COOKBOOK

Disclaimer: all identifiable characters of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K.Rowling.

Third story, rather third WIP. Do read and leave your opinions. This is quite a step apart from the usual clichés.

Chapter-1

Domestic Catering Issues

Ronald Weasley was as ordinary a wizard as could be. In fact, a few adjectives to unerringly describe the red-haired young man would all be synonymous to ordinary and simple. As a child, he had enjoyed the pleasure of a happy family and with Merlin's blessings, there was no alteration in that arena for the years that had rolled by. Nurturing a close friendship with Harry Potter had been one of the pleasant episodes of his life. He had imagined himself to remain a face in the crowd for so long that the current state of fame and popularity attached to his name was a bit mind-boggling. Whoever thought that a man like Ron would age to pursue a career as Assistant to Chief Treasurer at Gringotts, a job that offered sufficient perks to stock a vault under his name at the same bank? Life was good, excellent even.

However, Ron was not quite satisfied with his living arrangements. Not that he disliked sharing a flat with Harry; but for a man who was raised in the vicinity of mouth-watering and nutritious food, the idea of self-cooking was outlandish. He had hardly mastered the art of playing master chef while living with a clueless bachelor like himself. Both friends had laid down a few ground rules regarding the cooking schedule and unanimously acknowledged the idea of taking up kitchen duties every alternate day. It so happened that today was a sunny Tuesday morning and Ron was in-charge of breakfast and dinner. They both grabbed lunch at their workplaces and often invited Hermione along to keep them company. It was hard for the three friends to stay in touch while working, seeing that Harry was employed at the Department of Mysteries while Hermione worked as an attorney at the criminal seat of the Wizengamot.

"How I appreciate Mum now. The woman is a goddess. Whoever made bread a staple breakfast should be guillotined. Heartless chimp," muttered Ron irritably to himself as he tried hard to slice a loaf of bread into even pieces with same dimensions.

"Good morning, Ron, I'd like coffee today. It's been a while, yeah?" A yawning Harry had just stepped into the kitchen in green pyjamas that reflected the emerald hue of his eyes perfectly. He had always been an early bird and considering the hustle-bustle at the Ministry on weekdays, the ritual became a habit.

"Oh, of course, why don't you pull out the paper and make yourself comfortable? After all I'm the maestro coffee-maker in all of London. Why don't I serve you scones too while I'm at it?"

"Well…if you must, I have no objections," replied Harry, clearly missing the wild gleam in Ron's eyes.

"Tell me again, why we work individually and not as a team?"

"I'm not quite sure. It was your idea that Mondays are best for little individual labor on my part," Harry answered calmly while leafing through the Daily Prophet.

Ron just stared at his so-called best mate, who apparently found the new model of toilet seats introduced in Diagon Alley as more significant than cooking solidarity.

"Harry," he whined, "come and help me, will you?"

"Hmm, I don't think so," he countered coolly, "Do you think blue plumbing will match our bathroom tiles better?"

"Plumb…what?"

"Blue plumbing. The pink is a bit too girly and hardly compliments the walls."

"I don't care about plumbing," began Ron, hastily untying his apron and washing the knife under the tap, "What are we? Some married couple?"

"I personally like the pale shade, much more macho. But if you rather have the azure scheme, I wouldn't complain," the dark-haired man ploughed on serenely, as though he were possessed by Luna Lovegood herself.

By this time, Ron had had quite enough of the verbal opinion-quest. Marching to the table where Harry was seated still reading, he pulled out a chair and snatched the paper from his friend's loose grasp.

"Listen, Harry, I'm not at all happy with your cooking," he began, but seeing Harry's raised eyebrows, continued quickly, "and mine is just plain intolerable. It's like I've forgotten the taste of pancakes or pudding or roast turkey or toast or chocolate cake or…"

"Or bacon or chicken fry or kidney pie or steamed salmon or milkshake," finished Harry, prying the paper from Ron.

"Exactly!!" the red-head gushed with fervor, "You understand now, right?"

Harry nodded.

"You have also come to the conclusion that we are hopeless in feeding ourselves?"

Again, Harry nodded, getting up and walking to the counter to fetch some coffee, if available.

"You are absolutely sure that we have had too much of tasteless food for too long?"

"Absolutely," Harry answered, while sipping the bitter tea, which was the chosen beverage for the morning.

"Right, so… how do we overcome this problem?"

"How about we talk after breakfast?"

"How about you make the breakfast?"

"How about NO?"

"How about why not?"

"How about… oh forget it. What is it that you wanted, Ron?"

"Finally," Ron breathed a relieved sigh, "you've acknowledged my complaints, have you? Good. Now listen to me carefully."

Harry cupped a hand around his ear mockingly, while trying to keep away the amused smile from his lips. Seeing this, Ron narrowed his eyes but having gathered his friend's attention, began presenting his case with added gusto.

"Harry, we are two unmarried men living under the same roof with limited skills in cookery. We are also at the peak of our youth and hence require adequate supply of carbohydrates, fats, proteins and what not," he said, spreading his arms wide, as though he were the mascot of all youth at their peak, "So, it is high time that we rectified this problem. What do you think?"

"I think, you are right," Harry started slowly, "but what solution do we have?"

Ron's face split into a wide grin, the likes of which Harry had seen only on a handful of occasions. He stood up abruptly from the chair and directed his friend to the bedroom, ordering him to change into decent clothes and discard the pyjamas.

"But what is wrong with these," Harry questioned, confused.

Ron merely shook his head and looked at him like he was dealing with a disobedient schoolboy.

"Well, Hermione wouldn't be happy if you flooed to her place in slime colored pyjamas, would she?"

Understanding suddenly dawned on Harry's countenance and he raced to his bedroom to choose work clothes for the day.

In a matter of minutes the duo of best friends had cleaned up nicely to make an appearance at Hermione's flat. Deeming it easier to travel by floo as decided earlier, they reached their destination, coughing a bit of ash from their windpipes.

"It would be good for you to clean the ash trails on the carpet."

There on the acid green couch sat their beloved brunette reading a case file and drinking what looked like steaming coffee.

"Blimey Hermione, your coffee smells great. Mind if I have some?" Ron enquired eagerly and without waiting for a reply, skipped off to the kitchen happily. He had just stepped into the other room when an angry screech reverberated throughout the flat.

"Ron!! This is no restaurant to provide free coffee and breakfast. Last warning for you, before I confess to Mum that you are in dire need of a wife," the red-haired witch admonished lightly while joining her flat mate and boyfriend in the living room. Ron turned a deaf ear to her exclamations and proceeded to pour himself a cup of coffee along with a plate of delicious bacon.

"Ah! This is breakfast. You girls should seriously consider better careers in catering."

Ginny was just ready to reproof her brother for stuffing her hard-prepared food, when she caught the amused look on her female companion's face and a complimentary look of revulsion on Harry's usually calm visage. He moved to the other side of the room swiftly and on reaching Ron's side, pinched him lightly, pleading with his eyes to stop the gobbling food fest and concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Ow," the abused redhead complained, "What was that for, Harry? Can't you see I'm eating?"

His friend in return gave the girls a tight smile and dragged his famine survivor of a best friend to the kitchen.

"Ron, you pig, we planned to discuss the issue with them not eat up all their food like we've been starved for months."

"See Harry," he replied serenely, still stuffing his mouth with as much bacon as he could, "Oo ba be brught up to urviv on ittl foo, buh no me."

"What?"

"I said," answered Ron, swallowing the food hastily, "you have been brought up to survive without food, but not me. Moreover, it has indeed been months since I saw such good bacon. You should try some."

"Ron, focus, focus!! We are here to ask for help. How do you think they would react if we finished off their surplus food supply without consideration?"

"Harry," persisted Ron in his whining tone, "You are the chivalrous champion. You can survive without eating and gain nourishment by simply saving the world, but people like me who are in the growing stage need sufficient provisions to fill their stomachs."

Resigning himself to the fact that Ron wouldn't budge from the role of food monster anytime soon, Harry walked back to the living room to wait for him so that they could discuss the problem at hand.

"So, you can't cook?" enquired Hermione for the third time that morning.

"Oh no, we can cook but are scared to display our secret skills in front of others," muttered Ron sarcastically, "Of course we can't cook! My weak body should speak for itself."

He then spread his arms in quite the same way as he done with Harry in the morning, showing the weakness of his body.

"Never mind," mumbled Hermione to herself. Then turning to Harry, she asked, "What do you think I can do to help your case? If you wish me to take up your housekeeping duties, it is not possible, seeing that I have a job of my own and a flat to look after."

"Merlin's pants, Hermione, could you be any more professional?" Ron countered, before Harry could formulate a reply, "Help your case? Honestly, you'd think we were mass murderers in need of judicial assistance."

Ginny made an angry sound beside Harry, who like her had enough experience with Ron's lack of tact to ignore the man completely. Before a fight could ensue between his two best friends this early on a Tuesday morning, when he had three meetings to attend, Harry rushed on to stop Ron from ruining their sliming chances further.

"Yeah, Hermione," he began evenly, "we can't cook." There was a long pause following this declaration as though the real show was yet to begin. Ginny glared at Ron, Hermione raised her eyebrows in question, Ron yawned and Harry waited for him to add something to the confession. At the absence of a response from his side, he nudged the red-head hard on the ribs.

"Wha- ahem," Ron cleared his throat having caught on his friend's silent appeal, "What he said, yeah."

Harry resisted the urge to kick him painfully in the shins. Composing himself as best as he could, he addressed Hermione once again, without preamble.

"What we wanted from you was to propose a way out of this sticky situation. I mean, we have been rather hard on ourselves and I personally think that something be done soon so that we can survive while eating good food."

Hermione tapped her chin in thought. She had enough experience with the two men to know that they wouldn't have approached her had the problem not been too dismal.

"Okay, so you want better cooking arrangements," Hermione concluded correctly, "But I seriously don't advocate the use of a house-elf, seeing that it involves a huge batch of paperwork regarding their pay, retirement plans and the like. And I personally am unacquainted with anyone who would agree to play maid in your house."

"Oh, come on Hermione, you've got to help us," Ron pleaded, exasperated, "There has to be a way to save us here."

Before anybody else could speak up, Ginny cleared her throat, drawing all attention in the room. She glanced at Hermione and began talking in hushed tones with the elder female. The brown-haired witch frowned at certain intervals during her rapid whispering and at last smiled slyly at the other two.

"Right, so why don't you tell them yourself, Ginny?"

"Me!? Perhaps, my brother would rather have your ideas and disregard mine," answered Ginny, looking at her fingernails amusedly.

"For the sake of all unaided men, would you two spit it out, already? Harry! Tell them," Ron cried, having exhausted the last iota of patience. What Harry was supposed to tell them remained a mystery, for Ginny once again started speaking.

"There is no need to cry, Ron! Anyway, the suggestion that I put forth will require staid investigation and once I'm sure about the vital details, I'll tell you both about it. We'll meet you at your place after work. Six is alright?"

Ron showed all signs of demanding answers at that instant itself, so Harry clasped his hand tightly and got off the couch, dragging the confused wizard with him.

"Of course, it is alright, it's perfect! Thank you both of you. We'll see you in the evening."

"But-" Ron began.

"Bye bye. Love you Ginny, Hermione," Harry waved at the two and all but threw Ron into the fireplace after tossing a pinch of green powder into the grate.

"Institute of Magical Hotel Management and Housekeeping? You have got to be kidding me! There is an institute for all this and we didn't even know. Harry, I thought you knew everything."

"Sorry, but you are describing Hermione," answered Harry detachedly, eyeing the crème pamphlets with interest.

Ginny rolled her eyes at the two and Hermione smiled, pouring all of them hot chocolate, which she had managed to warm up in the Potter-Weasley kitchen.

"This is the premier establishment in all of Britain. Unlike muggle universities that deal in hotel management, there aren't different courses offered here, but a singular syllabus that deals with the entirety of the concept. They handpick students themselves," she said at large, pushing a mug to each inhabitant of the room, "Only those who have clear-cut plans to devote time and money in running a hotel themselves are taught here. Right from reception of guests to catering, the students on roll are taught everything that is needed to independently start and maintain a hotel. The undergraduates and graduates are generally from filthy rich families, looking for means to double their revenue."

"That is all very dandy," Ron muttered in a confused voice, "But how are we to secure an admission here, when we are working full-time? No offence, Hermione, but I've had enough of learning at Hogwarts. Moreover, Harry isn't starting a hotel anytime soon, so…there."

"Ron! You idiot, we aren't telling you to seek admission there," burst out Ginny, waving one of the pamphlets in her hand, "The admission fee itself is more than you two can afford together." She indicated a many-zeroed digit at the end of one of the pages.

"Blimey, you need so much money to learn how to cook?"

Harry, who had thoroughly read the contents of the pamphlet, shook his head.

"It's not just about cooking, Ron," Harry started tentatively, "You heard Hermione, this involves complete handling of a hotel and a huge load of gold. This isn't something for the common man.

"But I still don't understand how this is supposed to help our situation," he mumbled more to himself than anyone else in the room.

"Harry," Hermione cried, "What we had in mind was their campus selection program and training session. Apparently, every year not more than fifteen graduates are selected and employed at houses, yes, people's houses to gauge their skills. These fifteen are among the top rankers in the university and are each allotted a training period of five months, during which they serve a family, who in turn present a report to the institute regarding the candidate's performance."

"And," continued Ginny, "the chosen student has to look after the people who employ him for the stipulated period and offer all the services that are mentioned in their course syllabus. However, the employers themselves must be able to provide for him or her and cough up some caution deposit before they can get the said person home."

Ron had a dazed look on his face while Harry was smiling slightly.

"So, this means we can hire one of the students from this institute?" the green-eyed wizard questioned, happily.

"Indeed," the two women in the room chorused.

After much deliberation, it was decided that they would send a letter to IMHMH the next day itself and request a sitting with the official recruitment board. Ron was very pleased by the favorable turn of events while Harry was happy to do away with the habit of eating undercooked or burnt food. Things were definitely looking up for the two young men and they couldn't contain their glee at having resolved the domestic issue that had ruined many a good day of their lives. Thanking Merlin for the timely help, they decided to treat their savior who would guide them to the haven of good and tasty food with as much reverence as they could.

After all, they were Gryffindors. Goodness was their hallmark.

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