“Don’t worry, ma’am.
I kept my head.
Those Biting Cabbages never got a chance to bite.”
Cedric glanced at the shelf where the cabbages used to sit.
Empty.
“Where did they all go?”
He still wanted a few more.
Chef’s intuition said the roasted version had not yet hit its limit.
Without stock he could not finish the work.
Madam Morgana looked him up and down, suspicious.
“You want more?
If I remember right, you only took three last time.
You didn’t actually eat the things, did you?”
“When the cooking is good enough, even the worst ingredients become something worth eating.” Cedric smiled without showing teeth.
“Well said.” She reached out and patted his head.
“Pity you came too late.”
“Too late?”
“Sold out.
Completely.
I’m sorry, child.” Genuine apology sat on her face.
“I don’t know what got into people last night.
A whole crowd of drunkards forced their way in demanding Biting Cabbages and cleaned me out.
In all my years I’ve never seen customers that mad.”
She actually shuddered.
Gone.
Cedric stood frozen.
Last night’s scene replayed in his head—Ron waving the plate of roasted leaves around, spit flying, every wizard downstairs wearing the exact expression of people who had just discovered a new religion.
Those gluttons had actually come to compete with a chef for ingredients.
Did they honestly believe their kitchen magic could make Biting Cabbage taste good?
Madam Morgana watched his face cycle through several emotions and felt a twinge of guilt.
The shelves were empty; there was nothing she could do except offer the next best thing.
“If you really need them, come back in a couple of days.
I can use a little magic to hurry the seedlings along—”
The second half of the sentence lit Cedric’s eyes.
“Seedlings?”
“Yes.
I brought a batch in as backup, just in case we ever ran dry.
I never expected the whole stock to vanish in one night.
No time to ripen them.”
Cedric had already stopped listening.
Immature plants.
The bitterness might still be soft enough to reshape from the root.
“How much for the seedlings?”
Madam Morgana blinked, caught between confusion and blankness.
“I’ve never sold them before.
If you’re serious… fifteen Sickles for this pouch.”
She produced a small cloth bag.
Cedric untied it.
Inside sat a cluster of round green things the size of pigeon eggs, looking almost exactly like Muggle Brussels sprouts.
Cute, if you ignored what they were.
One bite each.
Perfect portion size.
He did not underestimate them.
Even at this size the little mouths were lined with sharp teeth, only slightly shorter than the full-grown version.
A real bite would still take flesh.
Noir leaned in from his shoulder, neck stretched, claws twitching with interest.
Cedric pulled the bag shut and rapped the crow once on the forehead.
“Ingredient.
Not toy.”
He handed over a Galleon, took two Sickles in change, and let his gaze travel to the next shelf.
A glass jar sat there, a small pink lump of tissue floating in preserving fluid.
The label read: Dragon liver – 16 Sickles per ounce.
Sixteen Sickles an ounce looked almost reasonable until the conversion finished.
A full pound would cost seventeen Galleons.
Seventeen.
Dragons were enormous.
Charging that much for a scrap of liver felt like open robbery.
Every Galleon currently sitting in Professor McGonagall’s vault would not buy a complete set of dragon organs.
Cedric stared at the numbers until his face twisted.
After a long silence he pointed at the jar.
“Can the dragon liver come down a little?”
“Of course.
Three Galleons for the jar.
Four ounces.
Quite a bargain, really.”
Four ounces at three Galleons worked out to roughly thirteen Sickles an ounce.
Still painful, but better.
He ran the numbers again, gritted his teeth, and nodded.
“One jar.”
It hurt.
The list of abilities a dragon carried made the pain worth enduring.
That meat had to be tasted.