Harry entered first, into the goblin kitchen. There was one old wise goblin looking at him. He didn't know, but thought she was female. "Human, you think you can cook?"
"I know I can cook," Harry said, a softly confident smile tracing his lips. "How do you like your omelettes?"
"Bacon burnt black, and a dash of black pepper. Add enough other pepper for color." The old goblin said. "You seriously mean to cook for us?"
Harry nodded, "To cook is an act of creation, of art - but it is always done in service to someone's belly or another. You have granted me the gift of a fine kitchen." Harry pulled a knife out of the knife block, and slid the edge flat down his arm, as hair after hair flew off him. "Make that an exceptional kitchen. I would be a poor guest indeed if I was to only cook for myself and my compatriots."
"Then you may cook for me." The old goblin said, cracking a toothy smile, "It's been some time, hasn't it?" She said looking out at some of the soldiers.
"Yes, eldest," one of them said, "You're always busy by the fire."
"Where it's warmest, for these old bones!" She cackled, her pointy teeth turned towards the sky.
Harry paid attention as he'd done at the Dursley's - all the while working. He pulled a cutting board out, and the knife, and started to chop peppers, dicing them into neat cubes. He also scrounged in the refrigerator for some cheese (a basic white cheddar), and then started shredding that, neat pile forming under the cheese shredder.
Mise en place - words that he'd known in his hands, in his heart, well before he'd read them.
Eggs came next, and then grinding the pepper, which he did carefully, so that it would all be ground the same.
Snape's black eyes scowled at him, Harry noted, directing his own gaze down. Why's that? Harry thought. Oh, he's jealous. I've never done this in Potions class, have I now... Malfoy and Hermione's eyes watched him, but they were more cautious than upset. Interested, in their own way, and probably a little confused. After all, it had been his own reading, not theirs, that he'd used when talking with the goblins.
[a/n: Snape's beyond jealous, into downright furious. In his eyes, the only thing worse than a dunderhead is a deliberate underachiever. Potter's going to have a lot to answer for.
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