Harry and Ronald—one uninterested, the other broke—but Alan? Alan was definitely interested.
Ever since arriving in Diagon Alley, he'd been studying recipes and ingredients. He hadn't even made time to buy snacks. Sure, these wizarding treats looked flashy and strayed from the essence of real food, but they still held a sense of childlike charm.
Maybe this was his way of making up for a childhood he never had? When he watched the movies, he always thought the Chocolate Frogs were magical.
"Please give me a little of each," Allen said to the old witch running the trolley, reaching into his robes to pay.
But Harry quickly stopped him.
"Alan, you've treated me to so many things already. Let me get this."
Naturally, Allen wouldn't refuse a kind gesture. He nodded, accepting Harry's offer.
To Ronald's astonishment, Harry pulled out a few gleaming gold coins. As someone who rarely had more than ten Knuts in his pocket, Ronald looked on in awe and envy.
The trolley snacks weren't particularly expensive. In Allen's eyes, anything that cost less than a Galleon was pocket change.
A mountain of sweets was soon piled onto the seat, making Ronald look as thrilled as a mouse in a rice vat. Harry hadn't seemed that interested at first, but after Ronald began introducing each treat with enthusiasm, even he got swept up in the fun.
After all, they were still just kids, and the novelty of magical sweets was hard to resist.
Take the Bubao Super Bubble Gum, for instance. It could blow gigantic bubbles that floated through the air for ages without popping. Fascinating… but ultimately pointless.
Allen gave it a quick glance and lost interest. He didn't know the exact reason, but he had a general rule—if food was designed to be more fun than flavorful, it usually didn't taste good. He sniffed one of the floating bubbles and caught a faint medicinal smell.
He guessed it was made from a gel with a levitating property, mixed with syrup. From a culinary perspective, it was unimpressive, and the taste? A weird, overly sweet concoction. No depth, no value. Just another gimmick.
Besides the Bubao gum, there were also crucible cakes—molded into the shape of tiny cauldrons with a surprisingly delicate texture. Then there were licorice wands, which looked fascinating but tasted appalling.
Especially the licorice ones.
Allen had no love for licorice to begin with, and these were practically coated in star anise. They called it "licorice," but the dominant flavor was unmistakably aniseed. To him, it was nothing short of candy hell.
Then, of course, there were the famous Chocolate Frogs. These enchanted treats hopped around as if alive. If you didn't catch one fast enough, it would leap away like a real frog. Magical? Definitely. Tasty? Not so much. Just overly sweet chocolate with a fun presentation.
Allen approached these sweets like a real gourmand—examining, sampling, evaluating. While they failed to spark any inspiration, there was still something satisfying about sharing food with friends.
One candy he didn't bother trying was Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
Allen saw no reason to torture his taste buds. Gambling with flavor—possibly biting into something that tasted like vomit, earwax, or worse—was not his idea of fun. So when Ronald eagerly held out a handful and urged him to try one, Allen politely declined.
"Sorry," Allen said, straight-faced, "It's almost lunchtime. Snacks aren't appropriate meal substitutes."
He wasn't lying. His appetite was enormous—larger than most adults—and since he'd only sampled small portions of the sweets, he was genuinely getting hungry.
When you're hungry, you eat. And compared to the weird, sugary gimmicks on the trolley, nothing could top a meal prepared by his own hand.
Allen had even skipped the traditional pre-departure feast just to pack his own lunch.
From his backpack, he carefully pulled out an elegant lunch box. The moment he opened it, a rich, savory aroma burst forth.
Ronald, mid-bite into a towering crucible cake, froze. The cake slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor.
At that exact moment, the door to the compartment slid open. A girl with frizzy hair and a shy, round-faced boy stood at the entrance.
"Excuse me, have you seen a toad—" the girl began.
But before she could finish, the aroma from Allen's lunch hit them.
The scent practically danced across their senses—complex, hearty, and deeply tempting.
"What is that smell?" the girl asked, her voice filled with surprise and confusion.
"Why does it smell so familiar?" the boy mumbled, his nose twitching.
"Someone's eating something amazing," came a voice from the corridor.
It was lunch hour, and most of the students were making do with packed sandwiches or treats from the trolley. When this mysterious, heavenly aroma wafted into the hall, it sent students into a frenzy. Heads popped out of compartments. Noses twitched. The corridor began to stir like a pack of bloodhounds catching a scent.
Allen froze.
Zombie siege scenario, he thought. And I'm the fresh meat.
The lunch box in his lap felt like it was glowing. He could practically hear their stomachs rumbling outside.
He had social anxiety. If strangers burst in asking to share his lunch, he wouldn't know how to say no. Wouldn't it be better to just… not give them the chance?
"Get in, quick," Allen whispered, grabbing the girl and the round-faced boy and yanking them into the compartment. He shut and locked the door behind them.
The smell was still leaking out, but at least the door would prevent a full-scale invasion.
The girl and boy were now sitting across from him, clearly stunned.
What just happened? their expressions seemed to ask.
One moment, they were asking about a toad. The next, they were practically kidnapped into a room full of sweets and a gourmet lunch.
Harry and Ronald didn't seem to mind. Ronald was still trying to salvage the remains of his dropped cake, and Harry watched Allen with curious eyes.
"What's in that box?" he asked.
Allen smiled slightly. "Lunch."
The fragrance continued to swirl around the small space—savory, complex, full of buttery richness and umami. It was like the scent of a high-end French restaurant had snuck aboard the Hogwarts Express.
Even the frizzy-haired girl, despite her confusion, couldn't help but lean forward.
"That smells better than anything I've ever had," she said, and the round-faced boy nodded vigorously.
Allen opened a compartment in the lunch box, revealing neatly packed portions: golden fried chicken over herb rice, slow-cooked mushrooms in a butter glaze, and tender vegetables seasoned just right. Even a small dish of pickled radish sparkled beside a soft bun.
For Allen, cooking wasn't just a chore—it was a discipline, an art. He may not have found inspiration in magical candy, but in this carefully prepared meal, he found satisfaction.
"Want to try something normal?" he asked the newcomers, offering a small dish to the round-faced boy.
The boy hesitated, then took a bite. His eyes widened.
"This is amazing," he said, crumbs flying from his mouth.
The girl tried some too. Her face lit up. "It's... it's perfectly balanced," she murmured. "Is that lemon thyme? And roasted garlic?"
Allen blinked. "You have a sharp tongue."
She flushed slightly but looked pleased.
Ronald reached over, mouth full, "Allen, I swear, if you opened a restaurant, I'd eat there every day."
Harry nodded. "You made all of this?"
Allen shrugged modestly. "Just a little hobby."
The train rolled on through the countryside, the magical candy pile now mostly ignored as everyone focused on Allen's incredible lunch.
Even Ronald seemed to forget about the sweets. He nibbled on a glazed mushroom, his eyes dreamy. "This... this is better than Mum's Sunday roast."
Eventually, the lunch was finished, the compartments repacked, and the newcomers finally remembered why they had arrived in the first place.
"Oh! Trevor!" the round-faced boy suddenly exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "My toad! I still haven't found him!"
The girl stood too. "We should go. Thank you for the food—and, um, for dragging us in?"
Allen gave them a small smile. "You're welcome. Good luck finding your toad."
They slipped out, still dazed, still licking their lips.
Allen leaned back, finally full.
Outside, the corridor was quiet again. The scent had faded, and the horde had dispersed.
Crisis averted.
And in that peaceful moment, surrounded by empty dishes and friends dozing off, Allen finally felt satisfied—not just from the food, but from the shared joy of it.
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