The doors of the Great Hall swung open with a thunderous crash that made even the spoons in the soup vibrate. Most of the students fell silent.
A figure limped inside—heavy, ominous—each step punctuated by a metallic CLONK that echoed off the stone walls. A tattered cloak trailed behind him, as though it had survived a hundred battles and still hadn't had time to be mended.
Or washed, though the rain from the storm outside seemed to be taking care of that.
The magical eye whirred restlessly, making a strange buzzing sound as it scanned the hall. It darted from the students' tables to the enchanted ceiling with its night sky, to the platters of food, and back again to the frozen faces of the students.
Kronk, completely missing the tense atmosphere, leaned toward Ron and said loudly, full of enthusiasm:
"HEY! That guy's got an awesome eye—think he'd mind if I ask where to get a pair like that?"
A nervous murmur rippled through the hall. Some covered their mouths to keep from laughing; others stared at Kronk like he'd just signed his own death warrant.
Moody's magical eye spun so fast it looked like it might unscrew itself. It locked onto Kronk with terrifying precision.
Kronk realized he had the newcomer's attention—and used it.
"Question! Does that eye come with zoom? Or night vision? Because if it can also detect body heat, that'd be perfect for getting the meat just right on barbecues."
Hermione nearly choked on her pumpkin juice and elbowed him sharply.
"Kronk, shut up!" she hissed through clenched teeth, red with embarrassment. "That's Alastor Moody! The most feared Auror in the Ministry!"
"Auror?" Kronk repeated thoughtfully, as if tasting the word. "Sounds like an expensive yogurt."
The CLONK of the metal leg grew louder as Moody approached. First-years shrank into their seats; even a few seventh-years swallowed nervously.
The magical eye focused on Harry, then on Malfoy, then on the pumpkin pie, Neville's toad Trevor, and finally returned—with an almost personal insistence—to Kronk.
Moody's voice was gravelly and rough, as if he'd been drinking fire instead of tea.
"Who are you?"
Kronk blinked a couple of times.
"Kronk, fourth-year Hufflepuff student," he replied with his friendliest smile. "Also a chef, mechanic, lab assistant, golden-acorn-level explorer, and—"
"I don't like being stared at that directly," Moody growled, his normal eye glinting with suspicion.
"Oh… I don't look in the mirror before breakfast either. Mutual feeling," Kronk said, giving two thumbs up.
The murmurs turned into stifled giggles.
Fred and George were already elbowing each other with mischievous grins.
Moody slammed his staff on the floor. CLONK. The echo silenced even the twins.
"No one here is going to take me lightly!"
Kronk stood up straight, stretching as if preparing for a sales pitch.
"Me neither, Mr. Unknown-With-The-Cool-Eye. In fact, if you ever need tropical drinks or desserts—I'm your guy! I offer discounts for regular customers, and believe me, you'd get the special rate."
The magical eye rotated three times in different directions, as if recalibrating to process Kronk's logic. No one could tell whether Moody considered him an idiot, a spy, or simply too bizarre to categorize.
Finally, the Auror muttered something that sounded like:
"…Interesting."
And he headed toward the staff table, where several professors were discreetly hiding their laughter behind goblets—muffled by a silencing charm to maintain decorum before the students.
The students collectively exhaled the breath they'd been holding.
Some looked at Kronk as if he had a death wish.
Ron leaned toward Harry and Hermione, whispering in horrified awe,
"One of these days, Kronk's gonna earn himself an Unforgivable Curse—and he won't even notice."
Harry just shook his head.
Later that evening, after dinner had ended, Kronk picked up his basket of papayas with almost solemn enthusiasm. A promise was a promise, even if on the way he'd been hunted, almost married off, and offered lifelong leadership of a tribe of women who were probably still looking for him.
He crossed the grounds to Hagrid's hut, knocking on the door with his fist as if ringing a church bell.
"Special delivery for the number one gamekeeper!" Kronk sang out.
The door opened, and Hagrid appeared, with Fang bounding happily at Kronk's feet.
"What've yeh got there, Kronk?" Hagrid asked with a curious smile.
"Fresh papayas, straight from the jungle! Perfect for jam, juice, or, well… ammunition against beasts if they ever get aggressive," Kronk replied, setting the basket on the table with a thud that made the cups rattle.
It wasn't just the sheer number of papayas the basket could barely hold—when he said "fresh," he meant frozen solid to keep them from spoiling.
Hagrid's eyes gleamed as if he were looking at treasure.
"By Merlin's molars, I've never seen a papaya this big in me life!" he said, grabbing one without minding that it was frozen—easily the size of Fang's head.
"If it's too much, you could always turn them into natural slushies," Kronk suggested.
With Hagrid's strength, he'd probably only need to smash them a couple of times to reach the perfect creamy texture.
Hagrid, both amused and intrigued, clapped Kronk so hard on the back that he nearly faceplanted into the table.
"Thanks, Kronk! We'll see what we can do with 'em. Might even share some with the staff room. Bet Sprout'll be thrilled—don't think she's ever grown or even seen papayas before."
Kronk smiled proudly. Mission accomplished.