Breakfast in the Great Hall was a boisterous affair. The excitement of the upcoming match-offs was bolstered by the addition of the opportunity for Professor Snape's mentorship. Although the addendum was posted in the early morning hours, the news had spread like wildfire throughout the castle, and the common rooms were abuzz with speculation long before the tables had been filled with teeming, hungry students.

Harry sat pensively, half listening to the steady drone of conversation around him, half immersed in thought on his own ambivalent desires to enter the fray. Ron spared him a few moments of concerned attention in between bites of toast and eggs. Washing down the last of his mouthful with an entire goblet of orange juice, he turned to gaze down the length of the table, eyes picking out animated conversations and trays of leftover toast alike.

"Hey, mate, did you happen to see Hermione this morning?" Ron prodded Harry from his contemplations. Harry shrugged off his distracted countenance before answering.

"No, but I talked to Ginny a bit before we left. She says Hermione went flying out of the common room at some ungodly hour this morning, explaining she had research to do before she set up some hands-on trials this afternoon." Harry shook his head ruefully. "Leave it to Hermione to start a campaign over a little cooking contest."

Ron let out a bark of laughter. "Mental, that one... I've always said it, haven't I?"

Harry joined him in his mirth with a low chuckle. "The best kind of mental, though."

Harry and Ron both looked around as conversation seemed to swell around them all of a sudden. The increase in energy was apparent as their eyes came to rest on the figure of Professor Snape, striding towards the head table with a sour, pinched expression on his face.

"He doesn't look too thrilled this morning; how much do you want to bet it has to do with his new job duties?" Harry scrutinized this Potions master's form, noting the extra stiff way he held his head and the extreme rigor of his spine as he sat down in his customary chair.

In a rare moment of insight, Ron ran a hand through his unruly hair as he ruminated. "Harry, you don't think Hermione's gotten to him already, do you?"

"How do you mean?" Harry responded with some confusion.

"Snape's extra help. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already bombarded the poor git with questions. In fact, I'd be willing to bet my dessert that the 'trials' she's setting up have something to do with him." As Ron finished his statement, confident in his knowledge of his friend's unique neurosis, he and Harry both observed Snape shudder delicately, as if he himself were envisioning the upcoming meeting and subconsciously revolting.

The boys turned to look at each other simultaneously and burst into cackles of glee. They earned themselves a few odd looks from those students closest to them, but no one spared them more than an exasperated sigh. Harry's shoulders continued to shake as he put his napkin up to stifle his hoots, and Ron's rhythmic snorts preceded his foray down the table to retrieve a few more pieces of toast before they started off for Charms.

…

"Sweet Merlin's beard! Have you heard the news?"

"Cooking lessons…. with Snape?"

"Who would subject themselves to such a thing?!"

"I heard there's already a waiting list! Can you imagine it?"

The steady thud of footfalls did nothing to block out the frenetic conversation taking place at the bottom of the Astronomy tower. A group of Ravenclaws had gathered to compare notes on the upcoming contest before class, and some had been none too pleased to find out a another variable had been added overnight.

"Wouldn't you consider it cheating, if Professor Snape brought you from know-nothing to champion?" Padma Patil offered, feeling slighted on behalf of her house despite having no intentions of entering the competition.

"Precisely! As a potions master, he could likely create a culinary genius in any student, given the time," Terry Boot joined in. A round of affirmations echoed throughout the gathering.

"Actually, I would point out quite the opposite," floated Luna's dreamy voice as she approached the staircase. "In seven years of studies, every student to ever pass through his Potions classes should be at Master level given that reasoning. But tell me; have you ever heard Neville Longbottom recall a period in which he didn't blow up a cauldron or botch a brew?" She stopped lightly on her tip-toes, head canted to the side as she watched her housemates assimilate the added information and reach similar conclusions.

"Basically it comes down to inherent talent, then?"

"And at best, those willing to seek out his guidance will learn enough to not blow the rest of us up."

A smattering of laughter followed Terry's new realization. Luna blinked serenely as she began her ascent to the tower. The subject of Snape's compliance in the preparations for the contest would be front and center for the next couple of weeks, and she was certain that her fellows in Gryffindor would be much less rational about the whole thing. She silently vowed to steer clear of the library in a week's time; she had no desire to be immersed in the insanity of last minute recipe changes from panicked, would-be chefs.

...

"Draco, are you skipping study session again?" the tinny whine of Pansy's voice broke through Draco's disjointed musings in a most unpleasant fashion. His lips turned down in evident displeasure, and he made no move to ease his expression as her face swam into view at the common room entrance.

"Are you?" he asked, rather sardonic in his accusation. Pansy tittered forcefully and plunked down on a deep green couch, allowing her to face the Malfoy heir directly but not closely.

"Draco, darling, you wound me so!" Pansy batted her eyelashes at the unaffected blond, and voiced her own complaint with an unladylike grunt. "Actually, I have a perfectly legitimate reason for skipping. I doubt you could say the same." She reclined against the arm of the couch with a haughty tilt to her chin and a gleam in her hooded eyes.

"Perfect grades in all my classes likely counts as legitimate, Miss Parkinson. I doubt you could say the same." Draco didn't need to focus on her face to know that Pansy was turning puce from his antagonizing. Feeling slightly less aggravated by her presence after making his annoyance known, he rose slowly from his seat and slid onto the sofa with Pansy, swiveling his feet toward the opposite arm so that she could have a lap full of his golden head.

Pansy went from angry purple to flustered pink in seconds. She eagerly dove into the sleek strands under her chest, running her fingers almost reverently through the silky mane, and nearly abandoning her plan to unveil the reason for her truancy.

"And?" Draco lifted his head and nudged Pansy's belly, content to let her play in his hair, but resigned to listening to whatever ill-conceived plan she thought she'd come up with. He sighed, singularly unimpressed with her fumbling attempts to regain her poise.

"Granger's going to cheat," Pansy blurted out quickly, not able to successfully reign in her glee. Draco's head snapped up from her lap with unexpected speed, and she winced when she noticed a few fine follicles still attached to her fingers.

"She WHAT?" Draco demanded as he continued his trajectory to fully standing. He spun on his heel and dropped his hands down to back of the couch, trapping Pansy between his forearms and freezing her in place with his intense glare. She recoiled from his abrupt transformation, but he did not back down.

"You are absolutely positive she's going to cheat? How? Tell me everything. Every detail, leave nothing out," Draco ordered, and Pansy tripped over her own tongue in her efforts to comply. As the story came pouring out, he began to formulate his own plan of attack. This, he would put to good use. Very, very good use, he schemed.