood wizard, Santo Quercia, whose Muggle mum had taught him to cook at a young age. He took the tradition of cooking with one's hands seriously in most aspects of his restaurant, and he had hired witches and wizards to work in the kitchen; the need for house elves being, quote, "… too impersonal. Food made with bare hands is far more magical than any conjuring or the snap of elves' fingers."
Ron loved food, especially the food his mum made without using magic; so he felt he and Santo connected on that level, and felt it wise to focus on what he loved above all else...
While he loved Quidditch, chess, the color red, large, comfortable beds, Friday nights, Sunday mornings, his Nimbus 3,000, his owl "Stubs", women, and Rune warding, he loved food the most.
Ron and Santo, and the Italian man's son, Luka, sat a large table for eight, which had been set with an array of different dishes; most representing a different country, done at varying levels of complexity:
Hasenpfeffer with a scoop of polenta; classic meatballs on a bed spaghetti and Bolognese sauce. Sushi and Japanese tacos; made with deep fried eggplant shells, and crab meat and cabbage. A buffalo beef burger with blue cheese and grilled morel mushrooms; goat mincemeat pie with sweet mashed potatoes; green curry with a side of rice and chicken miso. A combination plate of doro wat, beg wat, and beggi wat with injera; Matoke with Chapati.
These dishes all surrounded an equally extravagant center piece of desserts; ranging from tiny plates with single, tiny tarts; pineapple kulolo, a two tier chocolate cake, small bowls of vanilla custard, a platter of chocolate gyung dan, a banana cream pie, pumpkin crème Brule; a ten- scoop mountain of pomegranate and blueberry gelato sat in a large ice-cream dish; the colors alternating on the stack.
There were eight different types of breads and dinner rolls, three bottles of local wine, and six different brightly colored cocktails…
Ron was in heaven, because all of this had been prepared for him.
Three weeks prior, Ron had taken Harry, Hermione, and Draco to dinner at the "Red House" for their eight-year bonding anniversary. Hermione had decided on the location after saying she'd heard of it from a friend, and wanted to go desperately; especially now that the married triad's youngest kids were old enough to be watched.
Ron had been present when his "three" eldest friends had decided to go forward with a magical bonding one night; where Ron and Ginny had been asked to be present. It hadn't seemed odd, seeing as he and Ginny went over for dinner quite often.
But, once they'd spilled the beans on Hermione's pregnancy, Ginny had decided that mentioning a "bonding" was a humorous notion. Her "funny" had only turned into one of the most odd… proposals..?... Ron had ever witnessed…
-"Well… I'm not going anywhere!" Angry, Drunk Draco growled, "I don't care if the baby is mine or Harry's. I'm staying."
"I know I don't care if it's mine or Draco's… So I'm not going anywhere, either." Harry said, and Ron looked at him strangely; because that sentence should have sounded loving, when, instead, it sounded like a challenge.
Even after three years of buggering each other, Harry and Draco were still at it about who won what; and their offspring with Hermione fell within their moral compass; running somewhere along the lines of, "I'm going to be a good team player, but I also want to win."
It made Ron want to shake his head at them.
"Obviously," The pregnant witch began, "I've decided I'm not going anywhere."
This statement put the three men and Ginny into state of unease.
Hermione was likely to leave at any moment; though she hadn't done so in years, the residual effects of her leaving the first time were not distant memories; and the fact that she had pretended to run away a second time had only made things worse.
They had all tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, which had, up until that point, been justified. But, upon the news of Hermione being pregnant with one of her future husband's children, and the fight that had broken out between the men because of it, she had threatened to "leave their sniveling arses" if they couldn't pull it together.
The energy between the two other men at the table was bordering on hostile as the triad looked between themselves with lowered lids, and Ron looked to Ginny, who looked back to him with a smirk.
His sister had always loved this "triad" situation far too much. You'd think she'd be mad that the woman who was nearly her sister was now, possibly, having a child with her ex; while also opting to marry him and a man who used to terrorize them all in their youth…
Shite, Ron should have been upset… but the Runes do not lie. The three had something between them that magic responded to, and you can't really fight that, can you?
"Very well," Lucius Jr. said, slapping a hand down on the table. "It's settled. We'll be bonded."
"Fine," Harry said with a glare.
"Fine by me," Hermione said with an indifferent wave of her hand.
Ron caved, and shook his head in exasperation.—
The ceremony had gone well, actually; the event being held at the old shack of Sirius' in New Zealand, where the three had changed the house to accommodate them… and Draco's need to be a spoiled, rich bitch.
The house in New Zealand was now an actual house with three stories, after Draco had paid off an uncountable amount of officials to, officially, claim the property as Harry's, giving them rights to alter the house and keep Muggles from wandering anywhere near it.
All in all, the wedding had been a huge hit, and the three had walked away from the alter as "The Malfoy-Potters". Hermione had opted to keep her maiden name, but the two men had been dead set on the both of them taking the others name; which would have left them Malfoy-Potter, and her Granger. She had then suggested hyphenating them all together (Granger-Malfoy-Potter). But, once Ron had called her "Mrs. Granmalpot" enough, she'd decided to join her husbands in being a "Malfoy-Potter".
Or "Motter", like Ron and Ginny liked to the call them.
Ron had enjoyed the wedding and the reception for the most part… besides the awkward questions from the guests who were still far too perplexed by the situation. If Ron let everything bother him, he would never sleep; so he would tell the guests that he had set them up, or…
-"I saw their future! In the ruuuuuuuuunes…" Ron said, voice low and spooky, as he wiggled his fingers- doing his best at Draco's dementor impression- at an inquisitive, dumpy witch before him. She scoffed and glared at him, and then turned to waddle away into the fray.
Ron had gotten his fishing license for the evening; which said, plainly, that he could tell stories.
He looked to Minerva, who stood beside him, and asked, "Should I have said that? What if people start owling me to read their futures and it becomes some sort of- silly… back lash?"
"Back lash, blash smlash…" Minerva said, taking a drink of her wine.
The two froze, looked to one another, and broke into a loud fit of laughter.-
He and Minerva had had a lot of laughs that night, being as the two had been the only ones to share the secret of Hermione's return, besides her husbands. Ever since, the Head Matron had allowed Ron to call her Minerva.
It had been a "shot wand" wedding; Hermione had been far enough along for them to have deduced that the baby was Harry's, and for Molly to have to spell her dress to accommodate her baby belly. Hermione could do it, but Molly had been waiting years to put the brunette in one of her handmade gowns; and boy did she look amazing…
Ron had struggled more with that night than he had anticipated; hating how, every now and again, his brain would remind him that that should have been him beside her… his child that Molly had to make extra room for in a wedding dress…
They had a girl, named her Vivica, and it didn't change anything about their bonding; Draco stayed, even through the second child- which was also Harry's, a girl named Holly- and helped raised the girls as his own.
When Holly turned two, Hermione became pregnant once more.
At first, Ron had been like, "Whaaaaat?!", and he worried anxiously for a few days as they waited for the DNA test… which had not only showed them that the baby was Draco's, but that the "babies" were his!
Apparently, Draco had taken some "potency potion", and he was to be the father of triplet boys.
Ron almost died then; but it hadn't been as big of a shock as the letter he'd received from Draco asking him to be the Godfather of the triplets. He had been further floored at the news, and he wondered how many more wild broom rides he would have to endure in his lifetime when it came to his friends. Luna and Neville had two kids of their own that they had asked Ron to be the Godfather of already!
Between the The Motters, the Longbottoms and his brothers' kids, and Ginny's girlfriend's son, Ron had fifteen kids that he remembered the full names, birthdays, interests, and pet peeves of. Some asked, "Why don't you settle down and have kids, Ron?"; to which he would respond with a laugh.
Not that Ron hadn't had many promising prospects when it came to women, but the fact that all of them wanted to have children- after Ron already "had" near a dozen at the time- always became a problem for him, and would bring the end of this relationship or that one…
Even with taking this into consideration, and all of the other kids into account, Ron immediately accepted Draco's offer, sending his reply back with the Motters' owl.
Later, he found out that Draco had requested Pansy Parkinson, of all fucking people, as the Godmother; and the terms of Hermione and Harry's consent was in being that Ron be the Godfather to all five of the children.
Their choice on Godmother had been misplaced, in Ron's opinion, since he hadn't so much as seen the twit since the boys had been christened; the dull affair made more annoying by having to see and hear Pansy coo at the babies.
Ron had said his congratulations, given the boys and the mother kisses on the cheek, and he'd left out the back door with George to go bar hopping; making plans to explain his absence some other time.
That was three years ago, and Ron was almost happy that she never showed up for the birthday parties or holidays that the both of them should have attended. Not that Ron had much to say about the woman or her personal choices; because all he knew about her was the fact that she was a squishy-faced, high-pitched, flakey floozy who would throw your best friend under the Knight Bus.
Ron had said yes before he'd heard of the Motters' decision on Pansy… but he wouldn't have turned him down if he'd known.
His godsons were the perfect revenge on Draco; being as Ron intended to send the boys- Orpheus, Abraxas and Severus- as many of George's "safe" inventions every chance he got; with brief instructions to use them on "Daddy Draco".
They were still too young for things like that at this point, but luck favored the prepared. Ron had those plans simmering on the back burner… waiting for the perfect moment… when the boys turned five… 'Two years!' Ron thought jovially.
Sure, he'd taken to Draco's presence well enough over the years of "peace", but the two had retained that tension between them; even if they could, every now and again, share a good laugh… usually at Harry's expense.
Then, Ron's life changed once more, about a year ago, when he retired from his life as an Auror; finally succumbing to that… weird twist in his stomach that told him he had to be somewhere else… doing something else that gave him greater joy than protecting people.
Ron loved to protect people; it was the lion in him; the King of the Pride that stalked the outer edges of the shadows, doing all he could to keep intruders at bay; protecting his loved ones, and the loved ones of others.
He had done this; he had officially accomplished this mission. Almost every wizarding home, business, establishment, in the world had been set with his wards at this point… and now he could sit back and enjoy the residual effects of a hefty commission; receiving a royalty check of sorts, every three months, that added another large stack of Galleons on top of the ones he had already accumulated; all while sleeping like a baby knowing that he'd done his part in "saving the world".
Again!
If someone would have told Ron, when he was a kid, that he would grow up and figure out an near impenetrable ward system (it took one hundred wizards working together to take his ward down in an hour), only for it to lead to him being one of the wealthiest bachelors in England… he would have said, "Where do I sign?"
Well, he did say that- without saying it, of course- and he would have never guessed it would have all begun the year he'd taken the opportunity to join a program through the Ministry that allowed him to travel and learn different methods of defensive and offensive magic; the post-war high still at its apex, especially after Hermione had been "kidnapped".
Ron hadn't gone to Bill's thinking that he and his brother would get drunk, and stoned, one night, and talk far too deeply about the universe; only for Ron to wake up and find he'd written himself a note, knowing Drunk Ron had reached the level of "BOR". AKA; Black-Out Ron.
It had been a poorly written, sloppy, yet understandable, drunken idea of runes being fused within the air… which led to a sloppier side note of the runes being set into the earth; foliage, dirt, and even setting them to allow lower lifeforms to pass through, but humans and animagi to be blocked out specifically.
It had taken Ron a week, but he finally decided to owl Shacklebolt to inform him that he was off to Muggle University to take biology, chemistry, physics, and mathematics classes. The bastard had floo'd to him a few days later, and could barely contain his laughter as he consented to Ron's "half-baked ideas".
Needless to say, Ron was the one laughing now… his mouth full of chicken as he sat in a magnificent tea garden that seconded as an outdoor dining room, in Italy, with the prospect of buying a portion of the business to build its sister in Diagon Alley.
Ron wanted to be present it as the most prestigious, grandiose restaurants in all of Wizarding England.
It had not ever been Ron's idea to own a business of any sort, not even a restaurant! But food? Spending the remainder of his life worried about food? Ron could do that.
He knew there was much more to it than that, though, hence his meeting with the owner of "Red House".
Santo smiled at Ron as they ate, planning on talking about business after their meal; though some things were being discussed despite their earlier agreeing on a peaceful meal. The man had given him a tour of the grounds from their seats; pointing out the barns and acres for farming; the large pond where they spawned fish; the slaughter house that helped in supplying fresh meat; the large chicken pen where a brood of a hundred or more chickens clucked about.
Ron was loving every moment of the luncheon that Luka prepared for him; as a way for Santo to show his prospective business partner what the Italian expected to be upheld if the red-head was to take the good name of "Red House" with him to England. Ron had suspected this would be easy enough, as Santo's apprentice, and son, would be accompanying him to be the executive Chef; and Santo would be handling a lot of the business aspects that would keep his second restaurant "up to par".
Between the three of them, Ron figured they could figure it out.
Ron swallowed to say, "This is fantastic! Even my mother can't cook chicken like this, Luka. Don't tell her I said that, though, when you meet her." Luka gave Ron a lifted brow, and brought his napkin up to wipe his mouth as the young Italian turned to his father, before responding,
"I did not cook this, though I did help her set up." Luka's accent was thick, but Ron thought he heard him say "her".
When Ron had owled Santo three weeks ago, the morning after returning home from Italy, it had taken the man a week to respond; the letter explaining, in some detail, that Santo had time to dine with Ron two weeks from that day; that Santo thought Ron's idea of moving "Red House" to England was a splendid idea, and that Ron did not need to worry about a Chef because Santo's apprentice was willing to relocate.
Amongst a few other minor details- the legal aspects to be later agreed upon once the two men could see eye to eye on an agreement- Ron had arrived in Italy at the correct date and time to be escorted along the path that wrapped around the large red house, to sit on the dining veranda, where Santo and Luka had been waiting for him.
They had all introduced themselves, and Luka had been introduced as Santo's apprentice; a man only a year or two younger than Ron.
So the "her" was starting to confuse him a bit…
"Excuse me. You said "her"? I thought- you-"Ron pointed his fork at Luka, "- were your father's apprentice." Santo laughed at this, Luka rolled his eyes lightly, and Ron pulled his brows in as he felt his confusion mount.
'What in the bloody hell is so funny?' Ron thought as Santo's laughter died off, the Italian man saying,
"Of course Luka is my apprentice! Until the day I decide to pass this "Red House" to him. You cannot take him, Ron. I need Luka; he is my legacy, as is our restaurant.
"No," Santo shook his head as he sat forward, "You will take Chef Pans." Ron blinked at Santo, twice, before asking,
"You have a chef named "Pans"?" Santo nodded with a smile, and then turned to Luka, saying,
"Would you get her for us, please, Lu?" Luka nodded in return, his face fading from a mildly pleasant one to a frown as he stood to walk towards the building, some ways away, entering through the back door.
Ron looked back to Santo, his mind tossing a few questions around. They hadn't yet decided on the terms of business, but if they were going to talk about it, Ron supposed the real apprentice should be present.
"How… how long has Chef Pans been your apprentice? What is her experience? Luka, I can understand; he's your son. Is Pans… your daughter?" Ron asked, trying to figure out why Luka had gone from pleasant to sullen so quickly if Pans was his sister. Santo shook his head, replying,
"No, she is not my daughter, though I do think of her as one. She has been cooking for ten years, but has only been my apprentice for seven of those."
"Seven years of being an apprentice?" Ron asked, thinking someone should advance after that amount of time.
"Pans… has a willful spirit…" Santo said, his voice taking a tone Ron couldn't pinpoint; it verged on both annoyance and respect, as if the woman's will was equally awful to deal with as it was advantageous. "When she came to me, applying as my dish washer, I did not know that she had already been trained as a chef in Las Vegas." Ron's interest was piqued. 'An American, then?'
"One evening, after she had already been here a year, I came in after returning from a trip to see my mother, only to find that my other apprentice, the one before Pans who trained alongside Luka, had left in the middle of the dinner service!
"You could imagine my frustration, but it didn't last long once I realized that things were being handled by both Luka and Pans," at this, the man sighed, saying,
"After that, I had no choice but to take her on as my new apprentice, seeing as she was the only person to step up when Luka needed someone… which earned quite a bit of strife from my staff; most of whom had been with me for years at this point, and had wished the position for themselves.
"But I could not deny that this dishwasher had been learning from the bubbles; watching every plate and learning my recipes from the corner. I informed her that I had personally chosen her, and she swore to never disappoint me; which she has not… except in one, mind you, one aspect of my business..."he paused, took a sip of his drink. Ron wanted to know what Santo's "perfect" apprentice had done to make such a reasonable man, who was giving the woman praise, seem so concerned.
"She is an exceptional chef," Santo continued, "capable of great calm and logic all at once, which is what a chef needs to be successful; among other things, of course.
"She accepted the terms of my apprenticeship for her whole-heartedly; going to New York for a year to study with Muggles; forcing her to cook with her hands instead of her magic. She did so, without fail, and did so again when I sent her to Japan for six months, to Morroco for a summer… she even lived with my mother three winters ago, learning from the true master." Ron gave Santo an understanding smile.
"My one concern though…" Santo paused, Ron waiting with baited breath, "Now, she is a team player… except for when it comes to Luka. I regret to have to bring this up, but as professional as Pans can be, she and Luka do not get along, and it effects the work environment.
"I will not deny it, for my son can be an ass…
"I only say this to warn you that such a thing is possible; for her not to get along with someone. She works well with everyone else, even the ones who once believed she did not deserve her position; allowing their comments to roll off of her like water on a duck.
"Even as I yelled at her… cussed up a storm in my frustrations, something that happens all too often in an Italian kitchen, she did not back down. She would return the next day, head held high, ignoring as the men harassed her, and the women called her a skinny heffer behind her back.
"Pans has the last laugh in this, however, because she is now their superior in a way. She hasn't been here as long, but she holds the power.
"She has taken the last two years of being here without studying abroad, or tests, and she has proven to me that she is capable of being the Executive Chef that you need. She knows all of the ins and outs, all orders and procedures… and she has even taken to slaughtering and butchering the livestock this past summer.
"She will be capable of monitoring the farm you wish to construct, if we continue with this arrangement. You won't have to do much with her around, which is why I must warn you about her temper with Luka. I find that it will be the only option if you are to take "Red House" to England, because Luka will be visiting to check on progress; wherein the two will have to continue to work together in a way.
"A part of me wants to believe that there is an unspoken attraction between them, but I don't think they see it that way at all. I have tried for years to think of a way to get them to cooperate beyond cooking; when they cook together, it is more than magic… but when that is over, the two are ripping out each oth-"
The sound of a pan crashing through the back window and onto the stone pathway behind the house broke Santo's words, and he and Ron jumped as they looked toward the noise.
Santo sighed, swearing, "Merlin's mother…" before ripping his napkin from his lap and throwing it down on the table to stalk angrily towards the house. Out of curiosity, Ron followed him, and the two men quickly made their way to stand a few feet from the back door, avoiding glass and the skillet.
As they had approached, they could hear the sound of Luka yelling in Italian… And if Ron's spine would not have been wracked by a familiar shiver, he may not have realized that the person shrieking back was Pansy Fucking Parkinson.
A/N: I would like to thank my BETA, I was BOTWP, for being an open-minded soldier! And for being one of those friends that encourages my insanity! Without her, this would have some holes in it... Big holes! There would also be a boring paragraph about chicken and crab tacos, rather than the amazing food she added! She's so awesome! Thank you!(!)
(Red House)
There's a red house over yonder,
That's where my baby stays
Lord, there's a red house over yonder
Lord, that's where my baby stays
I ain't been home to see my baby
In ninety nine and one half days
Wait a minute, something's wrong here
The key won't unlock this door
Wait a minute, something's wrong, lord, have mercy
This key won't unlock this door,
Something's goin' on here
I have a bad bad feeling
That my baby don't live here no more