While working the Biting Cabbage seedlings, Cedric confirmed what he had already suspected: the texture of the young ones was better than the mature leaves.
Better, but still not good.
The soft, almost mushy give had nothing to do with excess water.
It was simply the nature of the plant.
Even roasted dry, the bite would never turn crisp.
If the ingredient itself fell short, the cooking method had to carry the weight.
He decided on a hard sugar shell.
The seedlings were the perfect size—one clean bite each.
Ideal for candying.
First, though, they needed aroma.
He slid the tray into the oven, then turned to the syrup.
Water and sugar into a pot, set over steady heat.
Once the water was gone and the syrup began to bubble outward, he pulled the seedlings free, scattered a light dusting of salt across them, and shook the pan until every surface was coated.
The syrup had started to take on color.
Cedric squeezed half a lemon into it, stirred, and lowered the flame.
No bamboo skewers in the kitchen.
A quick Transfiguration produced one.
He speared a seedling, spun it through the syrup, lifted it out, and plunged it straight into the waiting basin of cold water.
The shell hardened in seconds.
He set the finished piece on a clean tray.
One translucent candied Biting Cabbage.
Ron watched the entire process with the intensity of a man memorizing a forbidden charm.
The clear, glassy shell fascinated him.
He wanted the technique badly.
Five minutes later the last seedling received its coat.
Cedric stacked them into a neat emerald pyramid that caught the kitchen light and threw it back in soft, shifting glints.
Eye of Insight delivered its verdict at once.
[Candied Biting Cabbage](Ultimate)
Description: A dish that pushes every trait of the Biting Cabbage to its absolute limit.
Effect: Grants status [Magical Activity D] upon consumption, increasing magical effect by 15 % for ten minutes.
If the host consumes it personally, the effect is doubled and an additional 20 enhancement points are awarded.
The word “Ultimate” had never appeared before.
The status had jumped from E-grade straight to D, and the system had spelled out the exact benefit.
Double effect plus twenty points when he ate it himself.
The path he had been testing—new recipes forced to the edge of what an ingredient could give—was the correct one.
His gaze drifted to the three jars of dragon liver waiting on the side counter.
Precious material.
Applying the same standard to something that expensive would make the cost painful.
Ron was still staring at the pyramid.
“How are you planning to sell these?”
“Three for a Galleon.
Take it or leave it.” Cedric packed a small portion for himself, flicked one into Noir’s open beak, and ate one.
The seedlings were small enough that five counted as a single enhancement portion.
Ron’s expression turned uneasy.
“That price is a bit ruthless.”
He would freeload a few, of course.
Expensive freeloading felt awkward.
If the plate failed to sell, Cedric would take a loss, and the last thing Ron wanted was for the boy to decide cooking in this kitchen was no longer worth the trouble.
“Whatever doesn’t sell comes back to me,” Cedric said.
“Fine.
I’ll try.” Ron lifted the tray and walked out.
The entire batch of seedlings could yield nearly two hundred enhancement points if Cedric ate them all.
Not a small number, but still nothing compared to a Hunting Level 70 ingredient.
He would rather convert the cabbages into coin and buy more dragon liver.
The price therefore could not be low.
Low would make eating them himself the better trade.
The moment Ron stepped into the main room with the translucent pyramid, the waiting wizards erupted.
“One portion!”
“Two!
Give me two!”
“Don’t be greedy—leave some for the rest of us!”
They surged forward the way customers did when a Quidditch shop put new stock on the shelves.
Ron had never faced a rush quite like it.
Heat rose in his chest.
Then he remembered the price.
“Everyone—hold on.” He raised his voice.
“Mr.
Grey already said it.
Nothing today is free.”
“We know, we know.
Just name the price!” Hawke, still nursing the memory of cabbage teeth, had his wallet out and ready.
Ron swallowed.
“Three to a portion.
One Galleon.”
The noise died.
“How much?” Hawke’s hand froze mid-air.
“Ron, you misheard.”
“That’s the price Mr.
Grey set.” Ron could only spread his hands.
A Galleon was not a fortune to most wizards, but spending one on three Biting Cabbage seedlings felt like open mockery.
The crowd exchanged looks and began to lean backward.
Ron was already bracing for failure when a single wallet rose into the air.
Every head turned.
Quirinus Quirrell stood there holding his money out, face twisted as if he were about to cry.
Someone in the back muttered, “Merlin’s beard, how much does this man love the boy’s cooking?
He’s actually tearing up.
That’s true love.”
Quirrell felt the injustice settle like a stone in his gut.
True love?
The entire family of whoever said that could keep their true love.
If the thing on his neck had not ordered him to buy every dish that came from Cedric’s hands, he would have to be mad to spend a Galleon on three candied seedlings.