this is the one you've all been waiting for.

"Since Professor Snape is assisting another Potions Master at the Ministry of Magic for a couple of weeks," Dumbledore bellowed and his white beard twitched, "we've hired a new Potions Master. Students, please welcome Professor Gordon Ramsay! He is–"

"Where's the lamb sauce?" One of the professors at the Head Table suddenly stood up, "This is fucking disgusting. Even my gran can cook better than this, and she's dead. Do you hear me? D-E-A-D!"

Several snickers tore through the Great Hall. The professor looked furious, and his wrinkles were incredibly prominent on his head. However, some of the children who sat at the House tables and were shaken with fear.

The elf he had been talking to fell into a dead faint, with a glazed look upon his eyes. People roared with laughter and clapped their hands, leaving the other Professors snickering behind their hands.

"This man is bloody brilliant," Ron said with awe.

"I think he's atrocious," Hermione sniffed, but hid her smile behind her hand, "But I guess only time can tell."

Meanwhile, Harry was too busy laughing and being relieved of the fact that finally sniveling Severus Snape was gone. Perhaps only for a few weeks, but it would be the best few weeks he would ever be able to spend in Hogwarts.

"These recipes call themselves recipes? Blah," The professor said, with a pencil tucked in his ear.

"Sir, that's a strange contraption you've got there on–" A pureblood student began to say.

"Shut up, you fucking donkey, I'm trying to read," The professor interrupted, and ran a hand through his hair.

The pureblood student looked stricken. The Gryffindor students erupted in guffaws and the other Slytherin students hissed in displeasure. Professor Ramsay slammed his hand down and stared at them all.

However, Dean and Seamus stared at him with stars in their eyes and whispered to each other.

"The God has spoken," Dean whispered.

"The legend himself," Seamus said.

"When do you think he'll say it's too raw?" Another student said.

They all burst into laughter.

"Damn, I'd kick all of your arses sideways. I told you all to be quiet," He glared at them all with blue eyes, "So instead, we'll be cooking."

With a swish of his black robes and a wave of his wand, he transformed the dreary dungeon into a large kitchen with pristine countertops. White aprons lay neatly in the corner of each chef station, ready to be worn.

"We'll be making butterbeer today," He said, "The ingredients are on the other side of the room, and you'll have sixty minutes to complete this task."

"Professor Sna-I mean, Ramsay, why are there cameras all around the room?" Hermione piped up.

"Sorry about that," He waved his wand and they all disappeared, "I'm just used to recording everything that happens."

"Professor," A blond haired boy suddenly sneered, "Where is Professor Snape and how is making butterbeer related to anything in potions?"

The man zeroed his eyes onto the blond-haired boy who suddenly paled, "You dumbass. A potions master and chef have everything in common except for one thing. Chefs create recipes to bring pleasure, and potions masters create recipes to bring magic."

The boy mumbled, "I'll tell my father about this!"

The professor rolled his eyes and waved his wand, "Who cares about your opinion. If you win, you win a 12-hour dose of Felix Fecilis. As long as you don't use it during tests and projects, blah, blah, blah, whatever, just know as long as you break the rules we'll give you a punishment," they all gasped, excited at the prospect of getting their hands on liquid luck, "You have sixty minutes... Ready, set... Go!"

Everyone went rushing to the tables, determined to win. Their hands grabbed at the magically refilling platters. Their Professor leaned back in his chair and looked at them with scrutiny and silence.

"Man, this is so cool," whispered a student, "I'm totally gonna tell my mom about this. All she watches are his shows!"

"Yeah," A half-blood whispered, "That's the same with my mom too!"

And thus, a beautiful new friendship between two children and their mothers blossomed.

"15 minutes left, get your arses to your stations and start adding your final spices!"

"Spices?" Ron asked, flabbergasted, "What are spices? Do you mean species?"

Hermione banged her head on the table, "No, Ron, spices! Like nutmeg, rosemary, and thyme."

Ron gave her a blank stare.

"Ginger?" She tried.

His face went from stock pale to a brilliant smile, "Like Ginger hair of a Leprechaun?"

Hermione just turned around and sighed, ignoring Ron. That boy's skull was thicker than mashed potatoes. She turned back to her brewing concoction, with a gentle smile on her face. At home, her parents would never let her touch the stove, so she could only dream of being in the kitchen, brewing up something delicious.

She had taken the meaning of butterbeer quite literally, adding heaps of butter and quarts of beer into her drink. The heavenly aroma wafted through the room and Gordon Ramsay stood up to admire her creativity.

"This actually looks quite delicious," He murmured, wafting the scent towards his nose with his hands, "Unlike Malfoy's over there."

"Hey!" The blond boy said, quite upset, "I'll have you know that I learned the best wizard culinary there was offered!"

The entire room twitched and went silent. Draco blushed in embarrassment when everyone paused to take a smell of his cooking. The butterbeer looked green and brown and smelt like burnt sugar. Furthermore, as he stirred, the concoction thickened up to sludge.

"Alright, time's up!"

"So, Harry Potter," Professor Ramsay said, "Present your dish."

Harry, having watched multiple videos of the chef's because of his Aunt Petunia, had a small idea of what he was supposed to do. He was to serve and then make the dish sound as appetizing as possible... Right?

"Hello Professor Ramsay," He placed a dish in front of the man, "I made this drink with creamy ice cold ice cream and some high-quality chicken."

Everyone froze and snorted back their laughter. Chicken?

"Interesting," the Professor said, looking at his dish with disgust, "You don't suppose that I'm an idiot, do you?"

"No, Professor," Harry replied, confused.

"Then why the hell would I," Gordon Ramsay picked up a piece of chicken from the brown sludge, "Eat raw chicken?"

Harry went beet red.

"Ron Weasley," Ramsay said.

Ron gulped and went up with his plate. He set it on the table with a loud bang and scooted away quickly as if the table was fire. His dish was surprisingly a light shade of yellow and almost looked appetizing.

"Huh," Professor Ramsay said, swishing his mug around, "It's liquid too."

He took a sip and immediately spit it out, gagging. Ron looked flabbergasted and paled even further to a sheet white color.

"This is," The professor looked at him directly in his eye, "The weirdest shit I have ever tasted. Goddamn. What was even in it?"

"Ginger hair of a leprechaun!" Ron squeaked, eyeing Hermione out of the corner of his eye, "And a clock."

"Oh, that explains it," Gordon muttered, "Leprechaun hair imitates the recipe... But why the hell did you put a clock in butterbeer?"

"Someone told me that I needed to put time in there!"

"Goddamn," Professor Ramsay sighed, "It's thyme, with an 'h' and a 'y'. Not time."

"Ah, Granger."

Hermione proudly flourished her mug in front of Ramsay. It was a beautiful golden color, and everyone salivated when he amplified the smell so all of them could smell it.

"Heh, mudblood," Draco said loudly, "They belong in the kitchens."

Without looking up, Gordon flicked his wand towards the blond's direction. The boy squealed twice and barked like a ferret. Laughter erupted and the scattering of claws was heard throughout the kitchens.

"I made this," Hermione's voice wavered but steadily grew stronger, "With fresh goat butter, Irish beer, sugar from Morroco, and pink pixie dust. On top of that, I brewed this for an hour and added freshly made ice cream along with a variety of spices responsibly sourced from Russia and Africa. Enjoy."

Everyone stared at the drink in awe, and Gordon took a sip.

"Bloody hell!" He shouted, "This is the best, fucking thing I have tasted all day. Goddamn. When we go back to the muggle world, try out for Masterchef Junior. I'd automatically claim you as the winner."

"Don't even bring that up to me." The professor yelled.

Draco Malfoy paled and walked back to his table, wafting the smell of decaying corpses and rotten eggs. People gagged and plugged their noses, while others, like Pansy Parkinson, had outright fainted.

"Someone walk her to the damn nurse," Gordon sighed.

"Professor," A Slytherin piped up, "She's unconscious. She can't walk."

"Then levitate or something," He yelled, "Use your damn magic. Use your peanut sized brains!"