Lying awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, Harry pondered the upcoming contest. The rules were simple, the venue was the closest thing to home he'd ever had, and the stakes were laughable. The only thing that could keep him from entering was himself… or some yet unforeseen dark enemy. Harry shook his head ruefully. No need to go there, he reminded himself. He shifted to his side, pulling his pillow down and wrapping his arms around it. He thought about what he might do if he entered. A few half-formed plans made their way into his musings. "Maybe," he yawned. Harry drifted off to sleep, glimpses of flour and trophies dotting his dreams.
...
"No BLOODY magic! Draco, how can you just sit there so calmly?" Pansy fumed in the middle of the Slytherin common room, lashing out at anyone that happened to pass within yelling range.
"I don't see what the bloody fucking deal is, Pansy," Draco finally offered her, lounging gracefully in a wingback chair near the fireplace. A chair that was not meant to be remotely comfortable, but one that Draco made look like an overstuffed couch with his easy posture.
"So you can't cook. Big deal. It's not exactly breaking news," floated a voice from behind a stack of history books at the table.
"Shut your pie-hole, Zabini! Or come over here, and I'll gladly do it for you!" Pansy raged.
"Please, Parkinson." Blaise snapped his textbook shut and launched himself to his feet. "You're just going to end up looking like an idiot. Twice the idiot, actually, if you don't face facts and realize you don't belong in a muggle cooking contest."
"Leave it, both of you." Draco's quiet but firm voice carried through the room. "I'm sick of this whining and bickering. Go to bed. We'll talk about it in the morning." Blaise took one last appraising glance at Pansy, shrugged his small shoulders and went off towards the boy's dormitory. Pansy continued to sulk, albeit more quietly. Draco turned to pierce her with a stormy look. Needing no further encouragement, she stomped off to bed, a scowl plastered on her pink face.
Draco resumed his thoughtful gazing into the fireplace. Oh, the possibilities, he snickered to himself. As a prominent pureblood family member, he had little to gain in from this child's contest, and much to lose in the way of social standing…. Still, the motivation to astound and amaze was not easily shaken off. Grinning, he rose slowly from the chair and made his way to his bed, flashes of flour and trophies paving the way.
...
AN: a brief interlude to pave the way... now the real fun begins!