Two thousand Galleons is no small amount—especially not for someone like Allen, who once had to take out loans just to attend school. Back then, Allen had even deposited all his remaining money into Professor McGonagall's vault to avoid bearing the burden of a five-hundred-Galleon loan—with interest.
But now, things had changed.
Allen's candy business was running smoothly. He was practically getting cramps in his hands from counting the cash flowing in while also handling the cooking.
That kind of money?
It wasn't a problem anymore.
Allen was no longer the struggling student from two months ago. Though only a short time had passed, there was no denying how far he had come. Now, Allen could stand his ground.
Two thousand Galleons? Just a number.
Without a second thought, Allen went straight to Hodge—a big player in the business world—and withdrew 2,500 Galleons. Two thousand of that went to Alberta so she could repay her loan, and the remaining five hundred was for Alberta herself.
After all, money is essential when you're about to go abroad.
As Allen's first employee, how could he allow her to be short on funds?
Though Alberta didn't say much when she received the money, her heart swelled with gratitude. Without delay, she packed her bags and made preparations for her journey abroad.
If it had been anyone else, Allen might have worried whether they would take the money and vanish. But Alberta had already proven her character.
Allen trusted her completely.
While she sometimes pushed boundaries and didn't always follow the rules, Alberta was, in Allen's eyes, a man of unwavering principles—morally flawed perhaps, but undeniably consistent.
The whole process took time—running errands, managing money, clearing debts. By the time Allen finished everything, dusk had already fallen.
He was just about to head back to the bar when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
By sheer coincidence, he found himself standing in front of Ollivander's Wand Shop.
The wand Allen currently used wasn't technically his—it was one he had borrowed from Ollivander. A wand worth twelve thousand Galleons.
Compared to Alberta's three-thousand-Galleon debt, Allen's own situation was far more daunting. In fact, his total debt was not even twelve thousand.
It was sixteen thousand two hundred Galleons.
That included the student loan provided by the Ministry of Magic.
Should he go in and see Mr. Ollivander?
He remembered the old wandmaker had even offered him a part-time job when he heard about Allen's financial struggles. Though Allen had never taken him up on it, school was starting soon, and it seemed only right to pay his respects.
He checked the time. It was still early.
After a moment's thought, Allen decided to go in.
The shop's old wooden door creaked open.
Inside, Ollivander's Wand Shop was quiet—no customers in sight. The gray-haired Ollivander sat behind the counter, carefully maintaining a wand.
His movements were delicate and focused, as if he were tending to a precious artifact—or a beautiful woman's hand. With a soft cloth, he gently applied wand oil in even strokes.
The welcoming bell rang softly as Allen stepped inside. Ollivander glanced up but didn't hurry. He calmly completed the last step of maintenance before lifting his head.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Welcome to Ollivander's Wand Shop," he greeted, his tone composed. "Are you here to buy a wand, have one repaired, or just need some maintenance?"
But then his eyes focused, and a smile appeared on his face.
"Ah, look who it is—the most celebrated chef in all of Diagon Alley. Mr. Allen Cecil."
Allen smiled modestly. "You're too kind. It's just a silly nickname."
He meant it. What did the title of "chef" matter in the presence of the Master of Wands? Even Dumbledore treated this old man with the utmost respect.
"I'm just amazed," Ollivander continued, placing the wand down gently. "At first, I thought you were just an ordinary young wizard. Who would've imagined you'd become so well-known in just two months? I've heard your cooking is so good that some people even fight just to get a spot in line."
Allen blinked. Fight to get in line?
He hadn't heard about that before.
Now that he thought about it, some regular customers had mysteriously stopped showing up, and some patrons began appearing with suspiciously altered appearances—or even sent house elves in their place.
Unbeknownst to Allen, Tom had implemented strict silence rules for the queue, so that customers wouldn't distract him while he cooked. As a result, Allen had remained completely unaware of the behind-the-scenes duels for queue spots, and even the black-market trades of positions in line.
Still, even if he had known, Allen wouldn't have said a word. Causing offense by meddling in such matters wasn't his style.
"You're far too generous with your praise," Allen said, smiling. Then he pulled out a carefully wrapped snack. "This is my homemade rock sugar-braised cabbage. Please try it."
"Then I won't be polite," Ollivander chuckled, accepting the snack. He examined it for a moment and then looked up. "So, tell me, Mr. Cecil—why did you suddenly decide to visit my humble shop? Don't tell me… you've made enough money to pay off your debt?"
Allen gave a bitter smile. "Come now, Mr. Ollivander, don't joke like that. Twelve thousand Galleons isn't something I can come up with just yet."
"That's perfectly understandable," Ollivander said kindly. "So then… you came today simply to bid me farewell?"
Allen nodded. "Yes. You were generous enough to let me take the wand without paying upfront. I felt I should come thank you in person before school starts—both out of courtesy and principle."
"There's no need to thank me," Ollivander replied. Then his expression changed slightly. He leaned forward and said in a more measured tone, "Just don't blame me for persuading you to take that wand."
Then, his eyes locked onto Allen's.
"Actually… I have a request. If you can fulfill it, I won't charge you a single Galleon for that wand."
Allen's heart skipped a beat.
"A request?" he asked cautiously, his guard up. "What kind of request?"
The chance to erase a twelve-thousand-Galleon debt sounded like an incredible opportunity—at first.
But the more he thought about it, the more unsettling it became.
What kind of favor could possibly be worth twelve thousand Galleons?
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