The sun was slowly setting over the green hills of the English countryside when the food truck veered off a dusty road, creaking as if protesting the steep incline. In the distance, like an architectural miracle held together by pure familial love, stood The Burrow: rooftops at varying heights, crooked chimneys, a beam clearly defying gravity, and chickens pecking around the garden like legal residents.
Kronk carefully brought the food truck to a halt, narrowly avoiding a groundhog that stared at him with the judgmental eyes of a supreme court judge. That animal was intimidating...
"Did I make it?" he asked out loud, checking an address.
The wooden sign hanging from the fence simply read: The Weasley Family... though… was the "W" bitten off?
Geez, Ron doesn't mess around when he's hungry.
The air smelled of damp earth, firewood, and clean laundry. And just as Kronk stepped out with his chef's apron and his trademark kind smile, the Weasley chaos hit him head-on… in the form of a chicken.
"AGH!"
"GEORGE, LET HER GO!" a sharp voice yelled from the door.
"That was Fred!"
"Liar! It was Kronk—he smells like stew!"
Kronk was offended by that last comment.
He had showered before bed last night!
Hygiene was very important when running a food business, so naturally, he'd installed a shower in the food truck's employee area.
A burst of mischievous laughter erupted as Fred and George rolled on the ground, and Molly Weasley emerged from the house, brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon.
Kronk could feel it—that spoon had power.
The power to control the entire Weasley family... through fear. And the threat of a bump on the head.
"That's enough!" she bellowed in a tone that could've made a dragon back off. Then, upon seeing Kronk, her expression flipped instantly—"Oh, sweetheart! It's you! My—Goodness, you're taller than I was told! (Merlin, look at those arms! Mommy likey...) Ron and the twins have told me so much about you!"
Kronk, still with the chicken on his shoulder, smiled like nothing was out of the ordinary.
"It's an honor, Mrs. Weasley. Good weather for cooking, don't you think?"
Molly squinted.
"Is there any weather that isn't good for cooking?"
They got along from that moment on.
"Come in, come in, don't just stand there! Arthur!" the house shook from her shout, "Get down here and stop taking apart the blender the Muggle from the village gave us!"
One by one, the Weasleys appeared:
Percy, stiff and serious, asked if the food truck had a health certificate.
Yes. Yes, it did!
Ginny, shy but with a charming smile, offered Kronk wildflowers as "down payment" for a jar of his kiwi cookies.
Kronk suspected that might be an illegal transaction, but Arthur worked at the Ministry and had turned his head away, sooo...
Technicalities! Loopholes!
Fred and George were already measuring the truck with a magical tape measure that spat out jokes and the occasional vulgarity with every meter.
Nothing to worry about, surely.
Ron was sniffing around like a dog, trying to detect edible scents in the air. Classic Ron.
Charlie and Bill (visiting that week) were fascinated with the engine and oven mechanisms.
Arthur arrived with a notepad, thrilled to meet a fellow handyman.
"Did you power it with gasoline or are you harnessing steam from a salamander boiler?" he asked, examining the headlights before climbing into the vehicle. "And what about this button that says 'DO NOT PRESS!'? Should I press it?"
"I use steam to avoid pollution. And that button activates the emergency fryer—for those BIG fried potato cravings. It's the ultimate solution," Kronk explained.
"Extraordinary!" Arthur was so excited taking notes that his notebook caught fire.
Molly appeared, carrying a basket with the last of the available ingredients.
"This is what we have today: one radish that nearly escaped me, some slightly stale bread, three plump potatoes, a jar of compote, and one biting carrot."
"Perfect," Kronk said seriously. "It's dinner time!"
A lightning bolt struck behind Kronk as he spoke, making everyone jump.
Wasn't the sky clear a second ago? It still is!
So where did the lightning come from?
The Burrow's kitchen was chaotic, cozy, and alive.
Literally alive.
The rags defended themselves if thrown on the floor, the oven whined when it ran out of firewood, and the knives cried if made to cut onions.
Kronk fit in like a fish in water. In under twenty minutes, he already had:
Ginny organizing ingredients by color and texture (just don't get near the hostile carrot).
Ron mashing potatoes with a mortar (for exercise, so he wouldn't gain weight).
Fred and George punished and doing handstands for trying to sneak slug juice into the dough.
Molly, thrilled that someone else was cooking in this house for once in her life, arguing with Kronk about the ideal stew texture.
Fred shouted as his upside-down head turned toward the window:
"The bread is escaping!"
"That's because you forgot to tell it you loved it before baking!" Kronk shouted back, tackling the loaf and executing a judo throw until the bread begged for mercy and surrendered to its fate.
Ginny and Molly gulped as Kronk's shirt stretched tightly over his muscles during the takedown.
When the sun began to sink behind the trees, a long table was set out in the garden, decorated with napkins fluttering like butterflies:
Distorted Memory Soup, which made everyone recall their tenth birthday.
Talking meatloaf that politely asked to be eaten (best not to ask where the meat came from).
Bread that told riddles—if you got them wrong, it bit your hand (still in its rebellious phase).
Chamomile tea that changed color based on your mood.
And the star of the night: a Weasley Castle-shaped pie, complete with edible fireworks.
Arthur shed tears while eating—the bread had bitten his tongue when he wasn't looking.
Fred and George were already taking notes to launch an edible pyrotechnics line.
Molly was simply delighted to enjoy a meal she didn't have to cook.
Everyone else had their own little experiences.
"Kronk, if you don't have anywhere to stay this summer, you've got a bed, a blanket… and a kitchen that needs you," Molly said seriously.
A whole summer without cooking? Who could resist!
"What's the salary?" Kronk asked curiously.
Pure formality, of course. He could—
"Forget what I said! The world needs your cooking, Kronk!" Molly did a full 180° on her offer. "Who am I to stop you from feeding the world?"
"But you just said—"
"Could you pass me more tea?"
Kronk handed her the teapot, confused.
That night, while the stars twinkled above and the pie's fireworks still fizzled in the background, Kronk stayed in the garden, looking up at the sky.
Ginny came over and sat beside him.
"Thanks for dinner. It's been a while since Mum and Dad could relax like that."
"Thank you all. Cooking for a family like this... that's unforgettable."
High above, Arthur's radio played a soft violin tune, and inside, Fred and George were already arguing over who-knows-what. Ron, undoubtedly, would be their guinea pig.
Kronk smiled.
He could continue his journey tomorrow, but tonight... tonight, he was home.