In the space of a few minutes the entire platter of roasted Biting Cabbage disappeared.
Most of it went into Ron’s stomach.
Only when the sheet was empty did the landlord come back to himself.
He had just eaten every last leaf a paying guest had borrowed the kitchen to cook.
Color rose in his face.
He rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat.
“Sorry, kid.
Your cooking’s too damn good.
I lost control for a minute.”
He patted his belly, looking thoroughly satisfied.
A steady warmth spread through him, the kind that felt like spare strength with nowhere to go.
Magic and physical energy felt almost the same to most wizards when they surged.
Ron only knew he suddenly had more of both than usual.
“Caw!”
Noir was not pleased.
The bald, soft-looking man had stolen nearly every bite.
“It’s fine,” Cedric said.
He scratched the crow’s head once to shut it up.
“Food is meant to be eaten.
And I’m still not happy with the dish.”
“Not happy?”
Ron stared at him.
The idea that anyone could call that plate ordinary felt almost offensive.
If this counted as unfinished work, then everything Ron served his own customers was swill.
Yet the boy’s face stayed serious.
He muttered under his breath about blanching times and heat control like he was already rewriting the recipe in his head.
Ron decided the kid was not joking.
A Briton’s instinctive respect for anyone who could cook like that made his knees feel a little weak.
After a long internal struggle he asked carefully,
“Have you ever thought about becoming a chef?”
Cedric looked up, genuinely puzzled.
“I’m eleven.
I start Hogwarts in two months.
I’m not running off to cook for a living.”
Ron waved both hands quickly.
“No, no—nothing full-time.
School doesn’t start until September.
There’s time.
I just thought you might want to earn a bit of pocket money while you’re here.”
He congratulated himself.
Earlier he had overheard enough of the conversation with McGonagall to know the boy was an orphan living on a student loan.
Money was the cleanest hook.
He had guessed right about the temptation, but not about the reason.
Cedric was interested.
Free kitchen access and a steady supply of practice ingredients mattered more than the wages.
He laid out his conditions.
Ron’s face fell at once.
It was not stinginess.
Magical creature parts and most magical plants cost ten or twenty times what ordinary produce did.
The Leaky Cauldron’s entire daily food budget barely reached ten Galleons.
Those materials belonged in potions, alchemy, and rituals—not on a plate.
Guests would never pay the difference, and the pub was not a high-end restaurant to begin with.
Cedric saw the numbers the same way Ron did.
Expecting free magical ingredients was a fantasy.
Spending every day turning ordinary vegetables into pocket change held no appeal either.
The partnership died there, though Ron still looked regretful.
He recovered quickly.
Cedric could use the kitchen whenever he wanted.
Ordinary ingredients were free.
Three meals a day at the bar were on the house.
The only condition was that Ron got to taste whatever came out of the oven.
Cedric agreed without hesitation.
Access mattered more than pride.
Once the deal was sealed, Ron left to deal with the front room, looking pleased with himself.
The magical cookware woke up on its own.
Evening service was coming.
Pots and knives began moving without human hands.
Cedric stayed out of their way.
He wandered to a quiet corner and watched the tools work, looking for anything worth stealing for his own methods.
Noir sat on his shoulder until the weight in its belly became urgent.
The crow hopped down, found the trash bin, and prepared to take care of business.
It had barely lifted its tail when every feather on its body stood on end.
Danger hit first.
A white shape exploded out of nowhere and lunged.
Noir launched itself into the air with a raw, panicked caw, calling for backup at the top of its lungs.
Cedric spun at the sound.
He caught only a blur of white vanishing into the shadows.
Noir kept circling overhead, still rattled.
“What happened?”
“Caw!”
The crow launched into an angry monologue, describing the ambush in the only language it had.
Cedric frowned.
“Something jumped you.
That white shape.
It looked big.
Can you still feel it?”
Noir nodded hard.
Crows held grudges by nature.
Magical ones held them in the bone.
The special ability Hatred existed for exactly this kind of moment.