Ron had already promised that as long as Cedric let him taste whatever came out of the kitchen, every meal at the Leaky Cauldron was free.
Ron’s mental arithmetic was simple and loud.
Cheap ingredients and ordinary bar food in exchange for Cedric’s cooking was the purest form of theft—and he was happy to commit it.
He had thumped his chest and told the boy to eat as much as he liked.
The moment Cedric stepped into the bar that evening, every regular looked up at once.
Applause broke out.
Someone shouted his name at full volume, terrified Cedric might forget who they were and skip their share.
The crowd was not large.
The noise they made was.
Cedric wanted a quiet dinner.
He set the rule flatly.
“From now on, at every mealtime, Boss Ron will sell a few of my dishes.
Quantity will be limited.
Price will not be low.
I have no interest in living inside a permanent riot.”
The words were arrogant.
No one frowned.
They had already tasted the food.
Money was not the problem.
Buy.
Ron stepped in, calmed the noise, and immediately began selling the legend harder.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.
Mr.
Grey’s skill can’t be described in words.
Even Biting Cabbage turns into a proper dish in his hands.”
He waved his arms and described the roasted leaves as though he had personally witnessed dragon liver and phoenix marrow.
The circle of wizards let out a long, thoughtful “Oh.”
Biting Cabbage?
People actually put that in their mouths?
No one present had ever treated it as food.
Suddenly it sounded like an overlooked treasure.
Combined with last night’s mysterious roast meat and Ron’s shameless exaggeration, every throat in the room was hooked.
The chaos lasted another ten minutes before Cedric’s patience snapped.
He ordered Ron to produce dinner at once.
What arrived was chickpea soup, buttered bread, and a token piece of tomato.
After the recent enhancements Cedric’s appetite had tripled.
He forced down two full portions and stopped.
The kitchen’s output could fill a stomach.
Taste was another matter.
Not throwing the plate straight into the bin was already the highest courtesy he could offer Ron.
British food remained a reliable form of punishment—unchanging bean soup, dry bread that scraped the throat, and a few sad green scraps that might once have been vegetables.
At that moment he would have preferred fish and chips from a Muggle street.
He finished the necessary fuel, returned to his room, and played dead for the rest of the night.
Most of Diagon Alley had already closed.
Ingredient hunting would have to wait for daylight.
Early the next morning Cedric washed his face and reached for the door.
Inside the cage Noir saw the movement and exploded into frantic caws, claws scraping the bars as though Cedric planned to abandon it forever.
He opened the door.
The crow immediately claimed his shoulder.
“One drop of shit on me and I pluck every feather.
Clear?”
Noir puffed its chest and lifted its head like a general on parade.
The expression was pure disdain: I am a magical crow.
I do not perform such indignities.
Caw.
Cedric pocketed what money remained, forced down another forgettable English breakfast downstairs, and stepped into Diagon Alley.
The street looked the same—crowded, loud, magical gadgets bouncing and hawking themselves along the pavement.
After a few minutes he noticed the difference.
Far fewer eyes landed on him.
Previously that face had drawn glances without effort.
Today people only registered him if they nearly walked into him.
Most spotted the crow first and only then glanced past it to the boy underneath.
Aura Concealment E, running passive.
At this lowest rank it already pulled attention away.
At higher ranks he could stand in front of someone and tap-dance without being noticed.
Active use would be stranger still.
He felt no urge to test it yet.
He touched the pouch in his pocket and felt the weight of the numbers.
After textbooks, equipment, and the earlier cabbages, less than two hundred Galleons remained.
That was the entire year’s survival money.
Until a real income stream appeared he would not spend a single unnecessary Knut.
Certain supplies still had to be bought.
Worry and appetite pulled him in the same direction.
He drifted into the familiar potion-ingredient shop.
Madam Morgana did not notice anyone enter until Noir gave two impatient caws.
She looked up, saw Cedric, and her eyebrows rose.
“What happened, my dear?”
Surprise filled her voice.
Before he could answer she tilted her head and checked his fingers one by one, confirming each was still attached.
Only then did she let out a quiet breath.
Clearly the old woman had spent days wondering whether the Biting Cabbage had finally claimed a few digits.