Chapter Text
The Battle over ownership of the once famed ‘The Euploea’ has finally come to an end, with the only son of Bruce Mulciber Sr. coming out victorious. . .
‘The son of Bruce Mulciber Sr.’ , Mulciber could only snort as he took a sip of his lemon tea, his eyes moving along the words as he continued to read the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. There was something strangely fascinating about finding yourself splashed onto the front page of the most widely-read publication in Wizarding Britain, let alone in an article written by Rita Skeeter.
The Euploea, a well-renowned restaurant in Wizarding Britain despite not being a part of the Sacred 28, is an inner circle of highly respected branches in the Wizarding culinary world. However, its glorious years have since passed as the once esteemed establishment failed to keep up with the modern culinary scene, now nowhere near the quality and the standards set by the Sacred 28. Hence, the reason for its expected closure was two years ago.
It would seem that winning legal rights over this restaurant is more a burden than it is a victory, considering how far from glory it has fallen.
Or perhaps, by some miracle, its new owner (the son of the famed butterfly chef herself, despite his lack of background or accomplishments in the field) might be able to turn the hopeless situation around.
I, for one, am looking forward to future attempts to be made to bring this restaurant back to life.
Rita Skeeter,
Daily Prophet
“Ah Skeeter, what a lovely woman,” Mulciber mumbled under his breath. It was quite a read, considering it was eight in the morning. He settled down his cup of tea, folding the paper in half before placing it down on the table.
Skeeter did not at all lie in her article, that was perhaps the biggest jab of all. It was true that he and the old bastard he had the misfortune to call a father had been in a legal battle that spanned over months for the ownership rights to the restaurant that had actually belonged to his mother. It was also true that the restaurant was in shambles, or, Skeeter had described it, hopeless.
But one thing Skeeter didn’t understand or at least missed, was that it wasn’t just about the restaurant. Not that she would be knowledgeable about it anyway.
It was true that Bruce did not know anything about food, cuisine, the culinary world, or cooking. He admits he doesn’t quite understand all, or well, most of the work that goes behind putting a dish together. He was far from being a chef, let alone being a cook. In fact, he was atrocious in the kitchen, vaguely remembering that he had once managed to burn water, however unbelievable that was.
What he did understand was that the first taste of love he had ever gotten had been from his mum’s cooking. The sweet tartness of it, the creamy goodness, the liquid freshness, the salty bitterness. Every piece of his mum's cooking had felt like a different flavour of love he was given the chance to tasting
He’d been passionate about food from the moment he'd been able to relish his mum's cooking. The tradition, the cooking, the sharing.
He'd loved that. All of it.
It's why he had fought so hard with his father to give him legal rights to the Euploea, which had originally belonged to his mother (hence why it had been so successful before that bastard got his hands on it and ruined it as he does with everything he touches). It was far gone along with her, he knew that, but he'd wanted to bring it back, he couldn’t help it.
He wanted to taste love again, no matter how ridiculously sappy it sounded. It was why he was determined to restore her restaurant.
It was the closest he could get to restoring her.
“Wow.”
A familiar voice brought him back to reality. Mulciber turned around and was greeted by a blonde man that walked through the restaurant’s doors. Wilhelm Wilkes, an old friend of his from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, walked into the room with an air of casual importance. It was hardly uncalled for, given he was one of the most acclaimed critics in the Wizarding culinary world, especially in Wizarding Germany.
“This place looks like shit,” Wilkes grimaced as he inhaled dust and fumes from the decade-old building before glancing at Bruce, “no offence.”
“None taken,” Mulciber simply replied, a small grin forming on his lips as he approached his friend. It was true, the place did indeed look like shit. Clearly, it hasn’t been touched by cleaning or furnishing charms for quite some time now.
“I see fame has been treating you well,” Wilkes told him, mirroring his grin as Mulciber held out his hand which Wilkes clasped, bringing both of them closer as they pat each other on the back before stepping away. “It’s been a while, where the hell have you been?”
“Why? Hoping you were going to catch a peek of my sexy arse, Wilkes?” Mulciber teases.
“Hey, I still keep up with Quidditch. In fact, I’ve seen more than enough of your arse with it always on the paper.”
“Always knew I was your type,” to that, Wilkes only snorted but the grin on his face never fell. “And you’re one to talk, it took you weeks to clear your schedule for me. What the hell has gotten you so busy, huh?”
“I’ve been travelling a lot, as you would’ve known if you’d bothered to read my letters,” Now that one, Mulciber ignored. The two of them began to walk into the restaurant, settling on one of the few seats in the place that wasn’t entirely covered in dust. “You still didn’t answer my question. It’s been… what, a year since you last played?”
“A year and a half,” Mulciber replied. Even he couldn’t believe it had been that long since he last played on the Quidditch field which, really, was all he had ever since he studied at Hogwarts. He easily became a professional in the game, coming from one of the most prestigious schools, and graduated as one of the top Beaters in said school, he’d been scouted before he had even stepped foot outside of Hogwarts’s Halls.
“A year and a half, and no one has heard from you ever since,” Wilkes said. “Well, at least until now…” His blue eyes glanced at the folded paper of the Daily Prophet that was on the table.
Wilkes continued, “So, what’s with the sudden change of heart?”
Mulciber shrugged. “Had my own money, didn’t need the old man anymore, and I wanted this restaurant out of his hands. He was clearly going to run it to the ground completely.”
Wilkes nodded in understanding, being his friend for years, he already knew most of the history between Mulciber and his dear old namesake.
“A few more months and he actually might have,” Wilkes told him, his eyes scanning around the place. The restaurant was in bad shape, but it was still salvageable. “I’m not gonna lie to you, mate. This is gonna need some serious work, and I’m not just talking about the food or renovations.”
Mulciber didn’t say anything as he let Wilkes continue.
“The culinary world right now is very unforgiving, especially in Wizarding Britain. What with the Sacred 28, you know…” Wilkes cocked his head to the side.
That, Mulciber definitely knew. He might not have been familiar with food and cuisine, but he did understand how pureblood politics and families worked.
With families so set and deeply rooted in tradition, in both culture and food, it wasn’t surprising that nothing much had changed these past decades.
Wilkes continued, “And it might take more effort to even just bring regular customers back.”
“I get that,” Mulciber replied as his thoughts began to go off in all kinds of directions, wondering what the hell the next weeks, or even months would entail.
The sight made Wilkes smile, which earned him a raised brow from the other man.
“What, Wilkes?” Mulciber asked as blue eyes trailed him, “Fallen in love with me already?”
“Look at you,” Wilkes said with a simple smile, “all grown up. Giving up throwing around that ball to do taxes and run a business. Who would’ve thought?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Mulciber laughed, “You’re no better than I am, you used to throw that ball around with me too, remember? We were the best partners on the field.”
“I think ‘delinquents’ was the term Slughorn used.”
“Only when we didn’t win the old man that godforsaken house cup.”
Wilkes only chuckled before shaking his head, “Enough. I’m far too young to be reminiscing about my glory days at school,” he said. “Do you have anything planned to get you started?”
“I can get everything settled from remodelling to advertising. But, I know nothing about food.”
There was a few seconds of silence before Wilkes spoke.
“That’s more of a pickle than we originally thought.”
Mulciber rolled his eyes at the comment.
“ I know nothing about food but Aurora does.”
Wilkes’ blue eyes lit up at the mention of Aurora Sinistra, yet another Hogwarts alumni, and Bruce Mulciber’s childhood best friend.
“No shit, Rory? ”
“Mhm,” Mulciber nodded with a grin. “Honestly, it was a long shot considering what happened. But she did agree, she’ll be here by next week.”
Aurora had graduated as one of the top students in their year, having top marks and gaining one of the highest scores for their NEWT exams. Mulciber could vividly remember her slow descent into madness in the months she’d taken to prep for those exams, sometimes even threatening to just “fuck it” and quit, some nights even spent bawling her eyes out on his shoulder, yet the next day she’d get back up and stick her nose in between the pages of thick books from late afternoons till early mornings.
She immediately entered the culinary world as soon as she graduated as she’d always dreamed of. She’d worked for The Euploea from the age of 18 up until two years ago when the restaurant closed down as she decided to leave the British cooking scene for the Italian one.
“That’s great, seriously,” There was genuine excitement in Wilkes’ voice. “Merlin, I haven’t seen or heard from her in a while either. I hoped I’d bump into her at least once during my Italy visits.”
“Well, you know Rory. She always seems to disappear somehow.” Mulciber said with an indulgent smile.
“I remember being much better at finding her,” Wilkes said back with a small chuckle.
“Signs of aging, my friend.” Mulciber jokes and Wilkes punched his arm lightly.
“Oh fuck off mate, we’re only 23.” Wilkes said with a snort, “We’re basically still toddlers in wizarding age.”
“No wonder you’re always crying for attention.”
“How is me sending you letters a cry for attention?” Wilkes asked with a disbelieving scoff.
“If it’s not that then it definitely tells me you have absolutely no friends,” Mulciber said with a laugh.
“Pot meet kettle,” Wilkes said back to him.
“Speak for yourself,” Mulciber said, “I have letters from, let’s see, you, Emma, Davey, Bertram, one from Regulus if you’ll fucking believe it, and even one from Corban. Add that to the raging amount of fan mail I have to go through, what do you have?”
“I have my own amount of fan mail,” Wilkes said with a grimace, “Skeeter kind of screwed me over when she put me in the top ten bachelors list.”
Mulciber barked out a loud laugh. “Popularity’s doing you in too, isn’t it?”
“It’s definitely a pain in the arse,” Wilkes said, tapping his fingers on the table beside them, his watch glistening in the mild light of the restaurant as his mind seemed to be working.
“What’s your plan for this place?” Wilkes asked as he leaned back in his chair, “I mean, you have the legacy. People are already buzzing to know about the reopening of the Euploea, but what are you trying to achieve?”
Mulciber looked back at Wilkes, then looked down at his hands as he thought, looking at how the golden ring that stated his heirship to the Mulciber name glistened on his dark skin. What was he trying to achieve?
“I want to bring back good food,” Mulciber said, leaning in closer to his friend as the words tumbled out of him, “I mean, look at this place, Wilhelm. Nobody even understands what enjoying food is anymore. The high class will eat a tablespoon of snow dust and claim that it’s fine dining and cuisine.”
“I’ll be the first to say that’s a load of bullshit,” Wilkes said with a snort, his chin resting on his fist as he spoke, “That dish tastes like clouds, and I say that in the worst way.”
Mulciber smiled, “That’s it then. I want to break tradition, and maybe bring a little spice to the British scene. Merlin knows they need it.”
“You sure that won’t kill them, mate?” Wilkes asked with a grin.
Mulciber snorted. “Here’s hoping only a few of them drop dead.”
Wilkes laughed as Mulciber brought out a bottle of firewhiskey and two tumblers, using his wand to pour them both the alcohol before they clinked their glasses together.
“Here, here,” Wilkes said dutifully as he downed his cup. Wilkes barely grimaced as he swallowed the burning alcohol, perhaps because he’d been drinking alcohol before he could walk, but Mulciber let out a light press of his lips as the alcohol slid down his throat.
“But,” Wilkes said as he put his tumbler down, “I think I know how to help with what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t know you’re a cook,” Mulciber noted lightly, and the blonde-haired man rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off,” Wilkes said lightly before continuing, “But I think I know someone that can help.”
Mulciber’s amber eyes sparked an interest. “Oh?” he asked, his attention fully kept.
“Yes, I think so,” Wilkes said as he rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully, “If your goal is to change the tradition of British cuisine then you can’t start with what everyone already knows. You have to start fresh, leave an impact, get people curious.”
“Are we talking about food or strip tease?” Mulciber asked with a small snort.
“You’re so immature,” Wilkes said, even as he snorted back. He got up from his seat and looked at the time on his watch, moving behind his seat to grab the blazer that he’d laid across it, “And I, unfortunately, have to go.”
“Already?” Mulciber asked as he got up too.
“Unfortunately,” Wilkes said with a sigh as he looked at the man in front of him, “But I’ll be back tomorrow, and I need you to clear your schedule.”
“Why?” Mulciber asked with furrowed brows as he walked the blonde man outside towards the apparition point.
“I’m going to show you the future of wizard cuisine,” Wilkes said with a secretive smile. “Trust me, Bruce. This is what you’re looking for.”
Wilkes apparated before Mulciber could question him further on what he meant, but he only shook his head with a sigh as he went back inside to the fireplace, calling in his renovators and staff about his one-day delay.
Severus Snape did not like many things.
He didn’t like loud places or hippogriffs or instant cocoa, he didn’t like The Hobgoblin’s new holiday single which he had the misfortune of hearing when he went to Diagon Alley the other day –come to think of it, he didn’t like anything that the band had put out–, and most recently he found out he absolutely loathed the abomination of a dessert that is snow dust served at Macmillan’s.
Most of all, Severus did not like crowds.
What he liked was keeping to himself most of the time, spending his days quietly in his own place located in Norwich, far from the busy streets of London in Wizarding Britain, concocting new recipes and devoting his time in his kitchen for hours on end.
Severus did not like many things but if there was one thing he loved it was the art of food and the pleasure of cooking, one that he had been greatly influenced by his mother.
From the moment he had stepped in front and reach an old cauldron to help his mother cook, he had known. And since then, it was what he had been doing for most of his life.
Only Severus had to tolerate his dislike for socializing for as it turns out, he still very much needed to profit off of the food he prepares in order to live and pay the bills –a horrible thought indeed–. Three years ago, he decided to set up a small food stall near his home which he had been managing alone all this time. He made sure to tailor the menu to perfection and began to gain customers, some of them still regulars to this day in no time.
And so, there he stood at nine in the morning, with over twenty people already in line waiting for him to serve them.
Another thing that Severus didn’t like was waiting and he knew most of the population share the same sentiment. This is why he always makes sure to serve food quickly without compromising its quality, of course – and it might also have to do with him not wanting to deal with customers more than he should–.
Apart from cooking, he also knew a thing or two about spellwork and has invented a few spells here and there specifically to help him cook. He had found that while some basic spells and charms do work, they do in fact affect the quality of the food he serves hence resorting to him inventing his own charms for his own use.
“Sectumsempra!” He said, pointing his wand at the array of vegetables and meat placed on the counter while his other hand was busy stirring a pot of broth that almost resembled liquid broth. The ingredients were instantly cut the way he wanted them to be, some were thinly sliced, some were cubed, some diced, and some even julienned. The spell was something he had invented when he was only 15 years old and still frequently uses it to this day.
The strong aroma of flavours engulfed the kitchen and crept its way outside to the growing line of customers. Though the place was small, it was always packed with people, mostly locals who live in the small town. However, a few might even come from farther places just to check the place out.
Soon enough, Severus raised his wand yet again and pointed it at a nearby wooden cabinet. It opened and an assortment of container bowls floated out, making its way to the counter.
With the other hand, wandless this time, he began to fill up the containers with the dishes he had prepared. Vegetables, meat, and broth glided in the air as Severus moved with such ease and smoothness that he could probably still do it perfectly with his eyes closed.
He began to send it all out through a small window from his workstation, the dishes making their way to the customers who were all elated at the sight.
Severus peeked his head through the window, ready to take on another batch of orders from those who just arrived. He watched as many of the orders were immediately gulped down by the previous customers, not even waiting to get out of the place before they indulged in his creation.
“Merlin, you were right! This is amazing!”
“I told you, this is where I’ve been getting my food for three weeks now. It’s just insane.”
“Honestly, I’ve been eating in this place since it opened. That kid had never once failed me. Why he still chooses to stay in this small place, I’ll never understand..”
Ignoring the last comment he heard, he gave a small satisfactory nod to himself before he turned to face the new line in front of him.
His dark eyebrows shot up.
Severus definitely wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face today.
“Wilhelm?”
“Where in Merlin’s name are we?”
Mulciber looked around in confusion. He had travelled the world, what with him being a professional Quidditch player, but he was pretty sure he had never in his life seen this place before even if Wilkes claimed that they were still in Wizarding Britain.
The place was located almost in the middle of nowhere, though a few blocks down the road was a town full of people. What surprised him the most though was despite the odd location, it was jam-packed, with a full line of people waiting patiently in front of what seemed like a very small restaurant – if he could even call it that since from where he stood, he could only see a small window with a sign that says “open” on the establishment and four sets of a 2-seater dining table right beside that window.
“Just be quiet and trust me,” The blonde man beside him replied as they both craned their necks, trying to look past the long line of people.
“How did you even find out about this place?” Mulciber continued to inquire, not quite satisfied with just staying quiet. His own restaurant’s fate was dependent on what Wilkes claimed to be the ‘future of Wizard cuisine’ , staying quiet simply wasn’t an option.
Wilkes waved one hand in the air, his eyes still set on the restaurant, “I’ll tell you later,” he said, dismissing his question.
Mulciber only rolled his eyes at that, getting quite irritated now. He wasn’t expecting that he was going to be waiting in a long line in the middle of nowhere for the future of Wizard cuisine.
Maybe, he was expecting… more.
“Why do you seem so excited to see this guy?” He questioned yet again.
“Can you shut your trap for one second?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Finally, Wilkes turned to him, his positive aura never faltering as a small smile played on his lips. “A little patience, my friend. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
Mulciber didn’t reply, only thinking of one thing but never saying it out loud.
‘It better be.’
With a few minutes passing by, the line only got longer which further piqued Mulciber’s curiosity about the place. He wasn’t stupid, if people were willing to line up like this, he knew something had to at least be good. If that wasn’t enough, for Wilhelm Wilkes, one of the most renowned food critics in the Wizarding World to say that this was the future of Wizard cuisine?
Mulciber knows something had to be good, but how good was it exactly? He needed to find out for himself.
It didn’t take much longer though. Soon, the small window from where the good aroma came opened and it was like his senses were attacked full-blast by something so exquisite that he could almost taste it on his tongue. Food began to make its way to the waiting customers and Mulciber swore the reactions reminded him of a seven-year-old about to go to Honeyduke’s for the first time in their lives.
Before he could even comment, Wilkes had ushered both of them forward as the people in front of them left one by one with food in their hands.
“Damn, I can’t wait to taste that again,” He heard Wilkes say as he watched the elderly lady in front of them turn to leave before he faced his friend again. “Finally, some good fucking food.”
They both stood in front of the window and someone peeked their head through it as he first watched the previous crowd of people sing their praises and leave one by one.
The man looked about their age. He had long dark hair that was tied up and equally dark eyes which perfectly contrasted his pale skin. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt and an oddly neat and almost perfectly white apron. The man finally turned his attention to them and was surprised.
“Wilhelm?”
“Severus!” Wilkes greeted cheerfully, grinning at Severus. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”
Severus only blinked at him, confusion visible on his face before he turned his attention to Mulciber. Mulciber could almost feel those dark orbs piercing through him as he looked at him from head to toe.
He raised a brow at the raven-haired man and he swore he saw the man squint his eyes slightly at him before turning back to Wilkes.
“You’re going to have to wait,” He told him abruptly before calling the people behind Mulciber and Wilkes over. “Next please.”
“Wait, wha–”
Before Mulciber could fully express his concern about them being in line first, Wilkes had pulled him out of the line and brought them both off to the side, “We’ll be here!” The blonde said which was ignored by Severus who was taking down orders.
Mulciber then forced Wilkes’ hands off him. “Why did you do that? We were first in line,” he pointed out.
“Ah yes, about that..” Wilkes chuckled and Mulciber didn’t really understand why, he didn’t think there was anything remotely amusing about the situation. “We do have to wait for much longer.”
“Excuse me?” Mulciber asked in disbelief. “I don’t understand?”
“Severus isn’t really fond of people like us,” Wilkes explained.
“I still don’t follow.”
“Look, we just have to wait, yeah?” And right when Mulciber was just about to press on about the matter, Wilkes pulled out a two-way mirror from his coat. “Ah, I’ll have to take this,” he tells him before walking away from the crowd.
Mulciber could only sigh before he turned his attention back to the small window, now left unopened where he could see a little of the kitchen inside.
He could actually see the raven-haired man– Severus work from where he stood, he could also smell what was coming from the kitchen so much better, and Merlin did it make his stomach growl. Whatever the hell this Severus was making in there, it smelled fantastic.
So, he just stood and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until food came out of the window again. Despite not being one of the people that got served, Mulciber felt a twinge of excitement. Just in time, Wilkes jogged beside him and when he was just about to take another step towards the window, those obsidian orbs landed on him again before leaving just as quickly as Severus ushered the new line of people forward and began to take their orders.
“What?” Mulciber damn near exclaimed, turning to Wilkes to complain yet again. “He’s literally ignoring us on purpose.”
“Severus has always been like that,” Wilkes began to explain to him. “He thinks the privileged needs to be humbled and well, he takes it on himself to do just that…”
“So what, he expects us to sit and wait here until he finally feels like it or something?”
“Bruce, when I tell you that this will all be worth it, I truly mean it.”
Mulciber was about to argue, but something with the look on Wilkes’ face made him back down. Maybe, he’d truly just have to trust his friend on this one. He knew nothing about food, that was a fact. Wilkes’ entire career revolved around it, he must know better.
And so, he accepted his fate and sat down on one of the unoccupied seats with his friend, choosing the one nearest to the window so he could watch the eccentric raven at work.
The thing was, Mulciber did not understand food but he understood techniques and what it takes. And no, he still didn’t know shit about the culinary world, but what he did know was the art of precision.
Being a Quidditch player does take brains, it wasn’t all about muscles. He could tell by someone’s mere movements alone how good they must be in the pitch.
And watching this raven? Mulciber felt enthralled, for there was something with the way this man moved. He moved with ease and delicate grace, even. Like handling food wasn’t a job but rather a part of his body that he makes doing it seem so natural and so… easy. From the way those pale hands hold a spoon, there was something so unexplainably elegant about it that you couldn’t help but be mesmerized. And despite the long line of customers, the man didn’t seem fazed or by any means pressured by it.
Peaceful. That’s how Mulciber would describe watching this man cook.
Not to mention the absolutely bewitching aroma that’s coming out from the kitchen.
He had never felt or seen anything like it before.
Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, Severus sent the last – well, what supposedly was the last– order of the day.
And then he remembered.
Wilhelm and his companion.
He almost snorted.
He finally takes a look from outside his window, finding that the two were still sitting in the same spot that they had been in for hours as Severus purposely and blatantly ignored them.
Wilkes, as he expected, stayed. Interestingly enough, the dark-skinned man who Wilkes brought with him also stayed. Now, that, he was not expecting for he was quite sure that the man would probably lose his patience and leave two hours maximum into waiting.
Then again, Severus had been observing him while he did his work. He was waiting for anything really, an outburst, him knocking on his window and complaining, causing a scene, or just.. Anything at all.
But he simply sat there and waited, and as Severus noticed, watched him like a hawk.
Huh.
Not that it still affects his initial distaste for the man upon first seeing him.
“Oh, hi Severus,” Wilkes stood up from where he sat, his friend following him closely as they both approached him.
Right, maybe this time the man will finally voice out his complaints and entitlement. Perhaps even threaten to close his place.
Now, that would be amusing.
“Sorry, I didn’t get to introduce my friend,” Wilkes said with an apologetic grin, gesturing to the man beside him. “Bruce, meet Severus Snape. Severus, this is Bruce Mulciber.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mulciber said from beside Wilkes, even offering his hand which Severus did not take as he chose to go straight to the point, not planning on wasting his time any further when he could spend it doing something else alone .
“What do you want?”
The question made Mulciber turn to Wilkes, then turn to him again and Severus almost rolled his eyes.
“I heard the Oyakodon was good,” Mulciber answered. “For me and Will, please.”
Severus was almost taken aback, almost.
He was here to eat.
But Severus maintained a straight face, nodding once before retreating back to his kitchen and this time, remembering to shut the window close. He eyed his wand, thinking if he should use it but chose not to, considering it was the last two orders anyway.
And everything was better when made with his own hands.