Kronk's summer had been anything but peaceful.
After weeks of running from the Amazons who chased him with a devotion as intense as it was dangerous, he had finally managed to lose them on an improvised raft that carried him downstream until he met a merchant. In exchange for several dishes of improvised cooking (because Kronk never traveled without his spices and trusty cast-iron pan), the merchant offered him passage on a ship bound for England.
During the voyage, Kronk had become the anonymous hero of the crew: he cooked stews that healed homesickness, tied ropes with a skill that left the sailors speechless, and even lifted an entire barrel of rum onto his shoulder as if it were a sack of flour.
Of course, he thought all of this was perfectly normal—but to everyone else, it was like traveling with a clueless demigod.
When he finally set foot on European soil, Kronk felt relieved. Still, he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder now and then: the Amazons had sworn to find him, and he had a feeling they meant it.
Fortunately, Hogwarts was remote and well protected.
With his trunk slung over one shoulder and a basket full of papayas in the other—payment in kind for Hagrid's summer pumpkins from previous years—Kronk rode back to the castle in a carriage. The thestrals pulling it behaved unusually docilely in his presence.
As for the food truck? Too dented to drive. He'd have to fix it up and give it a new paint job later. And maybe remove the spears and arrows stuck in the taillights—for safety reasons.
When he arrived, the sight of the illuminated castle filled him with a childlike excitement. It was a place where, despite the deadly trials and dangerous spells (mostly caused by the students themselves), he felt vaguely at home.
It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
"Ah, the school," he said to himself with an inspiring smile. "Nothing weird ever happens here, just the usual mischief."
Of course, he had no idea what was about to begin.
In the Great Hall, the tables were packed with students returning from their holidays. Everyone was buzzing with excitement about the special year ahead: an ancient, thrilling, and dangerous tournament would be revived at Hogwarts.
No one talked about anything else.
Kronk dropped into his seat with a satisfied sigh. Harry and Ron greeted him enthusiastically from the Gryffindor table; Hermione shot him a suspicious look (as if she sensed there was something strange about him), but no one asked about his summer.
Good thing—his summer hadn't exactly been family-friendly.
For Kronk, keeping the secret was a matter of pure logic: how could he explain that an entire tribe wanted to make him their official stud?
No, no, no… that could never come to light.
As for those rumors...
"Quick question," he said between bites. "Does this tournament include a baking contest?
Because I've got a cheesecake recipe that can win anything."
An awkward silence followed—then bursts of laughter.
Ron nearly choked from laughing so hard!
Hermione, however, rolled her eyes.
"Kronk, it's not a cooking contest. It's a very, very dangerous magic tournament," she said, knowing well what it entailed—she had read about it. "And it hasn't been held in a long time."
Kronk tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Dangerous like stepping on a giant beehive?" he tried to clarify. "Or more like slipping on a freshly waxed hallway?"
"More like risking your life in deadly trials," Hermione replied with a frown. She didn't like the idea of the tournament if it was true.
They called it glory, but essentially, they picked a handful of students and threw them into danger like circus animals—all in the name of so-called honor and fame.
Ridiculous!
If what she had read was correct, the danger was absurdly high compared to the reward.
The words had barely left her mouth when Dumbledore rose from the staff table, raising his hand as if to reach for the stars painted on the Great Hall's ceiling.
The crowd fell silent at once. With that calm, solemn tone that seemed to fill the entire room (magically amplified), the Headmaster began to speak.
"This year will be remembered as a milestone in Hogwarts' history. We have the honor of hosting the revival of an ancient tradition: the Triwizard Tournament."
An excited murmur rippled through the Great Hall at the confirmation of the rumors, while others exchanged nervous glances.
Dumbledore explained that only of-age students could participate, that the tasks would test courage, wit, and learned magic. He emphasized that it was a deadly serious tournament and that the champions would be chosen by none other than the Goblet of Fire.
At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George were already plotting a thousand ways to bypass the age line that would prevent underage students from entering. Hermione frowned at them, while Harry and Ron exchanged nervous comments.
Kronk raised his hand again.
"Uh, excuse me, Headmaster Dumbledore… what if someone's of age but doesn't really understand what the tournament's about?"
Half the hall turned to stare at him. Dumbledore smiled with that familiar twinkle in his eyes that always made people wonder whether he was being serious—or just enjoying the chaos.
Probably the latter.
"In that case, Mr. Kronk, I would advise you to listen carefully and make your decisions wisely."
Laughter spread through the hall, and Kronk sank into his seat, blushing.
"I still have to deliver the papayas to Hagrid later," he muttered.
He completely missed the point that signing up for the tournament, if eligible, was optional—too distracted for his own good that night.
As the feast resumed, excitement over the tournament reached a fever pitch.
Students chatted about what they would do if they were chosen champions, how glorious it would be for Hogwarts to win.
Kronk, meanwhile, just stared at his plate with a worried look.
"I'm sure it won't be anything too weird…" he told himself quietly, poking at his peas with a fork. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"
In the distance, a gust of wind flickered the Great Hall's candles. The echo of that question lingered in the air—a sign that the answer would come sooner than Kronk imagined.
Hermione's eyes remained fixed on Kronk, realizing that her friend seemed completely unaware of one of the most recent highlights in the wizarding world.
"Does he really have no idea what happened at the Quidditch World Cup—or is he just pretending?"