The Great Hall was quieter than usual.
Kronk and Harry's return had shaken every corner of Hogwarts.
The long tables, normally filled with laughter and chatter, were now heavy with tense stares and nervous whispers.
The news had spread: Voldemort had returned.
Or at least, that's what Harry Potter said. And Kronk, his unexpected adventure partner, confirmed it in his own way.
…
Dumbledore kept his composure, but his eyes reflected the gravity of the situation.
Harry recounted what had happened with precision, while Kronk added gestures and sound effects for emphasis.
"And then," said Harry, "Pettigrew used the blood, Kronk did the thing… and Voldemort came back."
"Yeah, right after that I added a pinch of salt," Kronk said, nodding seriously.
Cornelius Fudge, who had arrived minutes earlier, adjusted his hat irritably.
"This is absurd! We can't go around saying You-Know-Who is back just because two students say so. One of them a questionable cook."
"Excuse me?!" protested Kronk, offended.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Cornelius, what Harry and Kronk witnessed cannot be ignored."
"We'll see about that," Fudge snapped, clicking his tongue.
Dumbledore looked at him with a gaze that, if it had been a spell, would have melted steel.
That night, the castle slept uneasily. Harry rested in the infirmary while Kronk snored in a folding chair beside him, wrapped in a blanket embroidered by Madam Pomfrey.
What no one knew was that Cornelius Fudge hadn't come alone.
A Dementor, hooded and silent, glided through the corridors like a liquid shadow.
Its mission: eliminate Barty Crouch Jr. before he could talk.
But in its hunger, it sensed something else—Kronk's life energy.
Warm, chaotic, delicious.
The Dementor slipped into the infirmary. The temperature dropped sharply, and frost crept across the windows.
Harry woke with a start.
"Kronk, wake up!"
Kronk opened one eye, half asleep.
"Is it the pixies again? Do they want bread?"
"No—n-no, a Dementor!"
The creature emerged from the shadows, extending its gray hand.
Harry reached for his wand, but it was out of reach—he'd left it in the bathroom before going to bed.
Then Kronk, still half-asleep, raised his own wand and mumbled,
"Expecto Patronum!"
A burst of light filled the infirmary.
And from his wand emerged… a silver blaze that took the form of a llama.
A literal llama—bright, muscular, and calm-faced, wearing a wrestling mask. Apparently, the tournament experience had altered Kronk's Patronus into something entirely new, even to him.
The Patronus snorted heroically and lunged at the Dementor in a flying tackle.
But instead of a graceful magical clash, what followed was a cartoonish cloud of chaos—visible fists, flying stars, and loud "POW!" and "WHACK!" sounds echoing through the air.
Madam Pomfrey burst in just in time to see a glowing puff of smoke with limbs flailing as it flew out the window.
The llama Patronus emerged victorious, shaking its head before winking at the nurse and dissolving into a silver mist.
"What… what was that?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.
"You know, Hermione's right about one thing—you really should read more books," Kronk yawned, settling back into his chair and drifting off again, returning to the gingerbread house of his dreams. He still had to install the candy plumbing.
Meanwhile, out on the castle grounds, Rita Skeeter—the Daily Prophet's star journalist—was sneaking around in her beetle form.
She had heard everything.
Voldemort's return, the infiltrated Dementor, Kronk's bizarre Patronus… enough material to ruin reputations and sell thousands of papers.
"This will be pure gold," she whispered, turning back into her human form behind a hedge. "'Kronk, the man who violated a Dementor's rights.' Or even better… 'Potter's personal chef summons infernal llama.' Perfect!"
But before she could take another step, she felt a chill behind her.
The defeated Dementor was fleeing, staggering, desperate to feed and recover strength.
And for the first time in her life, Rita Skeeter was speechless.
Her scream was never heard.
The Dementor reached her, and its Kiss sealed both her fate—and that of her next article.
…
The next day, the Ministry announced the official results of the Triwizard Tournament.
For having reached the Cup together, Harry Potter and Kronk shared the prize: one thousand gold galleons.
After all, with the "lies" those champions were spreading, the Ministry wasn't about to pay another thousand.
Dumbledore handed them the bags with a faint smile.
Harry, without a second thought, turned to Fred and George.
"I want to use this to help with your shop," he said, offering the bag with little interest. People tended to forget he was already quite rich. "Let the world see that not everything at Hogwarts ends in tragedy."
The twins stared at him, stunned.
"Harry, you… you can't—"
"I already did," he said with a grin.
Kronk, in turn, stepped forward and handed them a smaller bag.
"Here's another hundred galleons. But not as a donation."
"An investment?" George guessed.
"Exactly. In return, I want a share of the business—and a custom bread-maker that shapes the dough like animals."
"Deal!" Fred laughed.
"Got any plans for the summer?" George asked. "Mum said you could visit if you want."
"Well, in that case—"
TUM TUM TUM TURUTUTUM
"Oh-oh," Kronk recognized the sound.
TUM TUM TUM TURUTUTUM
"Are those drums?" asked Harry, trying to listen more closely.
TUM TUM TUM TURUTUTUM
"Huh?" Fred and George looked around. "Where'd Kronk go?"
He was just here a second ago!
"He went that way," Dumbledore said, pointing his thumb toward the back exit. "He seemed in quite a hurry… I wonder why."