Worthy of Gryffindor's Head of House

When Cedric Diggory pushed open the kitchen door, he stopped at the sight before him.

Gavin Gu sat beside the stove with a piece of meat in front of him, studying it as though it were a theory of spellcraft.

The meat lay on a hot plate, its surface seared with a dark brown crosshatch. It had been sliced and arranged to reveal a pink, medium-rare center. Fat sizzled against the hot plate, releasing an aroma unlike any ordinary steak's—

Richer, wilder, with the faintest hint of minerals.

But Gavin hadn't picked up his knife or fork. He just stared at it, apparently deep in thought.

Cedric stood in the doorway for a moment, then did something that, while not the bravest act of his life, certainly ranked high.

He walked over, took a spare fork, speared a piece of meat, blew on it twice, and popped it into his mouth.

Last time, he'd missed out on the sausage Gavin had made, and he'd regretted it for ages.

If he'd said just one sentence less back then, he could have had a bite.

He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Hesitation meant defeat—

Cedric had never heard the saying, but his muscle memory had already carried out its instructions.

"How is it?" Gavin looked up, curiosity in his eyes.

Cedric chewed several times, his eyes lighting up. "Tastes pretty good. Let me try another piece."

With that, he speared another piece and put it in his mouth.

Gavin didn't stop him. He simply watched him eat.

"Want some?" Cedric speared another piece and asked politely.

"Not yet." Gavin took out a pocket watch and glanced at it. "Not for at least ten minutes."

"Then don't mind if I do." Cedric ate another piece. What a lucky night. He'd come looking