"You've got an image problem." Harry winced as the heavy Sunday edition of The Daily Prophet landed on the kitchen table with a loud smack.

Refusing to give in to Sirius's bait, he poured himself a cup of tea, taking his time to make sure it was just right before taking a sip. As he did, his eyes wandered over the headline at the very top. Aurors Are Brutes and Bullies! it screamed as he knew it would.

"I don't have an image problem," he finally said, unfolding the paper.

Sirius snorted and slid two perfectly-cooked sunny side up eggs onto a plate along with a generous helping of beans and sausages. He put the plate down in front of Harry and sat down across from him with his own. "You know what I mean. The department has an image problem."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Harry mashed up his eggs with his fork, stirring them together with his beans.

"Well, you're their boy, aren't you?" Sirius said, pointing at him with a sausage before putting it in his mouth and biting off half of it.

Harry didn't say anything, the familiar burning annoyance settling in his stomach as he read the article. He'd been there when Theodore Nott had been brought in on charges of tampering with the horses at the Ascot Racecourse.

He'd managed to struggle and yell his fool head off despite the three Aurors escorting him, attracting the attention of the entire office. Harry recalled standing up in his cube and looking over the walls, shaking his head as the red-faced Nott was frog-marched through on his way to the interrogation rooms.

Disgusted at the blatant yellow journalism, Harry put the paper down and focused on his breakfast, mopping up the remains with his toast. Aware of Sirius's eyes on him, he finally looked up. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," Sirius said, grabbing the front page for himself.

"Mm," Harry grunted, not fooled at all. He spied a Quidditch headline and picked up the section, reading the account of the Cannons's latest loss as he waited out his godfather.

"Pah," Sirius finally said, tossing the newspaper down to the table just as the fireplace in the cozy kitchen flared to life. "Bet I know who that is."

"Harry, are you there?" The disembodied head of Head Auror Jones floated in the fireplace, the man's rabbity blue eyes watering from the smoke.

Harry groaned and pushed his chair back, making his way to the eerily green fireplace to have a chat with his boss.

Ginny frowned as she read over the recipe. "Whisk egg whites and sugar in double boiler until soft peaks form and whites are shiny," she said, eyeing the water in the pot. "All right then. Let's give this a go."

Careful not to splash any hot water, she set the metal bowl full of egg whites into the pot and settled the old-fashioned crank beater into the eggs. Tapping it with her wand, she set it to cranking the beaters on its own, adjusting the speed until she was satisfied with the beating action.

"All right. Now, how's that sponge doing?" She hummed to herself as she turned to the cooling sponge wrapped in a kitchen towel, taking her time as she unrolled it flat so it wouldn't crack. Dusting cocoa powder over it, she checked on her eggs, pleased to see a nice sheen developing.

A short time later, she spread the now coffee-flavored meringue over the sponge, making sure it wasn't too thick. In the double boiler, she had dark chocolate melting with cream for a rich ganache that she couldn't wait to pour over the rolled cake. Surrounded by the wonderful smells of chocolate and coffee, Ginny was in what she considered to be the happiest place on Earth.

"I'm sorry, you expect me to what?" Harry said, making sure to keep his voice even. The Head Auror's office hardly deserved the word, being just a larger cubicle with no ceiling. He knew from experience that voices carried.

Antony Jones blinked at him, looking even more rabbity than he usually did. "I expect you to go on Britain's Most Magical Baker and be your most charming, wonderful self while you stuff your face with cakes and pies," he said, sounding nothing like a rabbit.

Harry crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, searching for a way to tell the Head Auror that he didn't want any part of being charming or wonderful. The cakes and pies though, I suppose that part wouldn't be too bad … "Antony, I just—"

"Listen, Harry. You know that whole business with Nott has got everyone riled up. We're still very much rebuilding trust after everything and you're a vital part of that." Antony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, finally shedding that rabbit-like expression. "You are the Boy Who Lived and people need to see you out there. They believe in you and we need them to believe in us."

Harry stared back, hearing Sirius in the kitchen once more. You're their boy, aren't you? "Can I have some time to think about it?" he finally said, seeing the Head Auror's shoulders relax.

"Of course. Take as much time as you need," the Head Auror said, making it clear that he expected Harry's answer to be Yes and for it to be soon.

"Oh no, my diet," Angelina groaned when Ginny set the swiss roll on the table. She'd added flourishes of delicate caramel spirals and flushed with pride at the sounds of anticipation from her family.

"Looks wonderful, dear," Molly said, beaming up at her only daughter.

"Thanks, Mum. It's a devil's food chocolate sponge with coffee cream and dark chocolate ganache," she said, cutting the first slice and putting it on a plate. She handed it to her father, smiling as his eyes lit up in anticipation. "I wasn't going to do the caramel work, but I thought it needed a little extra something."

"I need a slice in front of me right now," Ron said, looking mournful as she passed the next slice to their mother.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "You know the rules. Just be glad Bill and Charlie aren't here tonight." Soon enough, everyone at the table was served and she was finally able to savor her own creation.

"You know, Ginny," George said, mouth full of cake, "you should audition for that thing they're doing."

"What thing?"

George frowned, glancing at Angelina for help. "Erm … that contest thing. I keep hearing about it on the wireless."

"He's talking about Britain's Most Magical Baker," Angelina supplied, coming to her husband's rescue. "They've been talking about it on Magical Morning for weeks."

"Oh, Magical Morning. No wonder I haven't heard of it." Ginny took another taste of the coffee cream filling, deciding that it wasn't quite strong enough. "I've never liked Montague Benson's replacement. That new bloke is far too chummy."

"I agree with George, though. You should try out." Angelina lifted the forkful of chocolate decadence in front of her. "This is amazing and I bet if you made this for that dried up old Ostentatia Verbena, you'd be a shoo-in."

Ginny perked up at the name. "Ostentatia Verbena? Is she part of the show?" she asked, thinking of the books she had in her kitchen at home by one of the wizarding world's most renowned bakers.

"Yes! She's the nuts-and-bolts judge, the one that really knows the bakes inside and out," she said, leaning forward in excitement. "You'll never guess who they have for the celebrity judge!"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!" she said, dark eyes gleaming.

"That tosser?" Ron snorted as he cut himself another slice of cake. "What does he know about baking?"

"Probably about as much as you do, Ron," Ginny said, certain her face was flaming red. Her infatuation with the Boy Who Lived was well-known and a common source of Ron's teasing.

"Oooh, look who still has a crush on poncy Potter!" Ron taunted, giving her a ridiculous starry-eyed look.

Ginny turned away from him, focusing on Angelina. "So you really think I have a chance? I just make things at home; it's not like I know everything about baking."

"I agree with George and Angelina," Molly said, patting her on the shoulder. "You know a lot more than you think you do and you must have all of Ostentatia's books." She stood up and started gathering the empty dessert plates. "And besides, if you don't try, you'll never know."

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny said, resolving to find out what she could about the audition.

"So, I finally get to sit down with Harry Potter," the journalist said, setting out a long roll of parchment and a pre-inked quill on the table.

"Erm, yeah," Harry murmured, looking over the journalist's short bio. The bloke's name was Cormac McLaggen and he'd apparently been in Gryffindor house at Hogwarts. Star Quidditch Keeper on the house team, he'd "always felt an affinity for writing and finding the truth." A list of articles he'd written for the Prophet followed and Harry couldn't help but notice that they were mostly celebrity puff pieces. Right. Charming and wonderful, he thought to himself, Antony Jones's words echoing in his ears.

"Do you mind if I use an automatic quill? My hand …" he said, flexing it with a wince. "Quidditch injury."

"As long as I can read it over when we're done," Harry said, uncomfortable memories of Rita Skeeter's liberties coming back to him.

"Of course," Cormac said, giving him a wide smile that Harry figured was supposed to be reassuring. "Shall we begin?" At his nod, Cormac tapped the quill with his wand and it sprang up, hovering expectantly above the parchment.

Clearing his throat, Cormac leaned forward. "Interview with Harry Potter by Cormac McLaggen for The Daily Prophet. How are you doing today, Harry?"

"Erm, I'm doing well," Harry said, hoping that he didn't sound as awkward as he thought he did. "How are you?"

"I'm doing quite well, thank you for asking. Now, I understand that you're going to be helping to judge the next round of Britain's Most Magical Baker, is that right?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," Harry said, leaning forward and speaking directly to the quill as it scratched out his words.

"You don't need to do that," Cormac said, putting a hand on his arm. "Just speak normally as if we're having a conversation." Face flaming, Harry nodded. "Are you a fan of the show? Do you do any baking yourself?"

"No, not at all. I mean, I'm aware of the show same as anyone else, but I've never taken time to watch it or anything."

"What about the baking?"

"Oh, God no. My godfather does all of that for us. I just eat what he makes." Now that he was over his initial nervousness, Harry found himself warming up a little to the young journalist. "In fact, he's a little bit jealous that I get to go on it."

"I'm sure he'll be able to visit the set as the godfather of Harry Potter," Cormac chuckled. "Is there anything you're looking forward to the most? Any favorites?"

"I like a good chocolate biscuit with my tea," Harry said, leaning back in the chair.

"But something like that will be simple for the bakers they have on. What about something more complicated?"

Pursing his lips, Harry thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Treacle tart's always a classic, isn't it?"

"Indeed. I imagine your godfather …" he said, trailing off as he consulted his notes, "Sirius Black makes a cracking one. Now, what sort of approach are you going to take when judging these treats? Are you going mostly by looks or taste?"

"Style over substance, you mean? Well, it has to taste good, doesn't it?" Harry found himself starting to relax a bit with the chat about baking. See, it's not so hard to be charming, is it? he thought as Cormac continued to give him soft, easy questions.

"Now, something I've always wondered," Cormac began, a subtle shift in his tone making Harry sit up straighter. "Have you felt, oh, I dunno, cheated that you didn't get to go to Hogwarts like the rest of us?"

Frowning, Harry looked back at the journalist. He'd allowed his attention to wander and had been looking out of the window at the bright spring day. Cormac looked back at him, an open look of curiosity on his face. He's good. "Well, I don't know that I feel cheated exactly. I learned as much magic as you all did. Probably more."

"At the foot of greatness, no doubt. Personal lessons with Dumbledore himself, I heard." Cormac raised an eyebrow, inviting Harry to confirm or deny this particular tidbit of information about his training.

"My education was a group effort," he said, recalling how the aged wizard's blue eyes would crinkle in pleasure when Harry would master a difficult spell.

"Still, Hogwarts wasn't all about learning magic. It was about making friends and becoming part of Wizarding Society, wasn't it?"

"I suppose."

"Quidditch, man! The best game ever!" Cormac leaned closer, his voice taking on an intense tone. The automated quill seemed to pick up on his energy, scratching more enthusiastically. "Didn't you ever get to at least play that? Hold a Quaffle? Catch a Snitch? Fly among the clouds?"

"Come on, lad. Grab your broom. It's a full moon tonight and perfect for flying," Sirius said, tossing Harry's cloak to him. "Muggles won't notice us for a little bit tonight and if they do, they'll put it down to moon madness or some other bolllocks."

Heart racing, Harry controlled his expression. "I'm an excellent flyer," he said, his voice notably colder and stiffer. "Do you have any other questions about the baking show?" he asked, standing up before getting an answer. Cormac stared back at him, his mouth slightly open. "All right then. Nice meeting you, Cormac. Send your article to the Department for pre-publication review when you're finished." Nodding politely, Harry left the room.

Ginny looked up from the recipe she was reading at the sound of a tapping on her window. Outside, an owl prepared to bash its beak against the glass again and she quickly went to the window, throwing it open. Warm spring air flooded her flat and she took the envelope from the owl, giving it an owl treat in exchange.

"Oh! It's from BMMB!" Ginny stood at the open window, barely aware of the owl flying away without a sound as she stared at the envelope, remembering the extensive audition process.

She must have filled out the application a dozen times, first trying to make sure that she portrayed herself as someone who lived and breathed baking, but then she thought that made her seem too boring. "They'll want someone that's interesting, won't they?" she'd asked Ron, showing him her application.

He'd looked it over and grinned down at her. "Just write about how much you want to meet Harry Potter and I'm sure they'll take you!"

"Ugh, you're insufferable!" she'd said, rolling up the parchment and whacking him on the shoulder with it.

With the next version, she'd painted herself as a well-rounded individual. Someone who read books, attended art things, had an interesting job and did a bit of baking on the side. Molly had been of the opinion that made her seem like she wasn't a serious enough baker.

Finally, she'd thrown up her hands and filled it out again, using plain language and portraying herself as herself. My name is Ginny Weasley. Right now I work in Slug and Jiggers in Diagon Alley, but I won't be there for long. I learned how to bake from my mum and I love baking for family and friends. I was asked to do a wedding cake for the first time just recently and everyone thought it was beautiful and tasted much better than wedding cake usually does!

And that one seemed to do the trick! She'd nearly fallen off her sofa when she got the Floo call asking when she'd be available to schedule an in-person interview with their casting team. An entire team? Casting? I thought we were all supposed to be real people! After a dizzying day spent passed around from person to person, being asked the same questions over and over again, she was released to wait once more, absolutely certain that she'd seen the last of anyone associated with BMMB.

It was during Sunday dinner at the Burrow that the owl came with the letter inviting her to perform an actual baking challenge at their London office. "Oooh, will Harry be there to judge?" Ron had simpered at her.

"Ron, no need to be childish," Molly had chided him. "Does it say anything about what the challenge will be, dear?"

Scanning the letter, Ginny shook her head. "No. I suppose it's meant to see if I can bake on my feet, I guess? No chance to practice; I'll just have to know it straight off." An odd fluttering rose in her gut and she took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm as her mind raced, thinking of all the things she might need to make.

After all of the worry, it turned out they wanted her to make a standard chocolate soufflé, something she felt she could do almost in her sleep. And now she had another letter from BMMB in her hands. She started to open it and stopped. "I can't."

Decision made, she closed the window before shrugging on a light jacket. Envelope firmly in one hand, she hurled a handful of Floo powder into her fireplace, calling out, "The Burrow!"

After a few moments of swirling, twirling magical transport, she stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow, waving her envelope. "Mum! Mum! It's from BMMB!"

Molly stood at the cooker, wiping her hands on her apron. "Are you in?" she asked, settling a lid on a simmering pot.

"I don't know! I haven't looked yet!" She handed her mother the still-unopened envelope. "You open it." Practically hopping from foot to foot, Ginny watched as Molly carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the parchment inside, studying her face for any clue as to whether she'd been accepted to prove herself as one of Britain's Most Magical Bakers.

Clearing her throat, Molly read the letter out loud. "Dear Miss Weasley, we are very pleased to—"

Whooping like a wild woman, Ginny grabbed the letter out of her hands and read it herself. "We are very pleased to invite you to the fifth edition of Britain's Most Magical Baker!" Eyes wide, she looked at her mother. "Mum. I made it. I'm going to be on the show!"

"Ginny, that's wonderful! I knew you'd make it in!" Eyes sparkling, Molly smiled at her. "Now all you need to do is win!"

"Oh, is that all?" Ginny said, reading the letter once more as Molly turned back to the cooker. Sighing happily, she carefully folded the letter, sliding it back into the envelope. Joining her mother at the cooker, she had a single thought ringing in her head. I'm going to meet Harry Potter!