Allen's operation was so smooth and practiced that the Weasley twins were utterly stunned. They didn't even come back to their senses until the very first pot of rock sugar–bitten cabbage had been scooped out and placed in cold water to set.
"It's amazing," Fred murmured, his eyes wide as he watched the glistening chunks cool down. To him, the way Allen handled the wok and spatula was even more mesmerizing than magic itself. Cooking at such speed and precision, flames leaping and crackling under the heavy iron pot, carried a vitality and strength that was worlds apart from what he saw at the Burrow. When his mother cooked, she usually waved her wand lazily, levitating pans and stirring stews without breaking a sweat. That always struck Fred as efficient but… girly, too soft. This, however—this was awesome. Real fire, real smoke, and food that smelled so good it made his stomach growl.
Before Fred could drift too deeply into admiration, George elbowed him lightly, shifting his gaze away from Allen's dazzling display of culinary skill and back to the translucent, jewel-like rock sugar cabbages cooling in the water basin. They sparkled under the light as if they had been carved from crystal.
"I heard from Ron that just three of these sugar-biting cabbages cost one Galleon in Diagon Alley," George remarked, keeping his voice low but unable to hide the awe.
Fred's jaw dropped. "So expensive!" He blinked rapidly, trying to calculate. "Wait a second… then that Cecil fellow who asked us to come over here for the Eighth Five Year Plan…"
"Maybe he wants us to help him sell them," George interrupted, though his tone carried no excitement. Instead, there was the faintest trace of worry. His brows knitted together. "But that price… it's too high. I'd bet more than seventy percent of the students at Hogwarts wouldn't be able to afford even a single piece."
Fred's enthusiasm dimmed as reality set in. "Yeah, you're right. Even if these sell easily in Diagon Alley, it's different here. Sure, a handful of students from rich families might afford them, but most don't bring much pocket money to school." He scratched his head in frustration. If Allen really expected them to run the business, they might be stuck in a dilemma—either disappoint him or fail miserably at selling.
Just as the two brothers exchanged troubled looks, Allen finished with the last pot. With effortless movements, he lifted out a final batch of the candy, each piece glimmering with a glossy coat, and wiped his hands on a clean cloth. His expression was calm, but his eyes twinkled knowingly.
"Don't worry yourselves unnecessarily," Allen said as he arranged the cooling cabbages. "You don't have to sell to the students. How much money could you really expect from them? Do you honestly think making money is that easy?" His tone wasn't scolding but carried the weight of someone who had already thought several steps ahead.
The twins blinked. Allen had overheard their worries. He understood their concerns better than they realized—but it turned out he had never planned to target their classmates in the first place.
"Oh! Got it!" George exclaimed as both brothers hurried forward to help with the packing. Relief softened the tension in their faces.
"Careful with your hands," Allen reminded them. "This sugar coating is more fragile than normal rock sugar cabbages. Handle them gently. They're light, crisp, and the sweetness is more delicate. One wrong move and they'll crack."
Allen carefully separated two portions, wrapped them neatly, and handed them to Kelly, who had been waiting quietly nearby. "Kelly, please deliver these to Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout's offices."
"No problem, sir. Leave it to us," Kelly replied brightly before vanishing with the packages.
George tilted his head, curiosity gleaming. "Why give them to McGonagall and Sprout?"
"Because the ingredients came from the school's greenhouse," Allen explained matter-of-factly. "We used them without paying, so naturally, we ought to show some courtesy. A small gesture goes a long way."
The twins exchanged glances. They hadn't even considered that, but it made perfect sense. Allen wasn't just clever with cooking—he understood relationships, politics, and etiquette far beyond what they were used to.
In no time, the three of them had packed all the finished candies. The glossy little treasures were placed into bags, each containing seven perfect pieces. When the last bundle was tied, they counted over a hundred bags in total, neatly arranged like stacks of miniature treasure chests.
Not wanting the twins to feel unrewarded for their help, Allen reached into the pile of rejects—pieces where the sugar had cracked, leaving them sharp and uneven like flawed diamonds. He handed two to the boys. "Here. You're both in third year, right?"
"That's right." George and Fred each accepted a piece, astonished. "Are these for us?"
"Of course. Try them." Allen popped one into his mouth with a grin.
The twins did the same. Instantly, the fragile sugar shell cracked between their teeth, shattering like brittle ice, releasing a faint floral fragrance that mingled with the tender crunch of cabbage. The sweetness wasn't cloying but light and refreshing, with just enough crispiness to keep them chewing in delight. Their eyes widened; they had never tasted anything like it.
For several moments, they were so enraptured that neither managed to utter a single word. Allen, used to such reactions, waited patiently before finally speaking. "Don't be stunned. Did you hear what I asked earlier?"
George, always the quicker to recover, swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes—you asked if we were in third year. We are."
"Good," Allen continued. "That means you're permitted to visit Hogsmeade on weekends, correct?"
"Yes, we can go," Fred replied, smirking mischievously. "But George and I don't have to wait until weekends, you know. We've got our… ways." He arched his eyebrows meaningfully.
George grinned too. In their minds, Allen was the same fearless boy who had dared to challenge Dumbledore during the Sorting Feast. To them, he was cut from the same cloth as a true Gryffindor—bold, rebellious, and trustworthy. If anyone could understand their taste for rule-breaking, it was Allen.
But Allen shook his head. "I know you're familiar with the secret passages, but that's not necessary. Next time you go to Hogsmeade, simply take these candies with you. Someone will be waiting to meet you there. That person will handle the selling."
The twins exchanged surprised looks. Allen wasn't asking them to hawk sweets outside Honeydukes like nervous first-years—he had already set up the network.
"Wait—you mean we just carry the candies to Hogsmeade and hand them off?" George asked, half-relieved and half-skeptical. "I don't think that's a good idea. You may not realize that—"
"I know," Allen cut in smoothly. "There's a famous candy shop there, Honeydukes, right? Don't worry about them. There are plenty of candy shops in Diagon Alley too, but none of them threaten what I'm building. Competition doesn't scare me." His calm confidence sounded almost domineering to the twins' ears.
He went on, "These candies will be priced at ten Galleons per pack. Don't concern yourselves with whether that's too high. You're not selling to Hogwarts students. The customers in Hogsmeade will already know the price before they come. No bargaining, no fuss."
George and Fred's jaws nearly hit the floor. Ten Galleons for seven candies? That was outrageous—but at the same time, if Allen was so certain, maybe he knew something they didn't.
"Now," Allen said with a sly smile, "let's discuss the matter you're most curious about—your payment."
Both brothers leaned forward eagerly, anticipation lighting their faces.
"I'll give you ten Sickles commission for every pack delivered. There are one hundred and twenty packs here. If you sell them all, you'll earn seventy Galleons and ten Sickles in total."
Allen paused briefly, realizing he had taken out ten packs earlier for his personal reserve. His mental arithmetic faltered for a heartbeat—wizarding currency conversions were maddening. Still, he straightened quickly, focusing again on the twins. "So, do you have any objections?"
For once in their lives, the twins were struck silent. Fred's mouth opened, then closed. George finally managed to croak, "I don't object, but isn't that… a bit too much money?"
Allen chuckled softly. "I decide how much to pay you. I value you two, and I'm more than happy to give you this commission. But I'll say this plainly: while I trust your character, don't even think about pocketing money that doesn't belong to you."
"Of course not!" Fred exclaimed, thumping his chest proudly. "We'd never take a single Knut that isn't ours. If you're trusting us with this, then we'll prove worthy of it."
"Exactly," George added earnestly. "We're pranksters, not thieves."
Allen's smile widened. He reached into the pile and handed each of them a full bag of candies. "Good. Then let's call this a gift to celebrate our partnership. Happy cooperation, my new agents. From now on, the two of you will represent me."
The twins beamed, clutching the bags like treasure. For once, their usual mischief gave way to genuine excitement. A new venture had just begun, and with Allen's guidance, they could already sense it was going to be extraordinary.
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