One Potter Recipes
(Title's a pun on One Pot Essentials, by Christine McFadden. I own the cookbook, but JKR owns the cooks. Also, the kitchen layout is more or less my tiny apartment kitchen.)
"This is all very mysterious," Harry grumbled. "You said no magic for the night, took my wand, and then spelled the bags shut?" Not that he could have opened either of the brown paper grocery bags he was juggling, as he followed Ginny through the rainy streets to his flat.
Ginny looked up at him with an impish smile. "I said, you'll see. When it's time. And I don't trust you not to be curious."
"Right. His glasses were spangled with raindrops. She'd taken his wand. He couldn't have used it to clean them anyway, or to open the front door. Which Ginny, basically gloating, pointed at, with her free hand and her wand. No, wait- that was his wand. She was using his wand! She leaned against the door, and tipped her face up to him. "Kiss?"
Which he did. He might be mystified, but he wasn't stupid. He'd definitely been mystified, though. She'd sent him a message to meet her at the supermarket. The Asda supermarket near his and Ron's flat, not any of the friendly, if arcane, grocery shops down nearby Diagon Alley. She'd handed him two heavy brown paper sacks, announced that they were going to his place, and then said absolutely nothing further on the subject.
He climbed the three flights of stairs, looking at Ginny's bum (some things, at least, remained the same as ever.) And she pointed his own wand at him! With a suggestive wink, she drawled "Accio, Harry's keys," and floated his keys right out of his pocket.
"Ron?" Harry called.
"He's at Hermione's. Bring the bags into the kitchen, set them down, and then ignore me for a while."
"Are Ron and Hermione in on this---whatever you're planning?" he asked, edging past her in the tiny kitchen.
"Absolutely. Would you go set the table?"
That involved rather a lot of clearing the table out from several layers of books and parchment. There was silence from the kitchen as well, until
"Harry?" Ginny called. He stuck his head in the kitchen, and saw that she had unloaded a package of cubed meat, a green pepper, onions, garlic, and a host of bottles and jars from the paper bags.
"You don't have any measuring cups? Or measuring spoons?" Ginny gaped at him.
"Errr- no." In the astonishment and outrage mingled on Ginny's face, he could see rather more of her mother than made him strictly comfortable.
"How do you two eat?"
Mutely, he handed her a fan of takeout menus. "And, um, your mum sends over stuff. Rather a lot."
"I really wanted to do this without magic." She sighed the "Merlin, boys are dumb!" sigh he and Ron knew well. "If I remember, your tea mugs are-" she stretched on tiptoe to open a cabinet. "Here." She lifted out his Quidditch World Cup mug from last year. Before he could react, she had zapped it with her wand.
He yelped. "That's my favorite mug."
"And now it's your only measuring cup. Trust me, it's a worthwhile sacrifice." She edged past him again, and bent to rummage in her satchel, withdrawing a small book with a green cover. "Here. Flip this to page 16, and read me what to do first."
He opened the Muggle cookbook. "We're going to need, umm, a couple big pots. Those are in the cabinet down there," he added hurriedly, before she transfigured any of his other mugs. "I do know how to make pasta," he said defensively. "This looks good."
She edged close to look over his shoulder. "In the meantime, you get to chop the vegetables while I'm browning the meat." She handed him garlic, a bell pepper, and then, to his dismay three onions.
"Can I have my wand back?"
"Muggles cook like this every night!" she told him, smirking a little.
"But, you want me to chop three onions!" He screwed up his face, in anticipation of his stinging eyes.
"We're a Muggle couple tonight. Just us- making dinner all by ourselves. No wands at all. Come on- it will be fun!"
Fun, and Muggles weren't an obvious combination to Harry, given his childhood with the Dursleys. But, really, he'd do anything to keep that hopeful grin on Ginny's face.
Even, he grimaced, chop onions.
But, as he chopped the bell pepper and garlic (knowing he was stalling) Ginny was at the stove, behind him, browning the meat. And as she moved, she bumped against him. In all kinds of interesting ways. And then the meat smell covered the hateful smell of raw onions.
They worked together, stirring, chopping, handing each other the spices that went into the pot. Savory smells floated through the kitchen. Harry's stomach growled.
He took a sniff of the bubbling pot. "We have got to learn a spell for this," he said, just to get a rise out of her. "It's ready, right?"
"It has to sit and simmer for about two hours."
"I've got little olives- and crackers, and cheese!" she said brightly.
"You've thought of everything." He kissed her. "What are we going to do for two hours, though?"
"Play chess, with pieces that don't move. Like Muggles."
How she'd fit an entire chess set in her satchel mystified Harry, as most things with women and their bags did.
"I have a better idea," Harry growled, taking both her hands and pulling her towards the couch.
And two hours later, when they sat down to the candlelit dinner they had made themselves, with only the bare minimum of conjuring, they were both very hungry (and rather disheveled) indeed.
The Hungarian Goulash was delicious.
"Hey Gin, can I have my wand back?"
"Not until after dessert."