Autumn had already painted the Hogwarts grounds in shades of red and gold when the long-awaited day arrived. Students gathered in the courtyard, bundled up against the wind, murmuring with anticipation.
The air was thick with tension — the delegations from the other schools were about to arrive.
First came Beauxbatons.
A massive sky-blue carriage, as large as a mansion, descended from the clouds, pulled by twelve winged horses the size of dragons. The thunder of their hooves shook the ground and nearly flattened poor Hagrid as they landed.
From the carriage descended young men and women of regal bearing — their robes gleaming, their movements elegant. Every step seemed rehearsed to leave the spectators in awe.
The girls of Hogwarts sighed, while the boys stared in dazed envy, silently cursing the baggy cut of their own uniforms in comparison.
Madame Maxime, towering and majestic, led the group.
The solemn silence was shattered by a sharp CRASH!
Kronk, who had been utterly fascinated by the enormous horses, had stepped a little too close for a better look. One of the steeds reared and neighed violently, but before anyone could scream, Kronk calmly raised his hands.
With surprising agility, he caught the reins and murmured softly, as one might to an old friend.
The horse, which could have crushed a man with a single kick, went still — snorting quietly under the steady touch of the friendly giant.
The Beauxbatons students looked at one another, confused. No one outside their school had ever dared approach those beasts and lived to tell about it.
Madame Maxime raised an intrigued eyebrow, though her expression remained perfectly composed.
"Bon…" one of the French girls muttered under her breath, unable to help herself. "Il est… fort."
Kronk simply smiled and gave the horse a gentle pat on its flank, as if he'd been taming winged steeds his whole life.
Then, the sound of drums rolled across the lake.
Everyone turned their heads just in time to see a ship rising from the depths, water streaming down its dark masts.
The Durmstrang vessel had arrived.
Their students descended in formation — intimidating, clad in fur-lined coats and grim expressions.
Karkarov led the way with prideful confidence, while Viktor Krum drew reverent murmurs from both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons.
The Durmstrang group seemed ready to outshine everyone with their martial discipline… until they saw Kronk.
One particularly burly student — easily a head and a half taller than most Hogwarts students — stepped forward carrying a massive log across his back, clearly trying to impress the crowd.
Murmurs of admiration rippled through the courtyard.
Until Kronk, apparently distracted, noticed a fallen tree nearby blocking a small path he sometimes used to gather wild parsley.
With complete nonchalance, he walked over, bent down, and lifted the entire trunk by the roots as if it were a heavy piece of furniture.
He slung it over his shoulder in one smooth motion and dropped it again with a dull thud.
"That'll make good firewood for Hagrid," Kronk thought, calculating how many logs he could cut from it. "And it'd be a shame not to use such perfectly sun-dried wood — it's bound to burn beautifully!"
The silence that followed was almost painful.
The Durmstrang student froze, still holding his own log, staring in disbelief at how this stranger had lifted something twice as large with effortless, almost casual strength.
His classmates muttered among themselves in their native tongue, clearly uneasy at the sudden shift in atmosphere.
Karkarov narrowed his eyes, annoyed, while Krum simply frowned — torn between feeling offended and intrigued.
The Hogwarts students were on the verge of hysterics.
"He lifted it like it was nothing!" Dean Thomas exclaimed. "Did he drink a potion when no one was looking?"
"I don't think he needs a potion with arms like that…" Hermione muttered, folding her thin arms, though her raised eyebrow betrayed how impressed she really was.
"He didn't even sweat!" Ron added, staring at Harry as if expecting an explanation.
Harry didn't answer. What was he supposed to say?
He just watched Kronk, who was brushing leaves out of his hair, completely unaware of the commotion he'd caused.
Some of the Beauxbatons students were still whispering in French between nervous giggles, several girls sneaking glances at Kronk.
The Durmstrang students, meanwhile, stood stiff and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
The tension hung in the air for several long seconds. Then, with a serene and almost mischievous smile, Dumbledore stepped forward — apparently deciding that the arrogance of the other schools had been properly deflated by Kronk's display.
Illuminated by the torches, his eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he spoke in a voice that carried over the murmurs and the wind.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. I'm certain this year will be memorable for us all."
His eyes twinkled with amusement, as though he had enjoyed every moment of what he'd just witnessed.
Kronk, on the other hand, gave a soft yawn and adjusted his robes before rejoining the other students.
He still didn't quite know why the Headmaster had asked him to do any of that, but since it hadn't been difficult — and Dumbledore had promised him his secret recipe for lemon muffins — Kronk had gladly gone along with it.
All for the muffins!