Wigtown Wanderers, Beater 2
Prompt: Write about a character cooking or eating a culture-centric meal
Additional Prompts: [Food] Curry; [Trait] Outgoing; [Word] Celebration
Word Count: 1984
Warnings: canon bigotry (because the Dursleys hate people who are different from them) and genocidal violence (because, as it was pointed out to me, deliberately raising a child without opportunities to connect to their cultural heritage is an act of genocide)
Author's Note: First, let it be noted that I'm fully living in my Desi Harry headcanon AU here. I love it and make no apologies for it. Next, I looked up the definition of outgoing in good old Merriam-Webster (to make sure I had it perfect), and I love the way it's described there: open, friendly, and responsive. Such a lovely little descriptor, no? Lastly, mattar paneer is a vegetable curry that's found in a lot of different places and it's freaking delicious (you should try it).
A Little Taste of Everything
Harry sank onto the bottom step of the staircase in the Great Hall and looked around him. Hogwarts was in pieces. Scorch marks and deep gouges from wayward curses marred the walls. Crumbled gargoyles were scattered across the room. Bloodstains dotted the flagstone floors in a few places.
He shivered at the last thought. Those bloodstains could so easily have been from someone he knew and cared about. Harry ran a hand through his thick black hair, dislodging a few small chunks of stone as he did. He felt a bit guilty for being grateful that the only losses on their side had been a pair of Aurors he'd never met, but the guilt was dwarfed by relief that all his friends and family had made it through the fight.
"There you are," Hermione said, plopping down beside him. She took one look at him and immediately began swiping at the layer of dust that had gathered on his tawny arms. Her own deep brown complexion was free of the dusty cast on his skin.
"Now you've done it," Ron joked, leaning up against the bannister. The normally pale skin of his arms was a blotchy red. "She's already started cleaning up the castle, and we're her first project."
Harry gently grabbed her hand and said, "Hermione. We could use magic for this you know."
Hermione froze. "Oh. I suppose you're right." She pulled out her wand and began siphoning the dust and grime from Harry's face and clothes.
Ron scoffed at the exchange. "Why aren't you so nice about it when I remind you of that?"
"Because you're usually a colossal prick about it," said a strong, familiar voice.
Harry turned to see Ginny standing in front of them, with Luna and Neville on her right. Dean and Seamus stood at her other flank, gripping each others' hands as though each was afraid the other could disappear at any moment.
"Ginny's right," Hermione muttered, turning her wand to Ron.
"Hey, you all," Harry said. "Everyone alright?"
The friends exchanged a few quick glances, nodding even as they checked one last time to see that they were all okay.
"I think we're all fine," Neville replied. "Mostly just some minor cuts and scrapes. Other than that, we're all in perfect shape."
"Speak for yourself," said Ginny. "I, for one am, starving."
Luna nodded. "Probably the adrenaline crash. We should eat something to keep our energy up."
Ron rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "Do you think the house elves would mind whipping up a quick early lunch for us?"
Hermione swatted his arm. "Ronald! They just helped us fight off Voldemort's army, and I'm sure they're exhausted. Would you want to cook a meal right now?"
"No," he grumbled.
"We should go out and celebrate!" Seamus said with a laugh. "V-V-Voldemort is dead, and we're sitting around here like we're discussing what we should have for lunch on any old day."
"Where do you suggest we go celebrate at"—Neville cast a Tempus Charm—"half ten in the morning?"
"The Hog's Head?" Seamus asked.
Harry shook his head. "Aberforth is probably still trying to sort out all the younger years. I wouldn't dare bother him right now."
"How about The Three Broomsticks?" Luna piped up.
"I just saw Rosmerta helping Flitwick clear the area in front of the main doors," Ginny said. "She's really great at cleaning charms. Not surprising given her job, I suppose."
"So where are we supposed to go?" Seamus pouted.
"This is probably going to sound strange, but I could really go for some curry right about now," Dean said.
"What's curry?" Harry asked quietly at the same time Hermione chirped, "Oh, I'd forgotten about curry!"
Dean shot him a funny look but continued. "I'd all but forgotten it, too, until I spent the last year hiding in the Muggle world. The food at Hogwarts is delicious, but it's all so terribly British. It was nice to have something different now and again. Curry is amazing, and I can't think of a more fitting way to celebrate the defeat of Voldemort than having a bunch of magical people hanging out in the Muggle world."
"Absolutely!" Hermione cried.
"But what exactly is curry?" Neville asked, doubt coloring his tone.
"Curry is actually the name for a variety of Indian dishes," Hermione explained. "They use a complex combination of herbs and spices, like turmeric, cumin, and dried chilies, usually to make a sauce. The sauce is combined with different meats or vegetables, and it's often served with rice. At least that's been my experience."
"Sounds delicious," Luna murmured.
Seamus frowned slightly. "Where are we going to get it?"
"London, of course," Hermione said. "I know a great place near King's Cross."
"Sounds like a party!" Dean said. "Well, as much of a party as we can have before noon."
"Count me in!" Ginny said with a laugh.
Neville nodded. "To the Apparation point at King's Cross, then."
Before anyone could even begin to consider "destination, determination and deliberation", Hermione held up her hand. "We can't go bursting into Muggle London looking like we've just fought a battle. It would raise too many questions."
A low grumbled slipped through more than a few lips, but they all began Scouring the evidence of the battle from their clothes. When Hermione had declared everyone clean enough, they walked to the gates of Hogwarts and popped away to Muggle London.
As they entered the restaurant, Harry was struck by how empty it was. Their group of eight were the only people in the entire front room. He didn't even see a waitress or busboy. He could have sworn the sign on the door said they opened at eleven, but maybe they had arrived too early.
Before he could voice that question aloud, an Indian woman who appeared to be in her mid 40's rounded the corner. For a split second her eyes went wide, but her surprise was quickly replaced by a genuine smile. She grabbed a handful of menus and said, "Hello, everyone. If you would, please follow me." Her slight accent reminded Harry of Parvati and Padma.
She seated the group at a long table near the back of the restaurant then dashed through a swinging door into the kitchen. A few short moments later, the woman reappeared with a small apron tied around her waist. "My name is Amita. Welcome to my family's restaurant. What can I get you for you today?"
Hermione first ordered a bottle of sparkling wine for the table, which earned her a strange look from the waitress. Then she and Dean ordered confidently, passing their menus back to Amita.
When it was his turn, Neville tugged at his collar. "Just how spicy are your mild dishes?"
The woman looked at Harry and quickly muttered something in a language he didn't understand, followed by a conspiratorial wink. When he didn't respond, the woman's eyebrows furrowed, but she continued taking the group's orders, apparently saving Harry for last.
When she finally reached him, she looked at Harry expectantly.
"I'll have the, um… mattar paneer?" he said, confident only that he was butchering the name of the dish. Vegetable curry would be fine, right?
As Harry spoke, the set of the woman's mouth softened.
"I have a better idea. Come with me."
When Harry didn't move, she motioned for him to stand, looking a bit exasperated that he hadn't caught on. He slowly rose from his chair, looking to friends for any indication that this was a bad idea. Instead, he saw Hermione, Dean, and Luna all nodding at him. Surreptitiously patting the wand in his pocket, Harry followed Amita into the kitchen.
As he passed through the swinging door, Harry's nose was overwhelmed by the most amazing battery of smells. The air in here was spicy and sweet and savory and utterly intoxicating.
"Where are your parents from, young man?"
Amita's voice brought him back to earth.
"It's Harry," he said thoughtlessly. "My parents were both born in Britain."
Amita waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, before that."
"Well," Harry said as he scratched the back of his neck, "my mum's family has always lived in Surrey. My father's mother immigrated from India when she was a girl. I don't know much else about Dad's family. I never got the chance to ask."
Amita raised an eyebrow at him.
"They were killed when I was just a baby," he murmured. "Car crash."
The woman nodded as the pieces fell into place. "You were raised by your mother's family."
"Unfortunately, yes," Harry said with a grimace. "My aunt and uncle raised me, and they weren't terribly fond of my father. It was a long time before I knew anything about him other than that he was 'different' from my mum's family — 'a freak' as my aunt would say. I wasn't allowed anything that reminded them of him."
He heard Amita screech quietly then growl something that sounded like "bloody bigots" mixed with what had to be curses in that same language he heard her speak earlier.
"You have no idea," he muttered under his breath.
"So you don't know anything about your grandmother? What state she was from? What language she spoke? Nothing?"
Harry shook his head, suddenly very interested in the black and white tiles under his feet.
He felt a soft hand tilt his chin up. Amita's dark eyes were smiling back at him.
"I may not be able to give you any real information about your family, but I can at least let you give you a taste."
Harry smiled back at her, tears threatening in his eyes.
"Jay!" she called.
A short man with dark hair and a big smile peeked out of the pantry. "Yes dear?"
"I'm giving Harry here a tour of the kitchen and the menu," she said, grabbing a double handful of spoons. "If you need any help, call Divya in—I'm sure she's free, and I know she could use the hours."
The man nodded and ducked back into the pantry.
The kitchen activity around him crescendoed as Amita showed him the clay pots they used for biryani, the large canisters of fragrant garam masala, the sous chef laboring over naan dough. Every time she passed pot or pan or bowl, she handed Harry a spoon and encouraged him to take a bite. "A little taste of everything," she said. By the time his kitchen tour was finished, Harry was so stuffed he could barely move.
"What did you think? What did you like best?" Amita asked, her eyes sparkling.
"Everything was so delicious!" Harry exclaimed. "I can't even begin to pick a favorite, though I did really enjoy the mattar paneer."
Amita quickly grabbed a takeaway box and loaded it down with plenty of mattar paneer, basmati rice, and naan bread then shoved it in his hands. "There, now you've got something for dinner as well."
"Thank you," he said, his eyes growing watery again, "and not just for the takeaway. I've had a lot going on recently, and my friends and I came here to celebrate that part of our lives being over forever. But you gave me something even bigger to celebrate—a touchstone to my family. I don't know that I'll ever be able to repay you for that."
She laid a soft hand on his shoulder and smiled. "We have different dishes on the dinner menu because some things take all day to cook. You can repay me by coming by sometime next week and telling me what you think of those as well."
Harry took in the bustle of the kitchen, the smell of spices on the air, the woman standing in front of him—this outgoing, motherly woman who had treated him so kindly—and finally let a tear drip down his cheek. "I think I can do that."