The great hall was in a state of chaos, the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Students from every house were spread across various tables, makeshift cook tops and ingredients littered every surface, and owls were funneling in with bulging packages filled with specially ordered cooking ingredients. Harry stopped at the entrance to marvel at the circus before him, before gingerly making his way thru the crowd to where Seamus and company were discussing the pros and cons of using haggis in a traditional Irish Sheppard's Pie.
"I'm tellin' you lot, it's all in the seasoning," he was arguing, facing down a completely unconvinced Dean, who had his arms crossed over his chest and was resolutely not eating from the platter in front of him. Harry arrived behind them, and shifted to his toes to take a peek over Dean's shoulder. The misshapen mass of chunky creamed potatoes and glistening organ meat, drifting slightly across the plate in a murky puddle, did nothing to encourage a tasting. The sour aroma wafting gently up from the mangled innards only reinforced Dean's stance.
"But haggis isn't even Irish!" complained a green-tinged Neville. Two younger Griffindors were listening raptly, wanting to be more disgusted, in the way only eleven-year-olds are capable of being. Seamus waved his hand dismissively at the unnecessary logic.
"Ya daft bastards, don't you know a good hearty meal when ya see it? You've all been taken in by this posh Hogwarts fare… me grandad's recipe'll put hair on your chests!" Seamus seemed equal parts proud and frustrated. He sprung from the table when he spotted Harry, who was attempting to take shallow breaths in lieu of beating a hasty retreat from the overpowering dish. "Harry, mate! I know you'll help me show these gunters some sense. Have a go, and tell us what you think!"
Harry felt torn between bolstering his friend's confidence, and avoiding a trip to the hospital wing. Seamus looked at him with unguarded hopefulness, and despite the frantic gestures and noises of the group at the Irishman's back, Harry's generous nature got the better of him. Resigned to a night of food poisoning-induced sleeplessness, he leaned over Dean's arm to pick up a fork, and doggedly loaded it up and brought it to his mouth.
It took him three tries to get it into his mouth, on account of gagging the first time, and then actually throwing up in his mouth a little bit from the smell, the second. He finally closed his mouth around the mildly congealed meat and spuds, and tried valiantly not to inhale while he took several staccato bites.
"See? There!" Seamus pointed in triumph at Harry's stuffed cheeks. "Tha's a man who knows quality vittles." The smile on his friend's face motivated Harry to swallow down the vile concoction on his palate, and he offered Seamus a weak thumbs up. He could feel his stomach already starting to object.
"Harry… Merlin's knickers, do you need a bucket? That was barmy!" chorused the group around him, all eyeing him with various levels of sympathy. Seamus jumped back in to defending his dish, and Dean and Neville brandished Harry's ashen face as a rebuttal.
Leaving them to their scruples, Harry shuffled nonchalantly to the door, and managed to make it out of the nearest building exit before violently retching into a wild patch of Lady's Mantle.
"There is most definitely nothing beautiful about that, Potter," intruded the unmistakable lilt of Draco Malfoy. Harry groaned aloud, half in queasiness, half in embarrassment. He shot Malfoy a withering glance.
"Come a bit closer, would you, Malfoy? I'm sure I could redecorate your shoes, while I'm at it." The irritated remark was punctuated with another expulsion of fluid. Contents of his stomach now entirely covering the ground, Harry straightened slowly, a hand absently covering his tender belly. Draco merely smirked at the unassuming boy-hero, gently swinging a package in his left hand. He considered the mess at his feet.
"Judging from the indiscernible brown mess on the ground, and the putrid odors coming out of the Great Hall windows, you must have eaten Griffindor cooking," the blond stated will ill-disguised glee. "I'm so pleased to know how much of a challenge they'll be for Pansy." A long-fingered hand carelessly pushed the strands covering his forehead back, and for a moment, Harry was struck by the resemblance to the little boy he met in Flourish and Blotts. Draco lazily locked eyes with Harry; haughty, but too delighted to be malicious in that moment. Harry couldn't muster any indignation as another wave of nausea swept over him and he quickly bent back over to unload more bile.
In between heaves, he thought he heard Malfoy sucking his teeth in disapproval. When he was able to rise again, Malfoy was looking at him with much less delight. An uncomfortable combination of irritation and concern showed plainly across his face, and he frowned as he slipped a pale hand into a pocket of his robes.
Harry was beginning to sweat, and his face and neck felt clammy. He was in no position to defend himself from whatever attack Malfoy was about to flay him with, so he was literally unbalanced when all that came at him was a soft, paper covered taffy.
"It'll help with the nausea," Draco said quietly, still frowning as Harry righted himself. He dropped the sweet into Harry's hesitantly opened palm, and spun on his heel to venture towards the back of the castle. He slowed his steps to call over his shoulder. "You know, Potter… it's much less entertaining to kick a dog when he can't even complain about getting kicked. Endeavor not to be so Griffindor in the future, would you?" Harry watched his receding form until it disappeared behind a tower. He glanced down at the wrapped candy in his hand, utterly perplexed at the momentary compassion from his archenemy. Oddly, he didn't think twice about consuming it.
He unwrapped the taffy, and tentatively took a bite. Immediately, he felt his stomach pains begin to ease, and instantly recognized a Wizarding Wheeze; leave it to Fred & George to make their own cure for a sweets hangover, and in sweets form, no less. Harry slipped the remaining piece into his mouth, and wiped the cold perspiration from the back of his neck. Taking a few stabilizing breaths, he looked down at the damage at his feet. "Urgh, that really isn't pretty at all, is it?" Harry pulled a face as he unsheathed his wand to scourgify the stones on the ground. "Bugger, got my shoes, too," he cursed as he noticed.
As he finished cleaning up and his stomach was finally settling down, Harry was struck with inspiration. He hadn't yet fully committed to entering the cooking contest himself, but he was leaning more and more towards secretly registering. Suddenly, he felt like he had the perfect entry; a lemon chiffon pie with a gingersnap crust. It was bold dish for an hour, but inexplicably, he knew that it was going to be it. He started off in the direction of the owlery, mentally creating a checklist of ingredients he needed to order, and humming a little tune around the last of the lemon flavored tummy soother in his mouth.
AN: Man, life got in the way of this one! No timeline, but hopefully it'll gain traction again and I'll have time to keep it moving regularly. Thanks for sticking it out!