After the initial shock to his taste buds wore off, Lucien forced himself to think analytically about what had just happened.
He sat back from the pot, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and tried to assess the physical changes. That warm current spreading through his chest had definitely done something. His mind felt clearer, the exhaustion had eased, and even the chill he had been fighting since yesterday felt less severe.
But it was subtle. Nothing like the immediate, dramatic effects described in his potions textbook.
It felt more psychological than anything else. Like when you're knackered and someone hands you a proper cup of tea with biscuits, and suddenly the world seems slightly less awful. Comfort food elevated to an art form.
"Of course it's not a real potion. Real potions taste like arse."
He stared at the pot, mentally retracing every step of his preparation. The ingredients were completely ordinary. The seasonings were a mystery grab bag, but nothing magical about spices.
The only unusual element had been the failed Transfiguration attempt. He had tried to turn the mushrooms pink and watched them shift briefly before reverting to their original grey.
Could that have done something? Could it have changed the fundamental nature of the ingredients in a way his textbooks had never mentioned?
"No," he said aloud, testing the theory. "That's mad. If Transfiguration made food taste better, every Hufflepuff would be acing the subject just to improve their cooking."
Unless it was something specific to his situation. The combination of magical interference and mundane ingredients. Or maybe the magic had activated some property in the mushrooms that already existed but was normally dormant.
He needed to test this properly, take notes, and run experiments.
But first, he needed to make sure he wasn't imagining the whole thing.
"Lucien?"
He turned to find Carl standing a few meters away, staring at the pot. The boy's eyes were locked on the gently bubbling soup, and even from this distance, he could see him swallow.
"Is that..." Carl stepped closer. "Is that the potion you've been working on?"
Lucien's brain scrambled for an explanation that wouldn't sound completely crazy. Well, you see, I tried to turn mushrooms pink with magic, it failed, and somehow that made the soup taste great. Yeah, that would go over well.
"Sort of," he hedged, going for vague. "Want to try some?"
Carl's face lit up. "Really?"
Lucien grabbed a clean bowl and spoon from his supplies. "Here. Careful, it's hot."
Carl took the bowl with both hands. He didn't immediately dive in, instead, he leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply, his eyes closing for a moment. When he ladled soup into his bowl, he did it slowly, making sure to get a good mix of fish, vegetables, and broth.
Lucien watched him, trying to gauge the reaction. If Carl just thought it was normal soup, then maybe he really had been imagining things.
Carl blew on the first spoonful, and brought it to his mouth.
His eyes widened. The hand holding the spoon tightened. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, as if his brain was having trouble processing what his taste buds were telling him. Then he took another spoonful. And another.
After the fourth or fifth bite, he finally lowered the bowl.
"This..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "This tastes like something my mom used to make before everything went bad. She'd make this mushroom soup with these herbs she'd grow in the garden."
He stared down at the bowl in his hands.
"This is better than hers, though. Don't tell her I said that. I didn't think I'd ever taste anything like this again."
Lucien felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Carl was a kid and he was talking about "before" like the memory of his mother's cooking was something from a past life he'd never get back to.
"I won't say a word," he promised quietly. "The secret's safe with me."
Carl nodded, still looking at the soup. After a moment, he seemed to shake himself out of whatever memory he'd fallen into. "You need help carrying this back? It's pretty heavy."
"Yeah, cheers." Lucien stood, brushing dirt off his trousers. "Figure I owe you lot a proper thank you for the ingredients and all."
"You don't owe us anything," Carl said, but he was already moving to help lift the pot. "We're just glad you're... you know. Here."
They carried the pot between them, moving carefully to avoid spilling. The soup sloshed gently with each step, and the aroma seemed to intensify in the open air.
By the time they reached the campfire, half the camp had already noticed.
Glenn was the first to intercept them. "What is that smell? That smells amazing!"
"Lucien made soup," Carl said.
"Soup?" Morales appeared from his tent. "That doesn't smell like any soup I've ever..."
He stopped mid-sentence as they set the pot down near the fire. The lid had shifted slightly during transport, releasing a fresh wave of aroma that seemed to hit everyone at once.
Lori emerged from the RV, her expression shifting from suspicious to surprised. Dale climbed down from his perch on top of the vehicle, drawn by the commotion. Even Shane, who'd been checking the perimeter, wandered back to see what was going on.
"Jesus," Shane said, staring at the pot. "What did you put in there?"
"Just the stuff the others brought," Lucien said, feeling oddly defensive. "Fish, vegetables, mushrooms. Nothing fancy."
"That's not 'nothing fancy,'" Glenn said. He'd already grabbed a bowl and was ladling soup into it. "That smells like something from a restaurant."
He took a sip, and his eyes went wide.
"Oh my God." Another sip. "Oh my God, this is incredible."
That was apparently all the encouragement everyone else needed. Within seconds, people were crowding around the pot, bowls in hand, jostling for position.
"Careful, there's plenty for everyone," Lucien said, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true given the size of the group and their obvious enthusiasm.
He watched as people tasted the soup. The reactions were almost universal.
Morales' kids drained their bowls in record time and immediately looked to their mother with pleading eyes. Miranda gave them a stern look that lasted all of two seconds before she caved and let them have seconds.
Carol was more reserved, sipping slowly, but Lucien caught the way her eyes closed with each taste, like she was trying to make the experience last. Sophia pushed the biggest piece of fish in her bowl toward her mother with a spoon.
Dale savored his portion like a wine connoisseur, commenting on the "subtle complexity of flavors" and the "remarkable depth." Lucien had no idea if the old man actually knew what he was talking about or was just being posh, but it was oddly gratifying either way.
Lori was the only one who seemed conflicted. She stood near the pot, bowl in hand, watching Lucien.
"Did you..." She hesitated. "Glenn mentioned you were at Harrison Memorial Hospital. Did you learn to cook there?"
Lucien could feel multiple sets of eyes turning toward him, all of them waiting for an answer.
"Er," he said. Then his brain caught up. "No. Nothing like that. I mostly learned from my mom. Before."
Before he'd died and reincarnated into the body of an eleven-year-old wizard.
Before he'd crossed dimensions into a zombie apocalypse.
And before his entire concept of "normal" had been thoroughly demolished.
"Before" covered a lot of ground.
Lori seemed to accept this, though her expression didn't fully relax. She took a sip of the soup, and her eyebrows rose.
"This is really good," she admitted, sounding almost annoyed about it.
Shane was more direct. He'd claimed a bowl, tasted it, and immediately went back for seconds. When he settled down by the fire, he looked at Lucien with something approaching respect.
"He's got skills," he said to Rick, who'd been hanging back, observing. "Gotta give him that."
Rick finally accepted a bowl from Lori. He tried it, nodded appreciatively, and met Lucien's eyes across the fire.
"Thank you," he said simply. "This is good."
Coming from Rick, that felt like high praise.
For a while, the camp was quiet except for the sounds of eating and the occasional satisfied sigh. The tension that had been hanging over everyone since the walker attack seemed to ease slightly.
Lucien found himself relaxing. Maybe it did not matter why it tasted so good. Maybe the effect itself was the point, giving people a moment of normalcy and comfort in a world that offered very little of either.
Miranda was the first to break the silence.
"How did you make this taste like this? Is there some kind of special ingredient?"
Lucien thought about the failed Transfiguration spell. He thought about the way the mushrooms had briefly turned pink before reverting. He thought about the possibility that he had accidentally done something to the ingredients that should not have been possible.
"I think it might be the seasonings Duane brought," he said, which wasn't technically a lie. "One of them must be a bit special."
Miranda nodded thoughtfully, apparently satisfied with this explanation.
Near the edge of the camp, Lucien noticed Merle standing alone, holding an empty bowl. The man was licking his lips, clearly wanting more, but making no move to get it. After a moment, he set the bowl down and headed toward where Daryl was checking his crossbow.
Lucien could not hear what they were saying, but he could read their body language. Merle gestured as he spoke. Daryl responded with short, sharp movements.
Then Merle followed Daryl into the woods, presumably to check the hunting traps.
As they disappeared into the trees, Lucien caught a fragment of their conversation drifting back:
"...really just gonna stay here?"
"What else we gonna do?" Daryl's response was flat.
The rest was lost to distance.
Lucien turned his attention back to the fire, where the group was finishing their meals. The pot was nearly empty now, scraped clean by multiple servings.
The brief moment of peace couldn't last forever.
Dale was the one who brought reality crashing back.
"We need to talk about what we're doing next. The quarry isn't safe anymore. Last night proved that."
The group's mood shifted immediately.
Rick nodded, standing up so he could address everyone. "Dale's right. We can't stay here." He looked around the circle of faces, all watching him. "I think we should head to the CDC."
"The Centers for Disease Control?" Morales asked, surprised. "Is that place even still running?"
"I don't know," Rick admitted. "But if any government facility is still operational, it'd be that one. They'd prioritize protecting it. And maybe they're still working on a cure. Maybe there's a chance—"
"Rick." Shane stood up. "You really think the CDC is gonna save us? The government couldn't even handle the initial outbreak. What makes you think they've got anything useful left?"
The two men stared at each other across the fire.
Before Rick could respond, another voice spoke up.
"Actually, I just had an idea too."
Everyone turned to look at Lucien.
"What if we went to Fort Benning instead?"