“No problem at all, sir.
Sharp eye.
This Biting Cabbage won’t disappoint.”
The moment someone actually wanted to buy, Ron moved before the customer could change his mind.
He plated three candied seedlings and held them out.
“No—make it six.” Quirrell’s voice was tight.
“Wrap three to go.
I’ll eat the other three here.” He dropped two Galleons on the counter without hesitation.
Today he intended to find out exactly how good this cook was—the one who had somehow impressed even the thing living on his neck.
One portion would never be enough.
The snake would simply take it all.
Ron blinked at the gold, swept it away, and produced a small paper bag.
“Here you are, Mr.
Quirrell.”
Under the open stares of every wizard in the room, Quirrell lifted one piece.
The tender green cabbage sat sealed inside a clear, brilliant sugar shell that caught the light and threw back soft colors.
It looked almost like green-apple candy.
Appearance was fine.
Compared with proper magical sweets it still fell short.
And the thing inside was still a Biting Cabbage.
He hesitated, then put it in his mouth.
“Just pure sweetness,” he muttered.
He steeled himself and bit down.
The shell cracked.
A delicate plant fragrance, edged with the faint burnt note of caramel, flooded out of the broken candy and filled every corner of his mouth.
The seedlings that had soaked in sugar water and then dried had taken on a true caramel aroma in the oven.
That aroma rubbed against the cabbage’s stubborn bitter base and produced something dizzying.
One bite and Quirrell was caught.
He chewed again without thinking.
This time the cabbage itself broke apart.
Fine salt crystals clinging to the surface released a clean, salty edge that cut straight through the cloying sugar and made the sweetness suddenly sharp and alive.
The sensation—
Quirrell closed his eyes and simply rode it.
Too good.
No wonder the Dark Lord had forgiven the loss of the Murtlap.
Culinary skill like this could conquer anyone.
“Well?
How is it?
Is it actually good?” The watching wizards could not hold the question any longer.
Quirrell’s expression of pure happiness was an itch they needed scratched.
“Delicious.
Too delicious.” He could not lie.
“This is the finest… candy I have ever eaten.”
The rock-sugar shell made it feel more like a confection than a proper dish.
“Really that good?” Hawke stared at Quirrell’s face, appetite suddenly uncontrollable.
“Ron—three portions.
Now.”
“Coming right up.” Ron packed them cheerfully.
Hawke had the plate in his hands and was already lifting a piece when a sharp sound behind him froze his arm.
He turned.
Quirrell was staring at his own hands with open astonishment.
“What happened?
Something wrong?” a restless wizard demanded.
Quirrell said nothing.
He kept staring at his fingers, eyes wide with disbelief.
His magic had just surged.
Not a temporary flush.
A real, solid step upward.
Since adulthood he had never felt growth like this.
The entire reason he had hunted the Dark Lord was to raise his own power.
Instead he had become a host.
And now a snack some eleven-year-old had casually produced had done what years of searching had failed to do.
The irony was almost elegant.
His shoulders began to shake.
“Hey—what’s wrong with him?” Someone else shouted, convinced the candy had gone bad.
Hawke lowered the piece still hovering at his lips and spun on Ron.
“What did you sell us?”
“I don’t know.” Ron looked genuinely blank.
He had eaten Cedric’s food himself and trusted it, but Quirrell’s reaction did not look faked.
“Mr.
Quirrell—are you all right?”
“I… I’m fine.” Even as he said it, Quirrell burst into open tears.
“You’re crying and calling it fine?” Ron’s voice jumped.
“Do you need St.
Mungo’s?”
“No.
No need.” Quirrell waved a hand, still sobbing.
“The taste is simply too good.
I can’t quite control myself.
Excuse me.”
He turned and climbed the stairs, shoulders twitching.
The room watched him go in baffled silence.
“Is it really that good?” someone muttered.
“Good enough to make a grown man cry?”
More eyes locked onto the remaining pyramid.
Whether it was that good or not, one bite would settle it.
“One portion!”
“Two!”
“Five for me!”
“Don’t rush—everyone gets a share.
Limited stock.
Two portions maximum per person!” Ron shouted over the sudden noise, collecting coin with one hand while quietly sliding a private portion under the counter for himself.
“Bloody hell—eating this actually strengthens spells!”
“It’s real!
Stronger than the roast last night!”
The room detonated.
Several wizards were already composing mental messages to friends.
Cedric Grey’s name began to travel.