Tom, who was still recalling the pain from earlier, suddenly noticed Alan walking upstairs with a plate. He quickly greeted him, "Mr. Cecil."
Alan turned around and spotted the group standing on the other side of the counter—Harry Potter, Hagrid, and the innkeeper, Tom. After a brief pause, he walked over.
"What's wrong?" Alan asked.
"Mr. Cecil," Tom said apologetically, "I'll make sure they don't disturb you during your rest in the future. But please, could you avoid cooking that kind of food again?"
Alan's smile was gentle, but to Tom, it looked like the smile of a devil.
"Weren't you satisfied with today's dish?" Alan asked with an innocent expression.
"No, no, it was delicious. Your cooking is always amazing," Tom said with a strained laugh, then pointed to his lips. "It's just… too spicy. I feel like my body can't take that kind of intensity."
"That won't do, Tom," Alan replied seriously. "Chili is good for you. You have to learn to get used to it."
"No, please, don't make us get used to it!" Tom said, horrified.
Hadn't they suffered enough? Half the regular customers had already been sent to St. Mungo's for treatment. If this continued, the hospital might be forced to open a new anorectal department.
Alan chuckled. "Just kidding. It was just an experiment. Still, I thought the level of spice was perfectly reasonable—for me."
Apparently, these people had learned their lesson. Alan's effort hadn't been in vain. He had even specially asked Tom to buy Pixian broad bean paste and dried chili peppers for the recipe.
After finishing his conversation with Tom, Alan turned to Hagrid and Harry. He glanced at Hagrid's massive hand and then at his own much smaller one. Deciding against a handshake with Hagrid, he reached out toward Harry instead.
"Hello, I'm Alan Cecil," Alan said warmly. "You're the famous Harry Potter, right?"
Harry blinked, startled, then quickly extended his hand. "Hello… uh, yes. I'm Harry Potter. You know who I am?"
He was confused. How did someone so stylish and refined—a person who looked like he belonged in a luxury magazine—actually recognize him?
In truth, Harry had spent the past few days shopping and learning about wizarding currency. When he did the math, he began to admire Alan even more.
If one of Alan's dishes sold for just a single Galleon, then based on Harry's current fortune, he could afford to eat at Alan's place for…
Hundreds of years? That wasn't bad at all. Harry realized he might actually be rich in the wizarding world.
"Oh, I haven't heard your full story," Alan said, retracting his hand. "But people have been talking about you a lot lately, so I've picked up some of the tales. Though, to be honest, I have a few doubts about how accurate they are."
"You're not the only one," Harry said softly. "I have my doubts too."
But Hagrid didn't appreciate the skepticism.
"There's nothing wrong with Harry's story!" he puffed, his face darkening as he glared at Alan. "He's a hero!"
"If that's all true," Alan replied calmly, "then I can only say the wizards from eleven years ago were really... something else. Also, take it easy. I wasn't trying to insult Mr. Potter."
Before Hagrid could snap back, Alan swiftly twisted up a ball of Dragon Beard Candy and popped it into Hagrid's open mouth.
Hagrid had been yelling, so his mouth was wide open—making it easy for Alan to feed him the candy. One tiny ball of candy looked minuscule against Hagrid's massive frame.
The sugar melted quickly in his mouth. At first, he looked furious. But within seconds, his face shifted from anger to surprise, and then melted into joyful bliss.
"Merlin's beard," he murmured in awe. "Mr. Cecil, your cooking has improved again? Is it possible for a dish to actually calm someone down?"
Tom, observing this, looked on with admiration. "It really works! It completely changed his mood. Incredible."
Harry was just as stunned. He had just witnessed Hagrid go from boiling mad to smiling like a kid at Honeydukes—all in one bite.
He stared at Alan with wide eyes, full of admiration.
No wonder Alan was the most popular chef in Diagon Alley. He was truly amazing.
"Alright, calm down, calm down," Alan said, clearly a little overwhelmed by the praise. "I'm just a cook. All I do is prepare food. It's not supposed to have any magical effects like that."
"But your food does boost people's magic, doesn't it?" Tom asked. "If it can enhance magic, isn't calming someone down even simpler in comparison?"
"You're being too generous," Alan said, flustered by the compliment. "It wasn't my cooking. I just added a small amount of joy agent to that dessert."
"Joy agent?" Tom's eyes lit up the moment he heard the word "dessert." His expression was practically glowing like a neon sign flashing "I want some."
Unable to stand the eager stares, Alan sighed and pulled out a piece of the sample he had intended to save for Hotch. He handed it to Tom. Then, seeing Harry looking longingly at it too, he gave another piece to him.
Both Tom and Harry eagerly stuffed the dragon beard candy into their mouths—and froze in place.
Neither of them had ever tasted anything like it.
It melted instantly on the tongue yet retained a fine, silky texture. Harry, being just eleven, had probably never eaten anything so refined. But Tom, who had enjoyed desserts from all over the world, swore to himself: this was the best dessert he had ever tasted.
Even more surprising, Tom felt a strange comfort spread through his body.
Was it just his imagination, or was his previously spicy-food-damaged rear end… actually feeling better?
The texture, the taste, the sensation—it was a perfect match for afternoon tea!
Tom instantly regretted how quickly he'd eaten the candy. What a sublime experience it would have been to pair this treat with a warm cup of black tea, letting the sweetness linger as the aroma of tea gently rolled in.
Pure bliss.
Harry, meanwhile, looked like he was having a spiritual experience.
The sugar had triggered something more than just delight—it felt like safety, warmth, comfort… as if a mother's hug had been distilled into a candy.
Alan watched their reactions with amusement and a bit of pride, though he tried to play it off.
"Don't overthink it," he said. "It's just dessert."
Tom stared at Alan like he'd just seen a god.
"Just dessert?" he said with disbelief. "Mr. Cecil, I'd pay ten Galleons for one more piece!"
"Make that twenty," Harry blurted out, still chewing slowly, as if trying to make the flavor last forever.
Alan rubbed his temples. "It's not for sale. It's a test batch."
Tom looked devastated.
"But it's the most perfect thing I've ever tasted! I didn't even care about the pain anymore!"
Harry nodded solemnly, clearly in agreement.
Alan folded his arms. "That's the point of the joy agent. It's designed to trigger emotional relief. It's not exactly legal to use it in large quantities, though—especially in public dining."
Tom's eyes widened. "Wait… is that why I'm suddenly thinking about my childhood dog and feeling grateful I survived third grade?"
"Exactly," Alan said dryly. "That's why it's used sparingly."
Hagrid, who had finally recovered from his euphoric stupor, looked at Alan with great respect.
"You know," he said, licking his lips, "you could be a great potions master."
"I'm already a great chef," Alan replied. "Why downgrade?"
The room burst into laughter.
Even Tom, still fantasizing about pairing the candy with scones, had to chuckle.
As the laughter died down, Alan turned to Harry.
"Anyway, it's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you lately."
"Thanks," Harry said shyly. "It's nice to meet you too."
And with that, Alan headed back upstairs, leaving behind a room full of full bellies, changed minds, and a newfound awe of how something as simple as candy could leave such a lasting impression.
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