A/N – Okay. A few days ago, I found this Tumblr prompt while trolling for Harry Potter feels posts: 'AU of Gordon Ramsay teaching Potions'. When I found this, I was like 'Oh. My. God. I have to find this now. This is brilliant.' So I went searching. And found one. Suffice to say, I was not impressed. Gordon Ramsay was off his arse, shouting at children. He doesn't do that. He usually reserves the right to insult and degrade for his adult chefs. So, here I am, writing how I think this particular oneshot fic should be written. Enjoy.

Hell's Cauldron

Harry looked on with interest as he watched a group of distraught looking seventh year Gryffindors shuffling slowly into the Great Hall before dinner. A number of equally haggard looking seventh year Ravenclaws followed close behind them before the two groups split off to head to their respective tables. The first year Gryffindor nudged Hermione beside him and jerked his head at one of the closer older Gryffindors.

"What do you think happened to them?" he asked softly, not wanting to elicit any negative reaction from the repressed young man. Hermione shrugged but furrowed her brow at the seventh year all the same.

"I think they just came from Potions," she whispered back. "Snape must've been hard on them today."

"It wasn't Snape," the seventh year commented. The two first years jerked in surprise. They hadn't known that the elder Gryffindor had heard them.

"It wasn't Snape?" Hermione echoed curiously. The young man nodded as he numbly shoveled a forkful of Shepard's pie into his dry mouth before washing it down with a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Snape's away on some kind of thing for the Headmaster," he explained. "We got a sub today."

"Really?" Hermione perked up. "Who? Are they good? How was the lesson? Did they teach anything new?" The seventh year turned his head and scowled at the bushy haired preteen, bringing her spiel of questions to a sudden stop. Several of the other first years were listening in with interest. The entire Great Hall fell silent, wanting to hear what the seventh year Gryffindor had to say.

"His name is Gordon Ramsay," he replied coldly, "And he's the Devil." Hermione cocked her head to one side while Harry blinked at the moniker.

"How so?" Lavender Brown inquired.

"He's a right bastard," the young man scoffed. "We had to brew a potion of our choice today. An easy enough task for us seventh years, not too much hassle. Not so much when Ramsay decided to lay in to us with insults left and right."

'THIS POTION HAS SO MUCH WARTWEED, A DEER'S TRYING TO EAT IT!'

'THIS DRAGON HIDE'S BEEN BURNT SO BLACK THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC TRIED TO TAKE IT TO AZKABAN!'

'THERE'S SO MUCH GINGER IN THIS IT'S A WEASLEY.'

'THIS POTION HAS SO MUCH MANDRAKE IN IT I CAN HEAR THE SCREAMS IF I DUNK MY HEAD IN!'

'THIS LOVE POTION IS SO BAD HADDAWAY DOESN'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT IS!'

'THERE'S SO MUCH LIFE ELIXIR IN THIS IT'S IMMORTAL!'

The entire Gryffindor table stared at the unnamed seventh year as he went back to his sandwich, ignoring the incredulous looks.

"Blimey," Ron muttered from across the table from Harry, "sounds like a right git, he does."

"You better start praying, little firsties," the seventh year warned, standing after finishing his lunch.

"Pray for what?" Harry asked. The elder boy shivered as he shouldered his book bag. He turned, his hollow gaze sending tingles down the first years' spines.

"Pray that Snape gets back before you have your lesson tomorrow," he said forbiddingly. As he left, none of the Gryffindor first years ate anything else. Their minds were too full of the horrors that would befall them during Potions on the morrow.

There were many reasons that Harry didn't like Potions, prime among them was the collective presence of Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. Both shared an unusual hatred Harry and both went out of their way to make his life miserable. Now the Boy-Who-Lived had another thing to not like about Potions: the replacement professor, Gordon Ramsay.

All of the Gryffindor first years sat at their table in solemn silence at breakfast, their minds too focused on the horror that they were soon to experience. A number of the other students that had heard the account last night looked at the young Lions with sympathy and maybe a little bit of happiness. They didn't have Potions until later in the day, if at all. Getting Potions right off the cricket bat wasn't something to be envious of.

"It's time," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron. The trio stood, followed by the rest of their red and gold year mates. The entire Great Hall watched as the group slouched somberly towards the dungeons. As they trooped into the classroom, none of the students noticed the suited man standing in a dark corner, watching them as they sat in groups of three. Every one of the preteens feared what was to come and braced themselves as the door to the dungeon hinged shut. A man dressed in an immaculate suit strode to the head of the classroom and turned to the fearful students. His face was tanned and hard, his eyes glinting like twin sapphires. Windswept blonde hair waved gently in a soft breeze passing from an open window behind him.

When he opened his mouth to speak, the Gryffindors winced, bracing for an insult worthy of Snape. What came out left them dumbstruck.

"My name is Gordon Ramsay," he said. His voice was soft, and yet it managed to reach all corners of the dungeon room. "Today, we will be brewing Forgetfulness Potion. Your ingredients are in the cupboard in the back. Do not start until I say so. You may get your ingredients now. Slowly." The Gryffindors first years sat there, staring in shock and surprise at the substitute potions professor. No one moved. Ramsay's eyes hardened ever so slightly.

"Why aren't you getting your ingredients?" he asked. "One person from each group is sufficient. Please get your ingredients. Now." One student from each table stood slowly and made their way over to the ingredient cupboard at the back of the room while the other students pulled out cauldrons, scales, brewing implements, and potions books.

"Leave your books in your bag," Ramsay urged, causing the first year Lions to stare at him again in surprise. "We'll be doing this as a class. Please, get your ingredients as quickly as possible, but don't shove or push. We only have so much time and making a mess of things won't help you in learning." In a stupor, the students went about their business, getting ingredients out and assembling the necessary tools before waiting at their groups. Once they were all seated once more, they looked up at Ramsay expectantly. Nodding in approval, the blonde professor turned and began to write on the chalkboard.

"We'll do this together," he said. "Let's begin." The rest of the class went by in silence, broken only by the bubbling of potions and several questions from the students along with answers from Ramsay. The first year Gryffindors were astounded. They had entered the class expecting to be shouted at and degraded in a fashion that even Snape would be envious of. And yet here they were, learning from a man that was gentle and kind, answering any questions asked with a soft tone.

Several times, a student would miss a step or botch an ingredient. Instead of shouting and raving before failing the student on the class, Ramsay went to sit by them and helped them work their way back to where they were, either saving the potion or beginning a fresh mixture. As the class continued, the students relaxed and began to enjoy the experience. Most every one of them hoped that Snape would never return.

It was near the ending of the class period that Neville's luck finally left him. Without warning, his potion erupted upwards, sending the near complete concoction within splattering against the ceiling. Once more, silence fell on the gloomy classroom.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

"Mr. Longbottom."

The first years tensed as the voice cut through the silence. This was it. This was when Ramsay went absolute Snape on them. Suffice to say, the preteens were all dumbstruck when Ramsay walked swiftly over to the shivering Neville and knelt before the boy. Ramsay sat there, as did the rest of the class, watching silently as Neville tried to hide his tears.

"Mr. Longbottom," Ramsay repeated, his voice soft. "What went wrong here?" Neville raised his tear stained face to look at the man's rugged features.

"I-I-I d-don't know s-sir," Neville stammered. "I'm n-not v-v-very g-good at p-potions." A small smile split Ramsay's face as he lifted a hand towards Neville's head. Neville winced, waiting for an imminent cuff on the head. The other Gryffindors gasped at the gesture. Hermione squeaked in shock while Ron merely looked on with a dumb look on his face. Harry just rocketed to his feet, intent on helping Neville if need be.

"It's okay," Ramsay soothed, patting Neville gently on the head. "We all make mistakes every so often. There's nothing to cry about, son. You were very close to having it perfect. You just missed one of the more crucial ingredients."

"Stop patronizing him!" Hermione shrieked. "Neville tries his best, but he doesn't-"

"Have the confidence?" Ramsay interrupted smoothly, not looking away from Neville. "I am aware of that, Ms. Granger. I knew of it when he first walked in here."

Hermione gaped like a fish for a few seconds before regaining her voice. "How?" Ramsay ignored the question as he moped up the ruined potion in and around Neville's cauldron. Again, silence filled the dank classroom as Ramsay went about cleaning up the mess. Neville just sat there, staring up at the adult in wonder, much like all the other Gryffindor first years were doing. When the potion had been cleaned away, Ramsay patted Neville on the head again before walking up to the front of the class.

"Bottle your potions and bring them up here please," he ordered. "After you do that and clean up your stations, I will let you in on a little secret. No pushing please. There isn't any need to rush and potentially injure someone." At a sedate pace, the students went around their stations, cleaning up the cauldrons, bottling their potions, placing them on the desk, and returning any unused ingredients back to the cupboard. Ramsay stood before them, his eyes on the dungeon ceiling. When he spoke, his voice held the same soft tone he had used with Neville.

"Potions is a dangerous subject," he began. "Too many things could go wrong. Too much of something, not enough, missed a step, atmospheric change, temperature, even your mood. All can effect a potion." He fell silent for a moment before continuing. "I'm fairly certain that the older students have been complaining about my teaching methods. Their complaints are legitimate. But I have a perfectly good reason to be irate and angry at them."

"Why?" Hermione asked timidly. Ramsay turned his blue gaze on the bushy haired Gryffindor, his eyes sparkling with kindness.

"They should know better," he explained. "You are all young students, just learning about potions. Mistakes will be made. Potions will be ruined. It doesn't matter. You learn and move on. The seventh years however…they've had six years of experience. I shouldn't need to berate them on their mistakes." The sudden ringing of the bell jerked the group of firsties from the stupor Ramsay had spoken them into. As they rushed to gather their bags, Ramsay's voice could be heard over the hubbub.

"No homework for today," he called. "Just learn from your mistakes and move on. Confidence is key when cooking." As Harry, Ron, and Hermione departed from the dungeon, they pondered what Ramsay had said.

"What d'you think he means by 'cooking'?" Ron asked. Hermione sighed in exasperation and went on to explain to the red head that brewing and cooking were similar in some cases while Harry pondered Ramsay's words:

Mistakes will be made. It doesn't matter. You learn and move on.

Subconscious, Harry took those words to heart.

When Snape returned the following week, the Slytherin Head was surprised to see the Gryffindors working with significantly more confidence than before. Perhaps they weren't all hopeless…