The heavy snow fell in soft, swirling sheets, dancing through the London sky like scattered feathers.
In this quiet Muggle neighborhood, nearly every house was lit with festive warmth. Twinkling lights adorned windows, wreaths hung on doors, and carefully decorated Christmas trees stood like sentinels of the season on every doorstep.
For the British, this was not just a holiday—it was the end of a year and the hopeful beginning of a new one.
It was Christmas Eve.
Inside the Granger home, the warm scent of cinnamon, pine, and roast turkey filled the air. A two-meter Christmas tree glittered in the corner of the living room, adorned with a mix of hand-crafted ornaments and store-bought baubles, its colorful lights reflecting softly against the windows.
In the kitchen, something else was brewing—something far more savory.
Mrs. Granger entered the dining room with a broad smile, placing a steaming tray at the center of the table.
"The turkey is ready~!"
But neither Hermione nor Mr. Granger looked up. Both were subtly craning their necks to peer toward the kitchen, where the clatter of utensils against iron pans echoed tantalizingly into the hall.
The mouthwatering aroma of herbs, vinegar, and caramelized spices had filled the house.
Mrs. Granger, pretending to be offended, huffed and put her hands on her hips.
"You two! Are my dishes not good enough anymore?"
"They're wonderful," Mr. Granger said automatically—though his eyes were still flicking toward the kitchen. "But what's Kai cooking? That last dish he made—the, uh… what was it… 'Thunderclap Devourer' or something? Divine!"
"Dad, it's called Donnerschlag-Garnelen. Thunderclap Shrimp."
Hermione corrected him in crisp German.
Mrs. Granger gave her husband a pointed look as she began carving the turkey. "So you're saying Kai's cooking is better than mine?"
Mr. Granger, realizing his mistake, hastily coughed and opened his newspaper as a shield.
"They're both excellent. Equally excellent."
Mrs. Granger snorted softly and let it slide—for now.
Still, as the scent of caramelized vinegar and seared pork thickened in the air, the three of them found themselves salivating.
Hermione rubbed her nose, suppressing a grin.
"I'll go help Kai bring the dishes out."
"You just want to sneak a bite!"
Hermione laughed and dashed into the kitchen.
Mrs. Granger glanced knowingly at her husband.
"It's like we're watching her get stolen away in real time."
As Hermione entered the kitchen, she found Kai standing with his back to her, an apron tied over his shirt, handling a well-used skillet with swift precision. The flame flared under the cast iron, and she instinctively jumped back.
Kai didn't even turn around. "Perfect timing. Take those plates to the table. I made an extra portion of Thunderclap Shrimp—your dad really liked it last time."
Hermione inched closer, catching the rich scent—sweet, tangy, and utterly mouthwatering.
"What are you making now?"
"A family classic," Kai said. "You'll see in a moment."
She glanced at the table, where the dishes looked spectacular—glazed meats, roasted vegetables with fragrant herbs, and a particularly inviting bowl of sweet-and-sour pork ribs gleaming under the kitchen light.
Kai was still facing away. Clearly, he wouldn't notice if one little piece happened to go missing…
Hermione's fingers crept toward the largest rib, the one practically calling her name.
"Careful. It's hot."
Kai's voice floated casually over his shoulder, making her jerk back in surprise.
He hadn't turned. How did he know?
She narrowed her eyes at his back, then—out of pure defiance—snatched the biggest piece anyway.
"Hiss!"
The pork rib sizzled her fingers, and she dropped it immediately.
"I warned you." His voice was closer now.
She turned and found him beside her, gently taking her fingers. The pads of her fingertips were already pink and swollen from the heat. Without a word, Kai brought her hand near his lips and blew softly across her fingers.
A cool breeze touched her skin, bringing relief—and a strangely flustering tingle.
Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. She pulled her hand back quickly.
"I'm fine~" she muttered, voice turning inexplicably sweet.
Kai gave her a teasing look. "If you wanted to eat, you could've just said so instead of staging a kitchen heist."
He tapped her nose lightly.
With a flick of his wand, the rib that had fallen never hit the floor. Instead, it hovered mid-air, floated toward him, and landed gently in his hand.
"Here. Since you've already dropped it, I suppose it's cool enough now."
Hermione gave him a mock glare but obediently leaned forward and opened her mouth, letting him feed her the rib.
Kai watched her chew carefully.
"Well?"
Hermione's eyes lit up. She plucked the bone from her mouth—clean, the meat tender and falling off.
"Perfect."
"You're such a little foodie," he murmured, smirking.
He lightly tapped her hand when she reached for another rib.
"Not yet. Help me carry these out first."
With that, the two of them made three trips back and forth, bringing dish after dish to the Granger family's now-bursting dining table.
If not for the large golden-brown turkey sitting in the center, someone might've mistaken this for a hearty Germanic New Year's Eve feast rather than a British Christmas dinner.
Kai sat down beside Hermione, feeling vaguely nostalgic. In his past life, he'd always cooked for family during holidays. Then, after arriving in this world, he spent years cooking for the old man in Nurmengard.
If he hadn't become a wizard, he mused, he might've opened a rustic restaurant in a quiet village. Maybe even one in Diagon Alley someday, when this madness was all behind him.
Let the wizarding world taste something other than treacle tarts and pumpkin pasties for once.
As if reading his thoughts, Mr. Granger picked up his fork and aimed directly for the Thunderclap Shrimp—each one a plump, pearly morsel that glowed like white jade under the light.
Mrs. Granger, meanwhile, had zeroed in on another dish.
Fried to a crisp golden shell, the pieces were hard on the outside but soft within, garnished with slivers of onion and carrot. Their slightly sharp, sweet-and-sour scent cut through all the heavier aromas on the table.
"Kai, what is this?" she asked, prodding the plate with interest.
"Ah, a classic from my family. Locally we call it Knusprige Honigrippen mit Essigsirup—Crispy Honey Ribs with Vinegar Glaze."
"Crispy ribs?" she frowned curiously. "They don't look like pork ribs."
"They are," Kai confirmed. "Just… not quite like you're used to. We deep-fry them with a batter, then glaze them. The real name's Guo Bao Rou, but it doesn't translate well."
Mrs. Granger tried to repeat it. "Gvoh… boh… row?"
Kai smiled. "Close enough. Try one."
She did. The outer shell cracked crisply under her knife, revealing succulent pork inside.
The moment she popped one in her mouth, her eyes lit up.
"Crispy outside, tender inside—oh my word! Kai, this is incredible!"
Kai inclined his head graciously. "I'm glad you like it."
He reached for a piece of her turkey and placed it politely on his plate. After taking a bite, his face remained neutral, though internally… he was struggling.
The turkey was dry. Very dry.
"Mrs. Granger's roast is… quite impressive," he said carefully.
Hermione, mid-bite, nearly choked trying to stifle a laugh.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, cheeks puffed and eyes tearing with effort.
Mr. Granger gave Kai a sympathetic glance and mouthed, I warned you.
But Mrs. Granger beamed. "See? I knew someone with refined taste would appreciate it. Unlike these two, who complain every year and barely touch it."
Kai's eye twitched slightly.
"Oh, absolutely," he said with a tight smile.
"And you know what? Since you like it so much, the whole turkey is yours!"
Hermione snorted, clutching her napkin and turning beet red with silent laughter.
Kai looked at the towering turkey on his plate and inwardly despaired.
"Thank you, Mrs. Granger…" he said, defeated.
"Good boy!" she chirped, utterly delighted.
Just as Kai was debating the best way to dispose of half a turkey without offense, his expression suddenly shifted.
He looked sharply toward the front door—his posture still but alert.
At the same time—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three solid knocks rang out through the snowy silence.