The food truck rested silently under the moonlight, parked beside the greenhouses. From the outside it looked asleep, but inside it was organized chaos: pots stacked in impossible balance, a giant cauldron repurposed as a bathtub, and a pair of chickens Kronk had adopted just in case he needed fresh eggs for recipes.
Kronk was asleep on his bunk bed, lying on his back with his mouth open and a teddy bear in his arms. Angel Kronk and Devil Kronk had dozed off as well—one hugging a cloud-shaped pillow, the other using a matchbox as a bed.
The silence was suddenly shattered by a loud CLANG!, so strong that a tray of pastries fell to the floor.
"What was that?" Kronk mumbled, half-asleep, rubbing his ear.
He staggered to his feet and opened the pantry door. Then he saw it: a huge dog, black as midnight, with glowing eyes. Its snout was buried halfway into the box of pumpkin rolls he had baked to replenish the stolen ones, devouring them as if it hadn't eaten in centuries.
Kronk froze.
"…That's not one of my chickens."
Angel Kronk appeared on his shoulder, pale.
"Kronk, that is no ordinary dog. Something tells me you should leave it alone."
The devil popped up on the other side, thrilled.
"Leave it alone?! It's stealing your food! Your food! A chef's honor is at stake!"
Kronk clenched his teeth, determined.
"You're right. Nobody touches my pumpkin rolls!" He narrowed his eyes. "Unless they're a customer!"
He grabbed the first weapon at hand: a gigantic frying pan, the kind that could only be used in cooking contests at great festivals.
"Back, gluttonous dog!" He swung the pan, pushing air with the motion. "I warn you, this thing delivers serious blows!"
The dog growled with a deep, unnatural sound. Then, without warning, it leapt at him.
"WAAAAGHH!" shrieked Kronk, using the pan as a shield.
The impact sent them rolling across the floor, crashing into the stove. Pots and ladles flew everywhere. The dog bit his boot, and Kronk, desperate, put it in a wrestling hold.
"Let go of my boots, they're brand new!" His tone was more offended than scared. "I got them on sale in Diagon Alley!"
The devil shouted, "Squeeze it! Squeeze it!" while the angel squealed, "Don't hurt the puppy, maybe it's just lost, hungry, and scared!"
The struggle ended when Kronk accidentally fell backwards onto the food truck's control panel.
CLICK!
Immediately, the automatic grill switched on and sent out a burst of flame that lit up the whole scene. The dog froze for a moment, eyes glowing with almost human intelligence.
"Aha, I know what you are… you're a magic dog! What's the deal, thief?" Kronk pointed at it. "A Grim on steroids? Well, let me tell you something—steroids are for idiots!"
The black dog growled, backed away, and with an agile leap disappeared out the food truck door, vanishing into the darkness.
Panting, covered in fur, and holding a bent frying pan, Kronk staggered back to his feet.
"You'll be back, mysterious mutt!" he shouted into the night. "And when you do, I'll have giant-sized croquettes ready!"
"You mean you'll make croquettes out of him?" asked the devil.
A pan smack was the reply.
"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped the angel, annoyed, as the devil staggered from the force of the blow that had dented the iron. "What kind of disgusting scum would eat dog?!"
"He's right," Kronk said, looking at the devil's imprint now etched in the frying pan, which, together with the bend caused by that massive dog, was now completely ruined. "What I meant was I'll have croquettes so big that once the dog finishes eating them, he won't have an appetite left for anything from my pantry."
The dog gets fed and Kronk doesn't have his pantry raided again—everyone's happy.
The devil said nothing; rarely had he seen Kronk so enraged over an offhand comment. But apparently, even the good-natured, gentle Kronk wouldn't hesitate to beat someone to death if they ate dog. After all, those were the real monsters!
…
The next morning, the disaster was obvious: muddy paw prints everywhere, smashed pumpkin rolls, and Kronk with dark circles under his eyes, wearing an improvised helmet made from a cooking pot.
Dave would have been proud of him.
Ron came in to snoop around, carefully checking for traps first, and froze at the sight.
"Kronk, did your kitchen explode again?"
"No!" Kronk replied, exhausted. "It was a dog, dark and mysterious. Very strong. Very clever.
Very hungry—you could see its ribs."
"What did it look like?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hermione, I just described it!"
Harry, standing beside them, went pale.
"…A black dog?"
Hermione, thoughtful, said nothing.
…
Meanwhile, in a hidden corner of the castle, Sirius Black, in his human form, laughed out loud.
"That boy is dangerous… he almost got me with that giant frying pan."
Well, there was no other choice. He couldn't sneak into the Hogwarts kitchens the way he had as a student, and he didn't have any money with him. But he'd think of a way to settle the outstanding debts with Kronk.
"Those are the best pumpkin rolls I've ever had!"