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Chapter 17 – Cakes, Tears, and the Holy Father's Heart
"Little Master Darren," said Paggie kindly, "I'll take this man to Professor Dumbledore. You wait here in this sweet shop — the little ones love the cakes."
Before Darren could protest, the house-elf gently guided him into a cozy dessert shop, sat him down, and ordered a slice of cake that looked almost too perfect to eat.
Then, with a polite bow, Paggie vanished in a soft pop — dragging the bruised and babbling Mungdus along.
Darren sighed.
He hadn't meant for things to escalate this much. One simple act of standing up for someone, and suddenly it felt like half of Diagon Alley was involved.
"Guess I'm a trouble magnet after all," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
---
"Not eating your cake, boy?" someone called.
Darren blinked at the untouched dessert in front of him — a small mountain of frosting and color.
It looked delicious.
Still, part of him hesitated. He might be in a child's body, but mentally, he was an adult. Wouldn't it look ridiculous, sitting here alone eating cake like some sugar-addicted five-year-old?
The sweet smell reached him again.
He cracked.
"Well, I can't waste Paggie's money," he reasoned solemnly — and took a bite.
And then another.
And then he forgot all about dignity.
The cake melted in his mouth — light, creamy, impossibly sweet.
He wasn't greedy, of course. He was just making sure it tasted good.
If Paggie asked, he'd say he was doing a "quality check."
That was all. Really.
---
Magic cakes, he soon discovered, didn't have a fixed flavor.
Each bite shifted slightly — a trace of cocoa, a whisper of strawberries, the faint warmth of cinnamon.
Someone had infused it with will magic, so every eater tasted their own favorite flavor.
He couldn't stop himself from smiling.
Even if his smile was dusted with crumbs.
---
An hour later, Paggie reappeared at the door, watching the little master clutching an entire bag of takeaway cakes.
The house-elf sighed fondly and pulled out another handful of gold Galleons.
"Good thing I brought extra," he muttered.
Otherwise, this sweet-toothed little master would've been heartbroken.
Looking at Darren's wide, innocent green eyes and that faint trace of frosting on his cheek, Paggie's heart melted again.
Maybe, he thought, it was time to reopen one of the Potter family's businesses.
After all, James Potter hadn't left nearly enough gold for two children to live comfortably.
When Paggie had checked the vault recently, he had nearly cried.
Were his poor little masters destined to grow up in poverty?
---
"Paggie," Darren said softly, noticing his thoughtful expression, "did I buy too much?"
He looked down, guilt clouding his face.
"I'm sorry. I was just thinking of all the people who've been good to me. I wanted to share something with them.
The first time I've ever had cake this delicious — I wanted Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape, and you… to try it too.
You're so kind to me, Paggie. I don't even know you well yet, but I can tell you're a good person.
I'm sorry if I take your kindness for granted."
His voice grew quieter, and his eyes glistened as he tried not to cry.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host — Holy Father Value +100.]
---
Darren blinked.
Wait—100?
Last time, being kind to Dumbledore had only earned him 25.
And that was Dumbledore. The greatest wizard alive.
So… it wasn't about who was around him.
It was about how deeply they were moved.
He shot an incredulous look at the house-elf.
"So the more emotional the person, the higher the value?"
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then Dumbledore's problem isn't that he's wise — he's just emotionally stingy."
Darren frowned dramatically. Old fox.
Maybe he'd add a little surprise in Dumbledore's next cake — a harmless dungbomb, perhaps. Just for balance.
---
Meanwhile, Paggie was wiping his eyes with a trembling handkerchief, overcome with emotion.
"Oh, little Master Darren," he sniffled. "You're too kind! I'm just an old house-elf on his last legs, and you… you thought of me! You even bought me cake!"
The elf sobbed so loudly the waitress looked over.
Paggie's voice broke. "No one's been this kind to Paggie since Master James! Even with your own money—oh, Paggie's heart can't take it!"
---
Darren froze, unsure what to do.
He'd thought house-elves in the books were exaggerated — dramatic, messy, emotional little creatures.
But now, watching Paggie wail like someone at a funeral, Darren's scalp tingled.
"D-Don't cry…" he stammered, hands half-raised. "Please, don't cry!"
The more he begged, the louder Paggie sobbed.
Darren sighed helplessly. "If you keep crying like this, I'll be too scared to accept Holy Father points from you ever again!"
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