She flipped through the book on her lap with increasing agitation. She had lost count of the number of texts she had scoured, a huge pile haphazardly perched on the table beside her unused arm already. Hermione was at her wit's end trying to find the perfect recipe for this contest. She was beginning to think it impossible to find something worthwhile that could be done in an hour or less. She snuck a peek to her left at Harry, who was serenely browsing through pastry recipes and humming slightly to himself. Her exasperated sigh brought him out of his musings.

"Still nothing, eh?" Harry inquired gently.

"I think this is hopeless," Hermione returned, despondent.

"No such thing, 'Mione," he shot back quickly. Harry pushed his chair away from the table with purpose and slid from his seat to make his way around to Hermione's huge stack of recipe books. Shuffling through the top third, he eased a thin paperback from the pile.

"Tada!" he presented the book to the witch as though he were a small boy giving his mum the gift of a mud pie. The title read Fast Food Frenzy and the cover photo was and empty skillet, surrounded by open cans and boxes of prepackaged and processed foods. "You're overthinking it, Hermione," Harry continued. "You don't need to become a Michelin star chef to cook something that tastes good."

"But Harry, if I use pantry foods, isn't that a bit like cheating?" Hermione pursed her lips, disapproving of even the thought. Harry lifted his eyes skyward for a breath.

"Not exactly cheating, no," he began. "More like… well… a shortcut," he finished with an air of authority. Harry could read the skepticism on his friend's face as she waited for him to continue. "Look," he tried again, "basically, the rules are clear; you have to cook one dish, it needs to be human food, you have one hour, and you can't use magic. There are plenty of ingredients that come prepared simply because it's not possible to plan to cook them on an average night. It is not cheating."

"Oh, Harry, I don't know…" She still looked unsure, hesitantly reaching for the book. He crossed the distance between their hands to place it firmly in hers. With a brief clap on her shoulder to emphasize his confidence in her, Harry walked back around to his vacated spot and retrieved the pastry book he'd been browsing before their conversation. He stuffed the parchment and quills he'd laid out earlier back into his bag and slung it across his back.

"Are you heading back to the common room?" Hermione threw over her shoulder as she turned to fish writing supplies from her own satchel.

"Just to drop off my things. I'm going to nip out and see Hagrid before dark," Harry replied, scanning the library for Madam Pince so he could check out the cookbook cradled in his arms. "When Ron wakes up, let him know I'll meet you both in the hall at dinner." He glanced down fondly at his best friend, who had drifted off soon after they arrived in the library, and was currently drooling into a copy of 30-Minute Meals.

"Alright, then." Hermione was already distracted, attacking the contents of Fast Food Frenzy with renewed vigor. She didn't notice when Harry left the library, pastry book in tow. Nor did she notice the scheming face of Pansy Parkinson poking out from the next aisle, eagerly gathering her belongings in order to rush off to the dungeons to impart her newly acquired bit of leverage.

...

Harry ducked through the portrait of the fat lady and was hit with a wave of excitement and agitation as the common room was littered with students, books, and heated debates on cook times and food preparation. Nodding to a few classmates, he wound his way around the throng and headed up the stairs to the boys dormitory.

Dumbledore had offered Harry the opportunity to finally take on the role of Prefect, but graciously extended the choice to continue to room with the same boys he'd grown up with. The boy-who-lived had leapt at the chance to stay right where he was. He was all too aware that he could use as much normalcy as possible in his life. Keeping the same old routines went a long way towards keeping his nightmares at bay.

He dumped his bag onto his bed, and pulled his invisibility cloak out from under his pillow to tuck under his robes, just in case he ran late. He set the pastry book lightly on his nightstand, taking a moment to finger the spine and will away the knot that had been tightening in his stomach since the contest announcement that morning. Throwing off his doubts with a quick shake of his arms, he left the dormitory in search of his dearest giant friend.

It took Harry no time at all to make his way to the corridor leading out of the back of the castle, but he was surprised to find his way blocked by one rather blond, rather smarmy, awfully bored looking resident. Harry gradually slowed his pace to a stop, just a few yards away from his longtime nemesis. He watched quietly for a minute or so, sizing up the other boy. As Draco was looking off into the distance, Harry took a moment to really look at him. Pale fingers clasped loosely, an elbow supporting his weight as his long back bent slightly over a bit of broken stone wall, darkening sunlight glinting from highlights in hair that had grown overlong and looked artlessly tousled. The entire image appeared a bit vulnerable, and significantly more human than he would have previously believed possible. Harry filed that bit of information to be revisited at a later time, and waited to see if Malfoy would reveal this meeting to be planned or coincidence.

A deep sigh drifted to him on the wind, and Draco Malfoy straightened up slowly, purposefully, and turned sharp grey eyes directly onto Harry's face. Not one to back down from a confrontation, even when it might be smarter to do so, Harry didn't move a muscle. He simply stared back, a look of expectation plainly gracing his face.

"Potter," came the patented Malfoy drawl after a few seconds.

"Malfoy," he returned evenly. He continued to meet the eyes of the Slytherin, and the answering gaze seemed perfectly content to just look. After what felt like an eternity, Malfoy's lashes fluttered downwards, and he let out his breath in a huff that almost sounded like a chuckle.

"Do you remember, that day I tried to warn you about associating with the right type of wizard? The day I wanted you to choose your friends?" Malfoy spoke while his eyes remained closed, seemingly lost in memories.

"I'll never forget it," Harry agreed. "Why?"

Malfoy's eyes snapped open, and he glanced down at the ground for a moment before moving towards Harry, and back to the castle. Pausing mid-stride, he leveled his gaze with Harry's once again.

"I'm glad you didn't choose me."

Harry watched his retreating form until he couldn't make it out anymore, and then resumed his trek to Hagrid's cottage, totally and utterly perplexed.

.

AN: It seems like this story is going to end up a lot longer than I thought it was going to be. Ah, well. We all like long stories, right? :)