Harry stood in what he imagined the middle of a beehive must be like. Surrounded by s swarm of very busy people, he tried to look like he knew what he ought to be doing, wishing he had a clipboard like everyone else did. A young man rushed by carrying a rather large mirror and would have knocked Harry aside if he hadn't taken a quick step back, causing him to crash into a very harried-looking young woman.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry!" he said to the young woman as her clipboard clattered to the ground. He bent to pick it up and handed it to her. She looked about his own age and she was wearing what seemed to be the uniform for people involved in the production of BMMB: trainers, jeans and an oversized jumper.
"Oh, it's all—" she began, stopping when she got a good look at him. "Are you Harry Potter?"
"Yes?"
"Oh thank God! We've been looking all over for you!" Her eyes took on an unfocused look and she aimed her wand at her ear. "Justin? It's Lav. I have him," she said, stopping to listen before nodding once. "We're heading there now." Lowering her wand, she tucked her clipboard under her arm and stuck out her right hand. "I'm Lavender Brown, Ostentatia's assistant. You had a meeting with her fifteen minutes ago."
Harry shook her hand. "Sorry, I got a bit turned around," he said, gesturing to the busy people around them. "I'm not usually late for things."
"It's all right," Lavender said, smiling up at him. "The first day of production is always a bit hectic. Follow me." Seemingly picking a direction at random, Lavender charged off, leaving Harry to follow in her wake.
The production facility was like a rabbit warren and he found himself hard-pressed to keep up with all of the twists and turns. Every office and hallway seemed to be full of people, many of them shouting. Bloody hell, I thought this all happened in a tent! What is all of this? Catching sight of another person with a mirror, he asked the question that had been on his mind. "What's with all of the mirrors?"
Slowing her step for a moment, Lavender turned to look at him. "They're used to make the recordings. Don't you have a Mirror in your house?"
"Oh! Oh, yes," Harry said, making the connection between the big picture mirror above the lounge fireplace and the smaller ones here. "So, it's not played … live?"
"Heavens, no! There's loads more work that has to happen once they're done making the recordings," Lavender said, sounding surprised that Harry didn't already know this information.
"Of course," he said, hoping that this would be has last stupid question. Sadly, I know it's not.
Rounding a corner, they dodged another young man carrying a tray laden with full teacups. "Dennis, watch it!" Lavender scolded as she executed a near perfect pirouette to avoid getting covered in hot tea.
"Sorry, Lav! Urgent tea emergency!" Dennis shouted as he sped past, eyes widening in surprise when he caught sight of Harry.
After a couple more turns, Lavender finally stopped. "Here we are," she said, opening the door halfway and leaning in. "Ostentatia? I have him." Opening the door fully, she stepped in, motioning for Harry to follow her.
Stepping into the office, Harry saw an older, silver-haired woman wearing very large purple cat eye glasses sitting behind a desk covered in papers and a random assortment of biscuits. Her hair practically stood up straight from her head and he took a moment to marvel at it.
"Harry, I'd like you to meet your co-judge, Ostentatia Verbena," Lavender said, gesturing to the woman now standing up behind the desk. "Ostentatia, this is Harry Potter."
Ostentatia lowered her purple cat eye glasses, looking at him over the tops. "Well, well. At last I get to meet the Boy Who Lived," she said, her voice coming out in a throaty purr.
"Erm, pleasure," Harry said, taking her hand and bowing awkwardly over it. "I'm sure I've had you many times."
"Oh do tell!" Ostentatia let out a loud guffaw of laughter and Harry colored, immediately realizing his mistake.
"Sorry! I meant your bakes! My godfather is a big fan and … Please forgive me!" Harry spluttered.
Ostentatia patted him on his hot cheek, settling her glasses back on her nose. "Dear boy, it's quite all right! That sort of thing happens more often than you'd think! Now, Lavender," she said, transforming from a flirty auntie to a capable businesswoman in the blink of an eye. "I trust we've got a good crop this round? I'm not looking forward to rock cakes cooked by a giant!"
"Yes, mum, I think you'll like this group," the assistant said, taking a manila folder from the ubiquitous clipboard and handing it to her.
Opening it, Ostentatia flipped through the photographs, turning some of them over to read the biographical information on the back. "Mm, yes, I see. Give that a look," she said, holding the folder out to Harry.
Taking the folder from her, he opened it. The first picture was of a handsome young black man looking confidently at the camera. Harry frowned, certain he'd seen him somewhere before. Dean Thomas, eh? Let's see what you're about. Flipping the picture over, he skimmed the biography. West Ham, Muggleborn, learned to bake with Mum … ah, there. Battle of Hogwarts. Harry thought back to that terrible, chaotic day and tried to place him, but failed.
Putting it out of his mind, he moved on to the next picture, a rather stern-looking older woman. Martha Garrard. Likes to garden, well-known in her village for her restorative potions and her rat terriers. Specialty is bread. All right, then.
Harry flipped through a few more, coming to a stop at a picture of a red-haired girl. Even before he turned it over, he knew who she was. Ginny Weasley, he thought. Through his training with the Order, he knew Arthur, but he'd never had the time for friends his age growing up. And getting ready to kill a man.
Mentally shaking himself, he turned the photograph over, allowing his eyes to trace the contours of Ginny's face once more. Ginny Weasley is an apprentice potions master at Slug and Jiggers and an avid Quidditch fan, supporting the Holyhead Harpies. She says growing up with six older brothers is what drove her into the kitchen at a young age, baking with her mum, Molly. She lost one brother, Fred, at the Battle of Hogwarts and she says she hopes to meet Harry Potter in person one day so she can thank him for defeating the Dark Lord. Her specialty is cakes.
He turned the paper over, looking at the picture again. Well, Ginny Weasley, looks like it's your lucky day. He turned to the next picture, a weedy-looking young man called Lucas and was just about to read the biographical information when he realized Ostentatia was speaking to him. "Sorry?" he said, looking up, wincing inwardly at the look of exasperation on her face.
"I asked you if you've ever judged anything. Any sort of competition," she said. She was seated once more behind her desk and Harry sank down into one of the visitor's chairs across from her, setting the manila envelope of pictures on top of the desk.
"I've done interrogations," he said, noting Ostentatia's look of surprise.
She took off her glasses, tucking one purple-hued temple tip into the corner of her mouth. "Have you really? I would have thought the Ministry kept you tucked safely away," she said, her voice coming out in a sort of drawl that made Harry think of drinking tea with his pinky finger stuck out.
Bristling at her insinuation that he was merely a showpiece, Harry forced himself to smile. Charming, charming, charming. "Hardly. They trained me, so you can bet they're going to use me." He leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, projecting the calm, unconcerned air that he'd used in the aforementioned interrogation room.
Unaware of her insult, Ostentatia nodded. "Well, this is a bit of a different sort of interrogation, you'll find. Lavender, can we get some tea and biscuits?" she asked, dismissing the assistant from her mind once the order was issued. Leaning forward, she put her glasses back on, her brown eyes looking gigantic behind the lenses. "Now, today they'll be baking cakes for us. One of the most important features is the crumb. You want light and airy, not heavy and stodgy."
Harry let his mind drift as Ostentatia went on, lecturing him about the finer points of crumb, texture and the merits of Italian buttercream versus American. Lavender came back with tea and a plate of dark brown ginger biscuits. As the ginger flavor spread across his tongue, another quite different sort of ginger came to mind. She works at Slug and Jiggers. I'll have to ask Sirius if he's low on anything.
Ginny sat, perched on the edge of what was likely a very comfortable armchair, too nervous to sink down into it. When she'd arrived at the studio, a run-down building with illusory broken windows and doors, a young man had ushered her through security, weighing her wand in a very complicated-looking device.
"Am I still Ginny Weasley?" she'd asked, only half-joking. The whole place looked like an anthill that had been stirred up with a stick with people scurrying around, carrying mirrors, papers, tea and bits of clothing. Everyone seemed to have a clipboard.
The young man gave her a distracted smile as he wrote down the wand's wood, core, length and weight on a form on his clipboard. "Now, if you'll come with me," he said, striding off into the whirling maelstrom of people.
Ginny had to jog a few steps to catch up. "When do I meet the other contestants?"
"You won't meet until you're all in the tent."
"Oh! That's unexpected." She followed him around a couple of corners, feeling like her head was on a gimbal as she tried to look at everything around her. "Where is the tent? Do we Apparate there?"
"Not quite," he said, finally coming to a stop in front of a door with the BMMB logo on it. He opened the door and ushered her in. "Now, you have a bit of a rest in here. There's some refreshments and if you need anything else, tap your wand on that red button there and someone will answer you."
Ginny stepped into the room and looked around, taking in the armchair and small table with a steaming pot of tea and assorted biscuits laid on it. The walls were hung with framed photographs of past BMMB winners, every single one of them beaming with delight as they hoisted their engraved cake plates.
The door shut with a click and she turned around, not entirely surprised to see her erstwhile guide gone. "I'm sure he had something to attend to," Ginny said to the empty room, trying not to feel like she'd already been kicked out of the competition. Not finding anything else to do and too nervous to try any of the biscuits, she sat down on the chair.
She was just contemplating one of the ginger biscuits when she heard the door open. Heart leaping, she looked towards it, completely surprised to see a familiar face. "Oh, it is you!" Parvati Patil said, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. "I saw your name on the list and I just about went spare!"
"Parvati? What are you doing here? Are you in the show, too?" Jumping up from her seat, Ginny hugged her fellow Gryffindor, some of her nerves deserting her at last.
Stepping back, Parvati surveyed her at arm's length, sending Ginny back to their school days when she would ask her older housemate for fashion advice. "No, I can't bake to save my life, you know that! I'm a production assistant. Well, more like a glorified gofer," she said, rolling her eyes. "In fact, I'm meant to be fetching you to the tent! We better get going or we'll be late!"
Parvati chivvied her out of the door and set off down the hallway, leaving Ginny to follow in her wake. Blimey, everyone must walk fast around here! I'll have to grow longer legs! Listening to Parvati's endless stream of chatter, Ginny lost all sense of direction and nearly crashed into Parvati's back when they stopped in front of what looked like a plain brick wall.
"Are you ready?" she asked, turning to look at Ginny. She adjusted Ginny's blouse and looked expectantly at her.
Ginny's heart was racing, her palms were sweating and she was sure her head was about to roll off of her neck, but she managed to nod. Grinning, Parvati held her wand to her ear. "I've got Ginny Weasley ready to come through," she said, obviously speaking to someone remotely. "Yeah, all right." Looking up, she mouthed Thirty seconds, sending Ginny's heart rate skyrocketing.
After what felt like an eternity, Parvati nodded at a prompt only she could hear and tapped a brick in the wall with her wand. Much like the entrance to Diagon Alley, the bricks melted away, revealing a sunny, bucolic landscape. There, in the middle of a sea of impossibly green grass, was the iconic white tent, rising up like some sort of majestic ship.
Transfixed, Ginny forgot all about her racing heart and sweaty palms, staring at the implausible scene before her, coming back to herself when Parvati prodded her with her clipboard. "Go on," she said, dark eyes sparkling with delight at her amazement. Certain that she was in a trance, Ginny stepped forward.
Ostentatia was deep into a treatise on the merits of different varieties of biscuits and what level of snap they should all have when Lavender stuck her head into the office, rousing Harry from his biscuit-induced trance.
"Hair and makeup, mum," she said, ducking back out.
"Well, time to get fussed over." Ostentatia rose from her seat and Harry followed, shaking out the pins-and-needles sensation from sitting so long.
"Erm, will I need to be fussed over?" he asked, opening the door for his co-host.
Ostentatia paused for a moment, looking at him over the tops of her glasses once more. "I suppose you'll need less fussing than I do to make you presentable for the mirrors, but they'll fuss at you nonetheless. Come on!" As she passed by him to exit the office, she patted his cheek, much as a granny would.
Or Harry assumed as a granny would, never having had a gran of his own, but he found the familiarity of the gesture shocking. Unsure of what else to do, he followed Ostentatia and closed the door. Maybe she does that sort of thing with everyone?
He found the hustle and bustle a little less confusing this time as they zipped over to a large room that was full of plush leather seats in front of huge mirrors lined with blazing lights. Harry blinked several times, the contrast with the dim hall they'd just left almost making his eyes sting.
A few moments later and he was plonked down in one of the seats in front of a mirror, the lights seeming to pick up every flaw. His dismay must have been obvious because the makeup artist behind him grinned, wrinkling her nose. "Oh, don't worry about that! The lights make everyone look terrible!" she said, mouth turning into an O of surprise. "Oh my days, I've just insulted Harry Potter!"
"Oh, please, don't worry about it," Harry said, waving his hand in front of his reflection. "You should see what they say about me in the Prophet!" He gave a disarming chuckle, pleased to see the makeup artist relax. He didn't relish the idea of someone full of nerves trying to make him presentable for the mirrors. Whatever that means.
Reassured, the makeup artist got to work, introducing herself as Jocelyn and starting up a long string of chatter. She seemed naturally bubbly, only frowning when her tools had no discernible impact on his hair. After several minutes, she sighed and gave up, turning her attention to his face. She took off his glasses and set them aside. "Your eyes are very green," she remarked as she powdered his face with what looked like a dead pygmy puff. Harry hoped it wasn't.
"Are they okay for the … mirrors?" Harry ventured, trying not to breathe in too much of the powder flying around his face.
"Oh, they'll show up a treat!" Taking a step back, she surveyed her work. "Now, what do you think of these?"
Harry was about to ask, "Think of what?" when she flourished a whole tray of glasses in front of of him. "Oh. I don't just wear my own?" He looked over the collection, some of which seemed more suited to that singer Sirius said his mum was wild over when they were young.
"You can, but Wardrobe was hoping for something a bit more … photogenic," Jocelyn said, the very picture of diplomacy.
"I see." He looked them over, trying on a few different pair before settling on a pair with rectangular, tortoise shell frames.
Jocelyn nodded in approval. "Good choice," she said, picking up his actual glasses. "Goes better with your face than these round ones. Accentuates those cheekbones of yours." She tapped his glasses with her wand and then the ones he was wearing and his vision snapped into sharp focus. "All right?"
"Yeah, perfect." Harry looked at his reflection, noting that he still looked mostly the same, but his skin seemed to have a finer texture now and that scar on his chin from a childhood fall had been erased.
There was one more scar, however. Jocelyn pushed his fringe back and Harry's fingers tightened on the chair's armrests instead of batting her hands away like he wanted to. Holding his hair back with one hand, she pulled a slim pencil out of the apron tied around her waist. "What's that for?"
"We're going to darken this a little so it shows up better on mirror," she said, bringing the pencil closer to the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.
"No," Harry said, leaning his head back. She lost her grip on his fringe and he felt a deep sense of relief as his hair covered the scar again. Jocelyn looked at him, pencil still poised in midair and nodded before putting it away.
"All right. I do need to put a bit of color on your lips. Is that all right?"
"Yes, of course. Sorry, about ..." he said, hoping he hadn't frightened her; he quite liked her chattiness.
"It's no bother! Here, give me a pout!" A few swift strokes later, his lips had more color than he'd ever seen before and he felt a bit off-balance. After surveying her work, Jocelyn gave him another one of her scrunch-nosed grins. "Now you're ready to visit Wardrobe."
"I suppose it's too much to ask if I can just wear this?" he said, motioning to his all-black ensemble.
"No, love. They need you to stand out, not lurk in the shadows. Here's Lav to collect you."
In the mirror, Harry saw Ostentatia's assistant looking at him, obviously appraising the changes before smiling. "He looks great, Joss," she said, motioning for him to get up and follow her. Another quick walk and before he knew it, Harry was in the middle of another maelstrom, but this time he had only his pants to defend him.
The wardrobe mistress looked him up and down, clearly measuring him with only her eyes and started holding clothes up against him, including a red plaid monstrosity that Sirius would have said was more suited to the Upper Class Twit of the Year. Taking pity on his pleading eyes, she set him up with a simple blue checked button-down shirt and a pair of khaki trousers.
Almost as if summoned by magic, Lavender reappeared as soon as he slipped his feet into the butter-soft loafers. "Oh, Liz, he looks smashing!" she said, nodding at the wardrobe mistress. "Ostentatia's ready, so we need to get a move on!"
"Where's the tent? Do we Apparate there?" Harry asked as he followed Lavender through the maze of hallways again.
Lavender slowed her steps a fraction and smiled at him. "Don't make me spoil the surprise! Look, there's Ostentatia." Harry saw his co-host standing next to a featureless brick wall, chatting to a tall man with yet another clipboard.
"Ah, there he is! Harry, I want you to meet Devin, our director," Ostentatia said, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
Harry shook hands with Devin and thought about asking what all he would be directing since there wasn't any sort of script, but thought better of it, standing next to Ostentatia. She reached out and adjusted his collar, brushing her hand along his shoulder.
"Harry. Thank you so much for agreeing to help us out this season," Devin said, looking through the papers clipped to his clipboard.
Very neatly done, Mr Director, Harry thought, noting that he'd left unsaid the fact that Head Auror Jones had called the people in charge of BMMB and told them that Harry would be their new celebrity judge, like it or not. "Oh, no worries. I'm quite looking forward to it," he said, plastering his most charming smile on his face. "Erm, where is the tent?"
Devin glanced up from his notes, looking surprised to see Harry there in front of him. "Hmm? Oh, the tent. Yes." His eyes lost focus and he seemed to be listening to something. "Right. Yes. Get the entrances. Closeups on faces. Ta." Clearly dismissing Harry from his thoughts, he addressed Ostentatia directly. "A few more minutes, mum. Let them get settled."
Ostentatia and Lavender chatted quietly and Devin continued to listen to … someone as the hustle and bustle continued around them, leaving Harry feeling rather superfluous until he sensed a sort of electricity in the air surrounding them.
"All right, then. Let's meet our contestants." Devin took his wand and tapped a brick in the wall and Harry was only a little surprised to see the bricks fall away, much as they did at the entrance to Diagon Alley, revealing a stunning, pastoral scene.
Bright blue sky and a blazing sun shone down on carefully manicured green grass and a little ways off in the distance, Harry saw the shining white tent. Oh my God, it's real. I'm really going to go in there. He was so mesmerized by the sight of the iconic tent that he nearly jumped when Ostentatia put a hand on his shoulder, pulling his attention back to the director.
"Now, you and Ostentatia are going to walk to the tent. Not too fast, not too slow, all right? We're not going to be capturing any sound, but find something to chat about," he said, stepping out onto the grass. Another man, this one holding a medium-sized mirror on some sort of pole, appeared next to him. The mirror was pointed at him and Ostentatia, but Harry couldn't see any reflection in it.
Facing them, Devin and the mirror man started walking backwards towards the tent and Harry made to follow them but stopped at the director's frown and raised hand. Embarrassed, he waited until Devin nodded and made a come-hither gesture, stepping out with Ostentatia next to him.
"So are we still in the building?" he asked, burning with curiosity about the setup.
"Oh yes. Can you imagine trying to set all of this up in the real countryside? You'd have to be mad to try and manage all of the logistics!" Ostentatia said, sweeping an arm to encompass the whole area.
Squinting, Harry could make out another brick wall way at the other side of the field and he looked up, amazed at the perfect blue sky and shining sun. "This is just amazing. I don't think I've ever seen anything like this."
Ostentatia cocked her head at him and gave him a gentle smile. "Of course. I keep forgetting you didn't go to Hogwarts. The Great Hall is enchanted to mimic the sky outside."
"Oh. Well, the Great Hall wasn't … I don't think I noticed that particular feature when I was there," Harry said, remembering crumbled stone and a floor strewn with shrouded figures.
"Of course," she said, patting him on the arm. They came to a small creek with a charming, decorative bridge spanning it and paused for a moment to allow a family of ducks to cross in front of them.
"Amazing," Harry said, shaking his head once more.
I feel like I should pinch myself to see if I'm actually here! In the tent! Where it all happens! Ginny thought, struggling with the urge to let out a high-pitched squeal. She looked all around, taking in the workstations with their spotless worktops and gleaming baking tools, feeling like her eyes couldn't settle on just one thing.
Only peripherally aware of the people following her every move with their mirrors, she stepped over to the nearest workstation, running the tips of her fingers over the immaculate stand mixer. The brand name caught her eye and she sighed, recalling when she'd seen this very model in a shop window at Diagon Alley.
"Mum, look at that," she'd said, pointing it out to Molly. Just then, the sunlight hit it, making the stainless steel accents shine. The both of them had stood outside the shop, admiring the device and discussing its merits and drawbacks until her brother Ron ambled up.
Laden with packages, he'd glanced at the mixer and snorted. "You'd have a job trying to afford that on your shopgirl salary," he said before turning away. Ginny looked back at the beautiful machine in the window and nodded once. One day.
And now I get to use one all the time! Well, for as long as I last, at any rate. Dismissing her sometimes combative brother from her mind, she continued her inspection of the workstation, bending over to peek into the oven.
"Now that's a sight I haven't seen in a while." Ginny jumped and stood up straight, whirling around to see Dean Thomas standing at the workstation behind hers, the wide grin she remembered so well splitting his face.
"Oh my goodness! Dean!" Rushing around the station, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight, all awareness of the crew and production people in the tent with them going out of the window. His warm laugh surrounded her and she stepped back, taking him in. "You've made a few changes!"
Dean smiled and ran his hand over his short, curly hair that was now nearly platinum. "You like?" he asked, a tinge of self-consciousness in his voice.
Ginny cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips, taking in the hair and the shiny gold hoops in each ear. "It's a change, that's for sure!"
"I reckon I have to do something to stand out, don't I?" Dean looked around at the tent. Another contestant had come in while they'd been chatting, the older woman looking like she'd just seen a unicorn. "Besides, Seamus likes it," he whispered, leaning in close.
His closeness made her cheeks color and she became aware of the young man directly behind Dean, capturing her every move with his mirror. "Oh, well, you can't really argue with that, can you?" she said, stepping away from him.
"You could, but then you'd be sleeping alone!" Dean said, clapping his hands as they broke up into laughter. Ginny marveled at the confidence he displayed. "Hey, have you heard who the celebrity judge is?"
Ginny glanced around, checking to see how alone they were. "You mean Harry Potter?" she said in a low voice, hoping she hadn't just turned into an overripe tomato in front of her old boyfriend.
"Yes! Girl!" Dean faked a swoon, making her laugh again. "Do you still have a crush on him?"
"Crushes are so immature, don't you think?"
Dean shook his head at her, crossing his arms. "So that's a yes."
"Please don't say anything. I would die and then come back and haunt you," Ginny whispered as yet another contestant entered the tent.
Harry walked into the lounge and fell backwards onto the leather sofa, letting out a loud groan.
"How was your day, oh charming one?" Sirius asked, putting down the book he was reading. He looked quite cozy with his stocking feet up on the ottoman and a cup of tea on the side table. Harry wanted to kick him.
"I am made of cake," he said, letting his head fall back against the cushion and closing his eyes.
"Are you now? What sort?"
"All of them. Think of a cake. I've eaten it." Harry turned his head and looked at his godfather, glad to see the half-smile on his face. "What d'you know about Ostentatia Verbena?"
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I dunno. Did you know her at school? Or hang out or whatever?"
Sirius gave a rumbly laugh. "Harry, how old do you think I am? Old Ozzie has at least twenty years on me. Besides, when would we hang out? I've been cooped up with your grumpy arse these last twenty-odd years."
"Twenty-two," Harry said absently. "Listen, come with me next time. I, erm, need someone to run a bit of interference, yeah?"
Sirius stood up and stretched, heading toward the stairs down to the kitchen. "Come on, I've got a pie in the oven."
"Steak and kidney, I hope. I think I have diabetes from all of that cake." Harry groaned again as he got up from the sofa, rubbing his stomach before following Sirius.
In the kitchen, he breathed deeply of the blessedly savory smells and took a beer out of the icebox before settling down in one of the battered old chairs.
"So what's got you so riled up that you need me to protect you?" Sirius asked after closing the oven door. He got a beer for himself and sat down across from Harry.
"I'm not riled," Harry said defensively, taking a sip of his beer. "It's just she's a bit … I dunno … handsy."
"Handsy?"
"Yeah, she's just always … touching."
"She putting her hands on your bum?" Sirius asked, his voice sharp.
Harry felt the blood rush to his face at his godfather's question. "No! She's just sort of always right there and she's got a hand on my arm or she sneaks up behind me and there's a hand on my back." He took another swallow of beer. "I never knew old bints like her could move so quiet!"
Sirius laughed, the sound filling the stone-floored kitchen and Harry sunk down in his chair, fervently wishing that a hole would open up and swallow him. "It's weird, Sirius. She's old enough to be my gran!"
"Don't worry. I'll come and protect you from the randy granny." Still chuckling, he got up and opened the oven again, taking the pie out and setting it on top of the cooker to cool. "Fancy a salad?"
"Yeah, all right." Harry tapped his fingernail against the beer bottle. "Ginny Weasley is in the competition."
"Arthur's girl? I didn't know she baked. How'd she do?"
"I don't know if I'm allowed to say before it's broadcast."
"Well, I daresay I'll know all the secrets shortly if I'm on set keeping Randy Granny away from you." Sirius set the wooden bowl of salad down in front of Harry.
"She did well," he said, helping himself to something that wasn't cake. "They had to make a Victoria sponge today and I liked hers the best, though Ostentatia said it was a bit dry."
Sirius grunted and set the cooled shepherd's pie on the table. "Whose did she like?"
"There's a boy called Dean Thomas. I thought his was okay. The jam was a bit runny if you ask me." Harry served up a healthy portion of the pie, rather surprised that he had any appetite at all. "But what do I know? I'm just there to be charming and make the department look good. Ostentatia's the real authority there."
Sirius looked at him, a small smile on his lips. "Look on the bright side. Just think of all the cakes and pies and biscuits you'll get to eat over the next few weeks!" he said cheerfully, digging into his salad.
It's not the biscuits I'm looking forward to, he thought, remembering the look on Ginny Weasley's face when he declared her Victoria sponge his favorite.
Ginny entered the kitchen and dropped into her favorite of the mismatched chairs that surrounded the family kitchen table at the Burrow. "Mum, I'm absolutely knackered," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.
"Oh, what's so difficult about baking all day?" her mother said from her position in front of the cooker where she was involved with what looked like a dangerously large pot.
"See, now that's what I thought. Oh, I'm just going to be measuring, mixing and decorating. What's the big deal?" She blew out a breath and shook her head. "What I didn't reckon with was the tension! Mum, it doesn't look like it, but that tent is packed to the rafters with people! They're constantly looking at you and watching what you're doing! And they all have clipboards!"
"Can't you ignore them?"
Ginny sighed and crossed her arms. Yeah, ignore Harry Potter, in the flesh as he stands there and smiles at you and asks you things like what's your favorite thing to bake and how long have you been baking and can I have a bit of that? It looks delicious and here I am thinking, no you look delicious as I crack an egg and get eggshells all in! "No, Mum. You have to be engaging when they come up to you," was all she said.
"I'm sure you have no problem with that!" Molly put a lid on the enormous pot and adjusted the fire underneath. After wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she poured them both a cup of tea from the perpetually ready pot that always seemed to be the exact right temperature. "So, how did you do today?" she asked, sitting down across from Ginny.
"All right, I think. Today was sort of the intro, right? Cakes. We did two things today and I made that chocolate orange one that Dad likes and we all had to do a Victoria Sponge." Ginny poured a bit of milk into her tea and stirred it. "Dead easy."
"So they liked yours the best, then?" Molly smiled at her over the rim of her mug.
"Ostentatia said my Victoria Sponge was dry and a bit overbaked," Ginny said, shrugging. "Oh, I forgot to tell you—Dean is in it, too!"
"Is he? How is he doing?" Molly asked, a look of surprise on her face. "He was always such a nice boy. So polite."
"He's doing well! You should see his hair now! He's gone all platinum! It looks really good on him and he says Seamus likes it. Anyway, the reason why I thought of him is because he was having trouble getting his jam to set right, but he had to go with it because time ran out."
"So he didn't do well?"
"That's the thing! Ostentatia liked his the best! She said it was 'wonderfully moist' and Dean said to me later that he thought he was going to get the boot because most of the jam had seeped into the sponge!"
"Well, I suppose that's the way judging goes." Molly patted Ginny's hand and stood up to check on the giant pot again.
"It wasn't all bad," Ginny said, glad her mother was facing away from her and couldn't see the blush that rose to her cheeks. "Harry Potter said he liked my sponge the best out of all of them."