Hagrid had been unusually busy these days, though not because anyone had given him extra duties. He had, as usual, managed to create trouble for himself.
Normally, he only patrolled the Forbidden Forest once or twice a day. It was routine: a slow walk along the edge of the trees, lantern in hand, his hound Fang (affectionately called Yaya) padding faithfully behind him. But recently things had changed. Now he wandered the forest at all sorts of odd hours—morning, afternoon, well past midnight—sometimes going in two or three times in the span of a few hours. Worse, he had begun sending Yaya on shorter, independent runs, forcing the poor dog to keep his ears pricked and his nose sharp, as though a ferocious basilisk were about to leap from behind every tree.
This constant vigilance tormented the hound, who much preferred sleeping in front of Hagrid's fireplace to sniffing damp roots and muddy tracks at all hours. But it also tormented more than just Hagrid and his pet.
The Weasley twins, Fred and George, had also found themselves caught in the fallout.
The family's finances were never particularly abundant—everyone at Hogwarts knew that. So, when it came to their experiments, the twins had developed a rather practical philosophy: why spend money when nature provided free resources? And where could one find more magical ingredients than the sprawling, mysterious Forbidden Forest?
To Fred and George, the place was like a gold mine. Free plants, beasts, and materials grew wild under the canopy. Pick the right items, bring them back to their workshop, and they could brew, test, and tinker without having to beg for pocket money from their parents. Sometimes they even sold the odd potion or charmed trinket to their classmates to fund more ambitious ideas.
Unfortunately, their "mine" had been locked away these past days.
Every time they sneaked toward the treeline, Hagrid would appear, stomping along with Yaya or shining his lantern between the trunks. Twice already they had nearly been caught red-handed, saved only by their sharp reflexes and some very fast ducking behind bushes.
"What's wrong with Hagrid today? Has he gone completely mad?" George muttered, his voice full of frustration as they slipped back toward the castle after yet another failed attempt.
Fred sighed dramatically. "Who knows? Maybe some creature in the forest stole his underwear. A troll, perhaps?" He clutched his side as if still catching his breath. "Either way, he's watching the place like a hawk. Forget it for today—we'll see if he loosens up tomorrow."
The brothers felt thoroughly deflated. They had barely managed any experiments during the summer holidays at home, and they had returned to school eager to make up for lost time. But now, every attempt at gathering materials ended in failure.
As they trudged back through the corridors, heads drooping like wilted mandrakes, they nearly collided with a student walking the opposite way.
It was Allen, fresh from his Herbology lesson.
Allen had always enjoyed Herbology more than most of his classmates. To him, it was less "schoolwork" and more like cultivating useful herbs, each plant a potential tool or seasoning. Even in first year, where the curriculum mostly involved mundane magical flora without particularly dangerous abilities, Allen had already learned plenty. He had even identified several plants that might work as spices or condiments. He was eager to experiment with them the next time he had a chance.
So, when he nearly walked into two dejected Weasleys, he raised an eyebrow in amusement.
"Why do you two look like you've just lost the Quidditch Cup?" Allen asked, pretending not to know.
"Cecil!" Fred and George looked up at once, recognizing him, and immediately brightened. They rushed forward eagerly.
Allen narrowed his eyes. He had known the twins long enough to be wary. "What are you up to?" he asked cautiously. Mischief usually followed them like a cloud, and Allen had no intention of being their next victim. He trusted his quick reflexes, though. If it came to a scuffle, he was confident he could subdue both of them—his physical conditioning and sharp reactions were system-certified, after all.
"Don't be so suspicious," Fred said, looking slightly embarrassed. "We actually wanted to ask you a favor."
Allen crossed his arms. "What kind of favor?"
George leaned closer, grinning sheepishly. "Any chance you could… share a bit more of that dragon liver you had the other day?"
Allen didn't hesitate. He stretched out his hand. "Sure. Five Galleons a portion."
The twins' faces immediately fell.
"That's robbery!" George protested. "We haven't had a proper meal since last night! Someone robbed us…"
"Robbed you?" Allen raised an eyebrow. "From what I heard, you auctioned off your own ten portions last night. Don't try to act pitiful—you made a small fortune, didn't you?"
Both twins froze, glancing at each other guiltily.
"Ah… who told you that?" Fred muttered under his breath.
Allen rolled his eyes. "Word gets around. Anyway, what are you really doing here? Shouldn't you be at dinner?"
The brothers exchanged a glance. Then, lowering their voices, they leaned close to Allen.
"Truth is… we were going to sneak into the Forbidden Forest. But Hagrid's been patrolling nonstop, and we can't get near."
Allen's expression softened into amusement. "Then don't go. Wait until he stops. If you hang about too much, you'll only make him more suspicious. Better to lie low for a week or two until his guard drops."
The advice made sense, but the twins still looked miserable.
"We know you're right," George admitted.
"But we can't just sit around idle!" Fred added.
Allen studied them for a moment, then said casually, "If you're that bored, how about working for me instead? You'll even earn a bit of money."
That snapped them out of their gloom. Their eyes lit up immediately.
"Really? What do you need?" they asked in unison.
Allen smirked. "I'm going to sell some candies. Meet me tomorrow morning at six sharp, outside the kitchen. Don't be late."
The twins blinked. Candies? At six in the morning? They weren't sure what to expect.
"Wait—Cecil, can't you give us a hint first?" Fred pressed. The meeting place seemed suspiciously close to food, but surely Allen didn't need them to taste-test meals. House-elves could do that far better.
Allen simply gave them a knowing look. "Be on time. If you're late, don't bother coming at all. I prefer people who are punctual."
And with that, he walked away.
The next morning arrived far too soon.
Fred and George groaned loudly as the dormitory bell tolled five-thirty. Every fiber of their being wanted to stay curled up under the blankets, but curiosity gnawed at them. Allen had been serious—if they missed the meeting, they might lose the chance for pocket money.
So, dragging themselves out of bed like two half-dead zombies, they washed, dressed, and stumbled down to the kitchens. They arrived just before six, panting slightly but triumphant.
"Right on time," Allen remarked, already waiting in front of the enchanted portrait that led to the kitchens. With a practiced motion, he scratched the pear in the fruit bowl, turning it into a handle, and swung the door open. "Follow me."
The twins obeyed, curiosity burning brighter with each step.
The Hogwarts kitchens were already bustling with activity. House-elves scurried to and fro, preparing breakfast for hundreds of students above. Pots clanged, kettles whistled, and the air was rich with the smell of butter, bread, and roasting sausages. Fred and George had been here before, of course—but only after mealtimes, when the elves were freer to slip them leftovers. They had never seen the place in full swing.
"Mr. Cecil, you're here." A house-elf named Kelly hurried over, bowing low. "Everything you requested is prepared. Please, this way."
The twins exchanged bewildered glances but followed. Kelly led them to a stove where ingredients were neatly arranged in piles: cleaned biting cabbage larvae, already processed, and large sacks of sugar.
Allen turned to them. "Wait here a moment."
Then he rolled up his sleeves and approached the stove. Since every oven was occupied by busy house-elves, Allen didn't bother with conventional baking. Instead, he had devised a quicker, more innovative method.
First, he fried the larvae that had been soaked in sugar water and dried. Once they were golden and crisp, he poured in a generous amount of sugar. Normally, the process of creating Rock Sugar Biting Cabbage required carefully baking each piece, brushing it with syrup, and coating it layer by layer. Slow, tedious, and limited in quantity.
But Allen had recently improved the recipe.
Rather than baking, he used a traditional culinary technique known as shredded sugar drawing. By heating oil and sugar together, then relying on the insolubility between them, he could create a delicate crystalline coating. Dropping the fried larvae into the hot sugar-oil mixture, he stirred quickly. Then, in a deft motion, he transferred the coated larvae straight into cold water.
The sudden temperature change caused the sugar to crystallize instantly, forming a hard, glassy shell. The result: perfect rock-sugar-coated cabbage in seconds instead of minutes.
The twins watched in awe as Allen repeated the process smoothly. In less than a minute, he had produced what normally took a quarter of an hour.
Not only was it faster, but the finished candy looked dazzling—golden shards of sugar catching the light, each crunchy cabbage gleaming like a jewel. The smell was sweet but faintly savory, carrying a tantalizing hint of something more exotic.
Allen set down the ladle with satisfaction. "This," he announced, "is my improved Rock Sugar Biting Cabbage. Faster, more efficient, and tastier than the old method."
Fred and George leaned closer, eyes wide.
"Brilliant…" George whispered.
"Genius!" Fred added, already imagining the profits.
Allen smirked. "Glad you like it. Now, how would you two like to help me sell it?"
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