Harry Prewett and the Case of Inadvertent Illegal Time Travel

Chapter Four: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to update, I didn't know how to write the scene and to be perfectly honest the following is not at all what I had in mind, so hope it fits. First of all I would like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, alerted, and/or favourited the story! Secondly, Congratulations to Alec McDowell, a loyal reviewer, you are correct Charlus Potter is a lawyer aka solicitor, have this fictional cookie of chocolaty chipish delight as your prize! Now, on with the story!

When Harry woke the unfamiliar clock on the unfamiliar bedside table informed him it was six thirty in the morning and the weak sunlight that had managed to filter through the early morning cloud cover illuminated the unfamiliar room.

Harry blinked at all the unfamiliarity.

"What the..."

It took a second for the memories of the day before to come flooding back. Cleaning Grimmauld, talking with Sirius, worrying about his trial, passing out, Office of Time Travel, Collette, Aunt Violet...

Harry rolled over and found his glasses, none the worse for being slept on. Harry shook his head, he should have just caved and bought magical glasses years ago it would have saved him a whole hell of a lot of trouble. Hermione had been right, as always.

Harry scrubbed at his face as this thought sent fresh pangs of loss through him and he threatened to start crying again.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered to himself, "Look on the bright side, at least now you know you're not expelled, and you don't have to go to that bloody trial,"

Looking for something to distract himself with Harry examined the room that would be his so long as he remained with the Potters.

The carpet was plush and a sort of greenish beige color the walls were a light blue and the bedspread was navy with a bit of green along the edge and rumpled from being slept in. There was a dresser and a huge desk that had the faintly worn look of something pulled out of storage and quickly polished up. There were also two doors. Upon examination, one led into the hall and the other led to a roomy walk in closet with a few things that must belong to his father hanging there.

With the room thus thoroughly explored Harry became aware of a burning need to pee. So shucking out of his rumpled jacket and leaving it hanging over the end of the bed Harry padded out into the hall in search of a bathroom.

Unable to see any obvious bathroom looking doors Harry began opening doors along the hall and found an empty guest room room, James' room, another guest room, this one looking much more lived in, a rec room and finally after that a bathroom. He found a brand new toothbrush and a bottle of the tooth cleaning potion wizards favoured in the drawers under the double sink and fresh towels in the cupboard and so after relieving himself he brushed his teeth, making a mental note to get some proper toothpaste as soon as he had the opportunity, and took a hot shower.

Feeling much more human Harry padded back to his room, changed into some fresh clothes and retraced the route from his room to the kitchen with only minor difficulties.

The kitchen and dining room were empty though there were places set for four people at the table. Harry bit his lip as his stomach reminded him he was famished. Would the Potters mind him using their kitchen? Would it be more polite to wait until someone arrived downstairs?

Harry's stomach burbled pitifully.

There was no use for it he was too bloody hungry to wait for the Potters, he'd make them all breakfast and hopefully that would make up for the rudeness of commandeering their kitchen.

Thus decided, he began raiding the cold box and pantry.

In a few minutes the kitchen was in controlled chaos with bacon sizzling in one pan, pancakes in another and a bowl of whipped eggs waiting for their turn on the heat. Harry moved around the kitchen getting lost in the familiar rhythm of chopping, mixing and frying, nibbling on a slice of buttered toast to keep his stomach's complaints under control.

"What are you doing?"

Harry jumped slightly and whipped around to find that Aunt Dorea was standing there in her pale blue silk dressing gown with her arms crossed looking annoyed as she surveyed the kitchen.

"Er...making breakfast?" Harry said meekly offering up a plate of silver dollar pancakes to show her.

"Hn," grunted Dorea.

Harry was so surprised to hear the familiar sound come out of a throat not his own he did a quick double take.

"What?" his aunt demanded putting her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry...it's just, do I really sound that condescending when I make that noise?"

"What noise?"

"Hn," Harry grunted, rolling his eyes.

Dorea let out a surprised bark of laughter before covering her mouth with her hand.

"Not bad," she managed fighting a smile.

"So am I forgiven?" asked Harry.

"For what?"

"Making breakfast,"

"Ah, yes," said Dorea surveying the spread critically, "Perhaps,"

Harry raised an eyebrow but ceded command of the kitchen to his aunt letting her poke and prod at his finished and nearly finished breakfast dishes seemingly at random.

"Can I ask what you're looking for?"

"You just did so obviously you can, however, if you meant to say may I ask what you are looking for, you may but I won't answer you until I'm good and ready,"

Harry watched, feeling a strange mixture of amused, exasperated and tolerant, as Dorea took a clean steak knife and wielded it with exacting and frankly terrifying precision to slice a thin bit of sausage from one of the finished links and settle it on a square of pancake, she then dipped the bite sized piece in the warm maple syrup and delicately ate it. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before sighing in disappointment.

"What?" asked Harry, "Is something wrong? Gods, this is so embarrassing, I haven't screwed up a breakfast since I was seven years old, maybe I'm just out of practice..."

"Harry," said Dorea holding up a hand to silence him, "The food is excellent, carefully prepared and cooked to perfection,"

"Oookay...then why do you look like someone killed your puppy, like I killed your puppy, repeatedly...with stabbing tools,"

"Because, you cook like a House Elf!"

Harry took a careful step away from his aunt's sudden outburst.

She slammed the fork down on the island.

"I know it's not fair to you Harry, but when I saw you...and then the noise, but there's nothing in your food!"

To demonstrate the appropriate gravity of this offence apparently she picked up the plate of pancakes and threw them on the floor shattering the plain porcelain tray they'd been sitting on and covering the floor with shards of porcelain and abused pancakes.

Harry skittered away from the mess with the deftness of long practice and pressed himself against the wall unaware that he was trying to make himself smaller.

Dorea groaned in frustration dropping her head in her hands and closing her eyes tightly. She'd so hoped that finally there would be someone in this house who could understand her, who was like her, who could cook with skill and spice turning the chore of making a meal into a sensuous work of art. Harry had seemed so...she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, not quite a growl. She'd expected too much of him and he probably thought she was a crazy person tossing perfectly good dishes and food around.

Dorea sighed when she looked at the mess she'd made of the floor. There was a soft pop.

"Get out of my kitchen, Frannie!" she snapped.

There was another soft pop.

Satisfied that there would be no more interference Dorea opened her eyes and raised her head to apologize to her nephew for her outburst, sometimes there was more of the Blacks in her than she might like.

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the picture Harry presented.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Dorea raised her hand and Harry fell silent.

Harry was pressed flat against the wall farthest from her and closest to the door and though his eyes were unnaturally wide and his freckles stood out in his suddenly starkly pale face, his features were completely expressionless. She had seen this mask before, she knew it intimately, all the Black children did. Her brother Marius, her nephew Alphard, her great nephew, James' friend Sirius, and now Harry. Someone had abused this child, screamed at him, thrown things, and starved him of both food and love. There were scars on his soul inflicted by the very people who should have cherished him the most. He didn't seem to know what to make of her piercing stare and she wondered absently if he knew he was close to biting through his lip.

Moving slowly as if with a spooked horse she reached out and grabbed the first dish her hand encountered. She then gathered the hem of her dressing gown to her knees revealing long pale legs and delicately turned ankles as she deftly picked her way through the broken porcelain and handed him the platter of sausages.

Harry stared at the sausages and then stared at her, looking confused.

"Well don't just stand there, Harry, toss the plate, shatter it into a million pieces,"

"But-"

"Right now," she ordered.

Harry threw the plate into the mess on the kitchen floor, not without force, and the platter holding the sausages became indistinguishable from the platter holding the pancakes, both of them being comprised of little white chips scattered all over the tile floor.

Dorea hadn't thought it was possible for his eyes to get any wider but when he turned to look at her his eyes were definitely wider.

"I can't believe I just did that..." he muttered to himself sounding horrified, "I'm so sorry, I'll just clean this up and get out..."

Dorea held up a hand and he fell silent.

"Sweet Merlin, you are well trained," she said shaking her head, "You, my dear nephew, are not going anywhere,"

Harry gulped.

Dorea drew her wand out of the pocket of her dressing gown and flicked it negligently. The shards of sharp porcelain and bits of damaged food were swept away and the kitchen was once again pristine, empty of all the food Harry had prepared. Harry's aunt rolled up her silk sleeves and pinned her mass of wildly curling hair to the top of her head with an ease Hermione would have envied. Then she flashed Harry a wicked smile.

"If you're going to be cooking in my kitchen, you will learn to do it right, accio, put that on,"

Obediently Harry tied the apron on watching as Dorea did the same before sticking her wand in the pocket.

"Lesson number one: food needs personality,"

Harry said nothing but watched her with unblinking eyes his fear melting into interest as if it had never been.

"Why?" he blurted before flushing at the question.

"Because a meal, cooking a meal is about sharing love and life with your friends and family,"

Harry looked confused.

"Alright, let me try another tack, think of the best meal you've ever had,"

She gave him a few minutes to think.

"Got one?"

"Yeah,"

"What was it?"

"My very first birthday cake, or at least the first one I remember getting," Harry amended thinking of the pictures of him and his mum and dad and Sirius and Remus all covered in coral coloured frosting that Remus had told Harry was mango flavoured because Lily hadn't believed that giving her baby chocolate at such a tender age was a good idea.

"Who made it for you?"

"A friend of my parents,"

"Why did it taste so good?"

Harry thought about this but he couldn't answer, the cake had been heavy and crumbly, like all of Hagrid's cooking, though thankfully not as heavy as his infamous Rock Cakes, and the icing had been too sweet and Hagrid had sat on it at some point. Harry imagined it might have been because he was starving, but his Aunt Petunia's casserole was always awful no matter how many days he'd gone without a proper meal, or any meal.

"I don't know," he finally answered his brow furrowed.

Dorea smiled.

"The secret ingredient, the one that makes the meal, is love, as corny as that sounds. You give a part of yourself up to the people you cook for because you love them and it makes spaghetti and meatballs or soup and sandwiches into a feast fit for a king. House Elves, are devoted to their masters they would give anything for us do anything for our happiness or because we asked it of them but that is part of what they are, they don't have the necessary freedom to feel real love for us and they don't want it, which is why I will never allow one to cook for the family while I'm able and why they are not allowed to set one foot past the threshold while I occupy the kitchen,"

"Oh," said Harry in a small voice.

"So, let's get started, hand me those eggs there and I'll teach you how to make a decent omelette,"

AN: Was it okay? *Bites lip anxiously* I'm worried that I've done a 180 with Dorea's character as compared to the last chapter, but I like this scene because it takes into account Harry's abuse with the Dursleys without any of the jibbering I so despise, and it gives Harry and Dorea something to bond over. The way I see it Violet and Charlus are charming personable people by nature (that's where James gets it from) whereas Harry and Dorea are more closed off and it takes them more effort to form emotional attachments especially since Harry is famous and Dorea scares people. Anywhoo that's my excuse for the chapter that appeared out of nowhere, please inform me if it is complete drivel!

As always, please review! Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it!