The afternoon was slowly fading when Kronk, at the wheel of his magical food truck, veered off the main road and took a sloping path that wound between flower fields, floating scarecrows, and signs that read things like:
Beware of Spinwhirls!
Sparkleflitter Mating Zone.
Kronk slowed down, consulted his crumpled map, and looked at the sign in front of a crooked tower-shaped house, painted in pastel shades that seemed to shift hue depending on the angle of the sunlight.
"This has to be… yep, the house of the dreamy-eyed girl," he said, tapping the steering wheel. "The twins could've been a bit more specific — I almost ended up in Rome."
When he rang the doorbell (which sounded like a stifled giggle), the door opened on its own with a melodic creak, as if singing the first note of an unfinished song. From within drifted the scent of mint, octopus ink, and — surprisingly — popcorn.
Maybe one of the girl's parents was a perfumer?
"Come in, traveler of the stomach!" greeted Xenophilius Lovegood, stepping out onto the threshold in a robe decorated with what looked like floating jaws of some unknown creature, and a tiara of silver spoons dangling from his forehead.
Kronk paused, eyeing the tiara with slight confusion.
"You are…?"
"The director, editor, and chief taste-tester of The Quibbler," he replied with a theatrical bow, one of the spoons falling off and hitting the ground. "And father of Luna — the future Minister of Dreams. You must be Kronk, the young man who serves soups with uplifting properties?"
Well, those Sickles he paid the twins to advertise in the area had definitely paid off.
"Uh… yeah, I mean, I do my own fusion cuisine."
"Excellent," Xenophilius nodded with satisfaction, causing another spoon to fall, though he acted like he hadn't noticed. Maybe he hadn't. "Come, come — let the winds guide you! But mind the hallway rug. It bites ankles if it senses distrust."
Kronk stepped into the house with the caution of someone walking into an interactive museum unsure of what they're allowed to touch.
Xenophilius led him down a hallway full of shelves seemingly suspended from the ceiling, and through a spiral-shaped door into a backyard just as peculiar as the interior.
Luna was there, her platinum blonde hair floating in the breeze like it belonged to another dimension, using a fishing rod to feed what was very clearly a cloud in a jar.
Kronk's brilliant mind formed a crucial question: What kind of bait was she using?
"Hi, Kronk!" she greeted without looking at him. "Your aura has three heads… you're strange."
Her tone suggested curiosity and observation — not insult.
The angel and devil shifted uncomfortably.
Something about that girl made them nervous.
While the Lovegoods offered him hot tea that changed flavor with every sip (Oh! Now it tastes like marzipan and sausage... sweet-salty surprise!), Kronk scouted the area for the best angle to park his food truck.
Soon, a series of paper birds began orbiting the vehicle, humming flute melodies.
"Attracted by the cinnamon," Luna explained, sitting on a rock that hovered a few inches off the ground. "Or your innate kindness. They smell the same, and it's hard to tell the difference sometimes."
"Okay?" Kronk began setting up his portable kitchen.
Enchanted panels slid out, knives danced over the cutting board, and his main pot (affectionately named Mama Saucepan) started bubbling with enthusiasm once placed on the stove.
"Today we're making electrified corn chowder with crispy bacon bits, anise rolls bathed in sunlight, and fairy stew with rabbit (fairy-free version)," he announced. "Sound good? Any allergies I should know about?"
"Electrified corn?" Xenophilius asked with genuine interest, pulling out a notepad from who-knows-where. "Is it part of the Ministry of Magic's secret crops to feed the ice phoenixes trapped under their kitchens — forcing them to chill ice cream with a secret flavor, which they deliver to the goblin queen every third Tuesday to prevent another rebellion?" He squinted as he scribbled. "Or perhaps the centaurs are developing it as a new defense weapon against the birds trying to de-louse them without consent? There's been a lot of tension on that front..."
Kronk stared at the man for a long, long moment, mouth slightly open.
"Yeah, let's go with that."
The Lovegoods helped, of course — in their own way.
Luna brought carrots she claimed had "dreamed of being fairies," and her father blessed the pot with a ceremonial dance involving an umbrella, a nose flute, and a chant in armpit dialect.
The result was magical. Literally.
The chowder glowed faintly, the rolls bounced joyfully in the basket, and the stew gave off an aroma that, according to Xenophilius, reminded him of his first love.
Kronk wisely said nothing — he had noticed the gravestone in the flower garden.
When everything was served on plates that slowly spun on their own (as if showing off their best angle), Xenophilius pulled out a bluish crystal bell and rang it.
Nothing happened. But the meal was delightful, and when Xenophilius placed the money on the counter, Kronk smacked his forehead. He'd been having such a good time, he forgot he was technically doing business.
Before he left, Luna gifted him a handmade brooch: a radish with tiny wings.
Kronk eyed the girl suspiciously — surely those weren't real fairy wings?
"For your chef's uniform, culinary commander," said Luna as she waved goodbye. "It wards off prejudice and attracts fortune. You'll need it."
Kronk pinned it to his chest like a war medal.
When the food truck started up with a mix of whistles, steam, and mechanical gurgles, Xenophilius signaled him off using two flags and blew a whistle — like he was guiding a fighter jet's departure.
Luna waved a scarf from the gate.
Kronk nodded with his usual smile.
"Next stop… the Diggorys!"
A sonic boom knocked Xenophilius flat onto the ground in surprise, only to be hit by another a second later just as he was getting up, slamming him back down.
"This must be a conspiracy!" he cried out — far from angry, he seemed thrilled to have uncovered yet another hidden plot in the world.