Alan nearly fell into a trap of his own making. He had assumed that peppermint was off-limits due to Snape's modification of the Euphoria Potion—Snape had added peppermint to mitigate its side effects. Alan, wary of infringing on that formula and getting into patent issues, had deliberately avoided considering peppermint.
But then, it struck him—so long as he didn't add peppermint directly into the potion, there would be no problem at all in using it as a base ingredient in candy. With that realization, all of his concerns vanished.
Peppermint, after all, is a common herb and flavoring—aromatic, refreshing, and completely non-magical. It's not a magical ingredient by any means. Still, its taste was precisely what his euphoria-infused candy was missing. Its cool, slightly bitter edge helped cut the excessive sweetness of the joy agent. In fact, it gave the whole concoction a fresh finish and rounded out the flavor beautifully.
It was perfect for candy.
Excited by the breakthrough, Alan immediately recorded the new recipe in his well-worn notebook—the one in which he logged all his experimental recipes and ingredients—and headed straight to the kitchen.
Making sugar-based candy is a tricky business. It's time-consuming and requires precision. But since Alan was only planning to make a small batch of hard candy, a simple pan would do the trick.
He melted the sugar and carefully added the premixed Euphoria agent he had prepared in advance. It only took three drops in the entire pot. That was plenty. Alan wasn't trying to create some kind of fool's candy that would make people grin like idiots with a single bite—he wanted something much subtler. Just a hint of joy. A pleasant uplift.
As the joy agent blended into the molten sugar, something curious happened. The amber-colored syrup slowly turned a soft, glowing gold.
"Nice color," Alan said, nodding with satisfaction.
He was about to start cooling the candy when he realized something critical—he hadn't prepared any candy molds. Tom's kitchen definitely didn't have anything that delicate. He thought about using a Transfiguration spell to create a makeshift mold out of random kitchen tools, but then—
His hands started to tingle and itch.
Alan looked at the shimmering sugar syrup in the pot, muttering to himself, "I wonder if pure white sugar will work without maltose."
His hands—it was like they had a will of their own. They wanted to create. He felt them twitch, restless.
And then, with a shrug, Alan gave in. Why not? It was just three drops of joy agent. If he messed it up, he could always boil a new batch of sugar. So, he decided to go fancy. No molds. He would use the syrup to make dragon beard candy, a legendary snack from the mysterious East. Most wizards had never even heard of it, let alone seen or tasted it.
He sprinkled starch evenly across a clean countertop, then poured the slightly cooled sugar solution onto the starch. The starch would help reduce stickiness while he worked the sugar.
He began to knead the sugar into a long, pliable strip, folding it over, rubbing it, sprinkling more starch, then carefully shaping it into a thick sugar ring.
The lack of maltose did make things more difficult. The sugar cooled and hardened faster than he'd like. But Alan didn't let that stop him.
He summoned a low flame—the dragon's breath—and allowed it to gently wrap around his palms. The flame was so faint it was nearly invisible, but it made his hands warm, turning them into living soldering irons. As he stretched the sugar ring, the warmth softened it enough to make it workable again. Fold, twist, stretch, sprinkle, repeat.
Alan folded the candy ring nine times.
Each fold doubled the strands, and soon the thick sugar ring had become a bundle of thin threads. By the ninth fold, he had created 512 sugar threads. Thanks to his enhanced body and the subtle magic of the "Divine Hand," not a single thread had snapped.
"One more!" Alan muttered.
With one final twist and stretch, he doubled the threads again.
Now there were 1024 silky, translucent sugar threads in his hands. Dragon beard candy—done right—is delicate. It melts on the tongue and leaves behind an ethereal sweetness. Alan took a knife, carefully cut the strands into even pieces, and rolled each one into a fluffy ball. He ended up with ten perfect dragon beard candies.
He popped one into his mouth.
The candy, mixed with just the right amount of starch, melted instantly. The texture was extraordinary—light, gossamer-thin sugar threads dissolving like snowflakes. And beneath it, the uplifting flavor of the joy agent, blended with peppermint, bloomed on his tongue. The taste was bright, lightly bitter, and refreshing.
Alan immediately felt a wave of pleasant energy wash over him. His fatigue vanished. It was as though the effort of kneading and folding had never happened.
"Hodge's candy shop may not sell dragon beard candy," Alan said to himself with a smile, "but it doesn't need to. This will do."
He took two of the dragon beard candies, slipped them into a paper bag, and covered the rest on a plate with a clean cloth. Holding the plate in both hands, he walked out of the kitchen.
Alan, always composed, looked unusually charming today with that satisfied smile and a plate of golden candy. But oddly enough, the Leaky Cauldron was strangely quiet. Not in a peaceful way. Something was off.
The regulars—those who usually gathered around, eager for Alan's magical dishes—were sprawled over the tables, looking utterly defeated. Heads resting on their arms, their faces etched with sorrow, regret, or plain exhaustion. Some looked like they had lost all hope in life.
When Harry and Hagrid entered the tavern, they were horrified. For a moment, they thought there had been a case of mass food poisoning.
"Did the Leaky Cauldron mess up a batch of stew?" Harry whispered.
But then they saw Tom, the barkeeper, slumped over the counter, his expression just as lifeless.
"Tom, what in Merlin's name happened to you?" Hagrid asked, concerned as he hurried to the counter.
Tom slowly lifted his head, his face pale, his lips slightly swollen.
"Oh... don't ask," he sighed mournfully. "It's because of Mr. Cecil's food."
"Cecil? That guy who cooks like magic?" Hagrid said in surprise. "You always said his food was delicious! What, did it finally backfire? Did you get food poisoning or what?"
Tom groaned and rubbed his stomach, then, subconsciously, reached up to touch his lips. They were still tingling from the lunchtime assault.
"I did get diarrhea," Tom said bitterly, "but it wasn't because of any magical beast meat, if that's what you're thinking."
"Well, something got to you," Hagrid said, now more curious than amused.
Tom stared into the distance, his voice trembling.
"It was the spice," he whispered.
"The what?"
"The...the spice!" Tom's voice cracked. "Mr. Cecil made this new dish today, some sort of stew... and at first, it smelled amazing. So fragrant, so savory. But then I took a bite. And it burned. It burned like dragon fire. My tongue went numb. My lips swelled up. I started hiccuping like mad. My nose ran. My ears rang. And then came the second bite..."
Hagrid blinked. "You took a second bite?!"
"I couldn't help it," Tom said, eyes wide with trauma. "It tasted incredible—between the pain, that is. The flavor was exquisite, but the pain... the pain was unforgettable."
He stood up shakily and leaned over the counter.
"It burned going in," he said. "It burned all the way through. And when it left..." He trailed off and winced dramatically.
"Your... your anus?" Hagrid asked bluntly.
Tom nodded solemnly.
"It was like a chrysanthemum crematorium," he whispered.
Harry choked back a laugh. "That's... oddly poetic."
"Oddly painful, more like," Tom grunted.
From the back of the tavern, a muffled groan was heard. Another poor soul had just remembered what lunch had done to them.
Alan, who had been listening the whole time, couldn't help but chuckle. He hadn't expected his experimental spicy dish to have such a profound impact. Still, it worked—maybe a bit too well.
He stepped forward and offered a piece of dragon beard candy to Tom.
"Try this," Alan said with a smile. "It might help with the afterburn."
Tom eyed it warily, then took a bite. Relief spread across his face almost immediately.
"Oh... oh, that's nice," he sighed. "So cool... so light..."
Alan winked. "Made with a touch of joy."
Hagrid shook his head. "Cecil, you're dangerous in the kitchen."
Alan just smiled. "Only to the unprepared."
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