27 Pizzazz

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Suddenly, Harry jumped from his bed, a sudden realization dawning upon him. "Uh oh!" he exclaimed, a note of panic in his voice. "What time is it, Nigel?"

The AI answered calmly, "A little over 17, Master Harry."

Harry dashed downstairs, his mind racing. "I forgot to cook dinner," he muttered, worried about his aunt's reaction. But as he arrived in the kitchen, he was greeted by an unexpected scene. Petunia was humming to herself, a melody Harry faintly recognized from his early childhood. She was cooking, something that had become a rarity since Harry had taken over the kitchen duties as part of his chores.

Peering between Petunia's arms, Harry saw she was preparing his favorite dish - Roast Beef. The aroma was tantalizing, stirring memories of simpler times. He approached the kitchen, his surprise evident on his face.

Petunia turned and smiled at him. "Done studying? I cooked your favorite," she said, her voice carrying a warmth Harry hadn't heard in years.

Harry was taken aback. "How did you know?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

Petunia giggled, a sound so rare and unexpected that it made Harry stop in his tracks. "Of course I know, silly. I am your Aunt," she said, her tone light and playful, a stark contrast to her usual stern demeanor.

Harry was speechless. This was a side of Petunia he hadn't seen since ever. The harshness that had defined their relationship seemed to have softened, if only for a moment. Without saying another word, he walked up to her and hugged her. It was a spontaneous gesture, one that spoke volumes about the changes unfolding within their household.

Petunia, taken aback by the hug, stiffened for a moment before relaxing into the embrace. It was a small but significant moment of connection, bridging years of misunderstanding and resentment.

As they sat down to eat, the atmosphere was different from the usual tense and silent dinners. Petunia seemed more relaxed, occasionally glancing at Harry with a softness in her eyes that he hadn't seen before.

Harry savored each bite of the roast beef, a dish that was not just delicious but also steeped in nostalgia. It had been ages since Petunia last cooked for him, and the effort she put into preparing his favorite meal did not go unnoticed. The meat was tender, infused with a blend of herbs and spices that created a symphony of flavors in his mouth. It was, without a doubt, a pleasant surprise.

"Amazing," Harry remarked, his tone genuine. He looked across the table at Petunia, whose face lit up at the compliment. There was a softness in her eyes, a glimmer of the aunt he vaguely remembered from his very early years.

Petunia, visibly pleased with Harry's reaction, leaned forward slightly. "Well, I have a surprise for you, but first finish your meal," she said, a hint of mystery in her voice.

Harry's curiosity piqued, but he obliged, enjoying the meal with a gusto he hadn't felt in a long time. This was more than just a well-cooked dish; it was a sign of changing times within the Dursley household, no Evans household, a possible thaw in the frosty relationship that had persisted for so long.

As he took the last bite, his mind wandered to what the surprise could be. Petunia hadn't been one for surprises, at least not pleasant ones, in all the years he had lived with the Dursleys.

Finally, with the meal concluded, Petunia stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a dessert plate in her hands. On the plate was a treacle tart, its golden syrup glazing shining under the dining room light, the crust perfectly baked to a delicate crisp. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. Treacle tart was his absolute favorite, a rare treat that he had long associated with happier times.

"This is for you," Petunia said, setting the plate down in front of Harry. Her voice carried a tenderness that Harry had never heard before, and it warmed his heart. He couldn't remember the last time she had made him a treacle tart. In fact, he couldn't recall her ever making it for him.

Harry looked at the treacle tart, then at Petunia, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he said, his voice filled with a gratitude that was as much for the gesture as it was for the dessert.

As he took a bite of the tart, the sweet, rich flavor of the treacle mixed with the buttery crust exploded in his mouth. It was a perfect balance of sweetness and texture, each bite bringing a wave of comfort and contentment. Harry closed his eyes, savoring the moment, the dessert bringing back memories of his mother, whom he never knew but always felt connected to through such simple joys.

Petunia watched Harry with an expression that was difficult to read. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time, not as the burden she had long considered him to be, but as a person, her nephew, Lily's son.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of Harry enjoying his dessert. Nigel, who had been a silent observer throughout the meal, finally spoke up. "It seems, Master Harry, that the winds of change are blowing through the Evans household. And they bring with them the sweet aroma of treacle tart."

Harry smiled, acknowledging Nigel's observation. "It's more than just a dessert, Nigel," he said, a reflective tone in his voice. "It's a symbol of... I don't know, hope, maybe? A sign that things can get better."

"Indeed, Master Harry," Nigel replied. "Life, much like potion-making, is full of unexpected reactions. Sometimes, all it takes is a simple ingredient, like a well-cooked meal or a treacle tart, to catalyze a change."

As Harry finished the last morsel of the tart, he felt a sense of peace, a feeling that had been foreign in the Evans household. The evening had unfolded in a way he never could have anticipated, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of optimism about his future at Privet Drive.

He helped Petunia clear the table, their movements synchronized in an unspoken dance of cooperation. The usual distance between them had lessened, even if just for the evening, and Harry cherished this newfound closeness.

Returning to his room after dinner, Harry once again accessed the Virtual Potion Crafting Room, ready to experiment with the Cure for Boils potion. His belly full and his heart content from the evening's unexpected turn of events, he felt a renewed vigor to push the boundaries of his potion-making skills.

The virtual room materialized around him, its familiar setup welcoming him back. The shelves were lined with all manner of ingredients, and the cauldron sat waiting for him, ready for another round of brewing. Harry approached the cauldron with a sense of purpose, his mind already formulating plans for enhancing the potion.

"Now, Master Harry, let's see if we can't add a bit of pizzazz to this rather mundane concoction," Nigel said, his voice echoing in Harry's mind.

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