Allen, who was still in the kitchen, had no idea that Quirrell had inexplicably placed an advertisement for him, nor that his name had begun to spread as the subject of some curious news.
At that moment, Allen was leisurely enjoying a snack—rock sugar-coated biting cabbage—while mulling over how to properly cook dragon liver.
The opportunity to experiment was incredibly costly. Though dragon liver was available for purchase at some high-end magical stores, its price was steep. Every failed attempt at preparing it was a heavy burden on Allen's already strained finances.
Just as he was contemplating the dilemma, the kitchen door suddenly swung open, and Tom rushed in with barely contained excitement.
"Mr. Cecil! All those biting cabbage snacks are sold out!" Tom exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. "Here's your income—a total of thirteen Galleons!"
"Sold out?" Allen was genuinely surprised. He had actually prepared himself for the possibility that the snacks might not sell at all, especially since this was his first public attempt at selling magical food. To his amazement, not only had they sold—but they had sold out.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Tom," Allen said gratefully, taking the thirteen gleaming Galleons from Tom's hands. After counting them, he handed three back. "This is a small thank-you for your help."
"No need," Tom replied with a warm smile, pushing the coins back. "We agreed from the start. I only asked for a chance to taste your cooking—I didn't do anything to deserve payment."
"Then I'll apologize, because I really need the money," Allen said, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
Thirteen Galleons—for a cost of barely fifteen Sickles. That was less than one Galleon in total expenses. Even after accounting for minor material costs, the profit margin was nearly tenfold!
He had made an incredible profit!
As Allen quietly celebrated his unexpected success, Tom brought even more good news: "By the way, Mr. Cecil, those customers said they'll buy anything you make in the future. Price isn't a concern."
Allen's eyes lit up with excitement. He turned immediately to glance at the sealed jar of dragon liver waiting nearby.
With such enthusiastic support from his new fans, he no longer had to worry about waste or financial loss. He could finally experiment freely with high-end ingredients like dragon liver.
After all, anything created by God's Hand couldn't possibly taste bad!
Meanwhile, Quirrell returned to his room, panting heavily as he shut the door behind him. He yanked the scarf from around his neck, revealing a venomous snake coiled tightly around it.
This snake was the same species as the one from before, but it was clearly deteriorating. Its scales had lost their usual gleam, patches of its body were starting to decay, and a cloudy film had formed over its once-bright eyes.
The serpent wrapped tighter around Quirrell's neck, cold eyes fixed intently on him. Then it struck forward suddenly, its head thumping hard against Quirrell's cheek.
"Quirrell," came the icy, venomous voice in his mind, "you're very bold. You dare steal my food?"
Your food? Quirrell nearly snapped, I bought that with my own money!
His teeth clenched in frustration, but he dared not express his anger. Bowing his head submissively, he replied softly, "Master, I… I was merely curious about the taste and effects of the food. I swear I had no ulterior motives!"
"You'd better not," Voldemort sneered. "This is your only warning. Disobey me again, and you'll be my next host."
A chill swept through Quirrell's body. He glanced nervously at the snake coiled around his neck, unable to suppress a shiver.
This was what terrified him most about Voldemort. In his weakened spiritual form, the Dark Lord couldn't move far on his own. So, he possessed venomous snakes—temporarily.
Quirrell had witnessed this parasitic cycle multiple times. Voldemort had already taken over at least ten serpents. None had lasted more than three days. They would inevitably rot from the inside out, discarded like used rags.
If I were to be parasitized...
The mere thought filled Quirrell with horror. He didn't want to die—not in agony, not in that horrific, humiliating way!
Seeing Quirrell trembling in fear, Voldemort was satisfied that his message had landed. He gave a soft huff of contempt before slithering across the room to the paper bag containing the leftover rock sugar biting cabbage.
The snake moved roughly, tearing into the bag before dragging one of the sugar-coated cabbages into its mouth and swallowing it whole.
A snake's body, of course, could only consume food in the manner of a snake—swallowing it entirely. The bulge slid visibly down its throat, traveling slowly along the snake's esophagus. Then the creature lay motionless atop the table, seemingly focused on digesting its meal.
Quirrell watched the grotesque sight unfold, his expression mixed with discomfort and disbelief.
What a waste, he thought mournfully. What can a snake possibly taste?
But just then, the snake's body suddenly reared up, rigid and tense—almost like it was about to strike. Its cold eyes were wide, filled with an unfamiliar expression: shock.
Alarmed, Quirrell stepped back. "Master? What's wrong?"
"This thing…" Voldemort's voice trembled in disbelief. "It can strengthen my magic!"
Quirrell blinked. "W-What?"
"This… is a miracle!" Voldemort declared.
As a master of dark magic, Voldemort's control over magical flow—especially within his own body—was second to none. And now, as a pure spirit, he was even more attuned to magical fluctuations. He could feel the strengthening effect of the cabbage immediately and unmistakably.
He had become stronger—by at least 15%.
For an ordinary wizard, such a boost would already be significant.
But for a high-level magical entity like Voldemort?
It was unprecedented.
The power that surged through him made the snake's decaying body tremble. It was like magic itself had been infused into every scale, every bone, every nerve.
"Quirrell," Voldemort hissed with renewed vigor, "I need more of these. All of them. Find out where they come from, who made them, and bring them to me."
"Yes, Master," Quirrell said immediately, nodding like a puppet. But deep inside, a new storm was brewing.
Because he already knew the answer.
The food that had delivered such a powerful effect…
...had come from Allen Cecil.
That same evening, Allen stood in his room, counting his Galleons again. He didn't consider himself greedy, but there was something deeply satisfying about the heavy weight of gold in his hands.
More than anything, it was proof—proof that his cooking wasn't just delicious.
It was valuable.
And with his God-given ability—God's Hand—he had the power to turn rare, even dangerous ingredients like dragon liver into unforgettable, potentially miraculous meals.
He returned to the kitchen, glanced at the sealed container of dragon liver, and rolled up his sleeves.
It was time.
He would start with a small test—a slow roast with fire basil and moonstone salt. He had no idea if it would work. But that didn't matter.
His hands moved with natural grace, guided by instinct and magic both.
In another room, not far away, a decaying snake body still twitched slightly as Voldemort absorbed the last of the magic from the cabbage.
Allen had no idea that his food had already begun to change the balance of power in the magical world.
And he certainly didn't know that the Dark Lord himself had taken notice.
But it didn't matter.
Because Allen Cecil was just getting started.
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