The Great Hall had been transformed in a solemn way rarely seen before. The long tables were still there, but every eye was fixed on the centerpiece: the Goblet of Fire, an ancient, cracked cup that burned with blue and white flames, crackling as if it hid millennia of secrets.
Dumbledore had calmly explained that the Goblet would choose the champions of each school, and that no underage student could participate. The Age Line, drawn on the floor by the Headmaster himself with powerful enchantments, glowed like an invisible wall surrounding the cup.
Of course, that didn't stop the daring ones.
Throughout the day, older students had approached in groups—some with potions claiming to age them, others with hastily invented spells—all convinced they could fool the artifact.
Time and again, the flames responded by hurling them backward with sparks and smoke.
Laughter echoed, along with teasing and even a slightly scorched eyebrow incident that quickly became the story of the day. Fred and George Weasley, naturally, made their entrance with absolute confidence, sharing a conspiratorial wink before drinking a potion that made them appear a few years older. They crossed the line proudly, dropped their names... and the next instant, a burst of light threw them across the room. They landed flat on the floor, long white beards sprouting from their stunned faces as they began to wrestle each other.
The hall erupted in laughter.
And amid the commotion, Kronk appeared, walking with the same calmness as if he were arriving at a countryside picnic.
He didn't carry a slip of paper with his name—he actually hoped not to participate in the mandatory tournament, and figured that if he didn't drop anything into the flame, maybe no one would notice him until it was too late. He'd get away scot-free.
Instead, in his hand, he held a long stick with perfectly aligned marshmallows.
"Mmm… so it was a magical blue flame," he murmured with genuine interest. "Perfect! This should toast them evenly on all sides."
Before anyone could stop him, he crossed the Age Line as if it were nothing (because, after all, Kronk was of age—a detail many seemed to forget), and stood by the Goblet with a tall stool, holding the stick near the flames as a sweet aroma began to spread through the Great Hall.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Is he… using the Goblet of Fire to toast marshmallows?" asked Angelina Johnson, her mouth agape at the sheer audacity of Kronk.
"That's disrespectful… right?" said Hermione, though her tone sounded more confused than outraged.
That was because, the moment Kronk brought the marshmallows close, the flame actually reacted—it adjusted its size perfectly, as if helping him cook them without burning them.
No. That couldn't be. This was an ancient, powerful artifact—how could it do that?!
Harry, Ron, and most of the students stared as if witnessing historical blasphemy.
Except for the Weasley twins, who watched Kronk with open admiration, their eyes narrowing at the sight of the golden marshmallows as they licked their lips and choked on their new beards.
Kronk, unfazed, rotated the stick with precision, ensuring the marshmallows turned the perfect shade of gold without charring.
The Goblet, for its part, didn't seem offended. Its flames danced softly, reflected in Kronk's calm eyes—as if pleased that, for once, it wasn't being fed scraps of parchment with names on them.
When they were ready, Kronk blew gently and removed the stick.
"Perfect," he said with satisfaction. "Anyone want one?"
Fred, George, and Neville raised their hands.
Kronk handed them each a toasted marshmallow as casually as if nothing were strange about it, then began preparing another batch. If the flame had belonged to him, he might've even started selling them.
Neville was the first to take a bite, and his eyes lit up.
"They're delicious!"
Another murmur spread through the hall—this one full of disbelief. Not because the marshmallows were good, but because Kronk had just turned one of the oldest magical artifacts in history into a campfire.
Maybe… they should try one too?
It was certainly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
...
The following night, the Great Hall was even more solemn. The floating candles seemed to lean toward the Goblet, which burned brighter, as if aware it was about to decide the champions' fates.
The students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang waited in breathless silence.
Dumbledore stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, as the flames suddenly flared and spat out the first charred slip of parchment.
"Viktor Krum!" he announced in a deep voice.
Durmstrang roared in pride. Viktor stood up, smiling, and walked toward the Trophy Room where the Champions would wait.
The flames flickered again—another parchment shot out.
"Fleur Delacour!"
An elegant burst of applause from Beauxbatons followed as the young witch advanced with graceful arrogance, as if the crown already belonged to her by right.
Everyone held their breath as the third name emerged.
A piece of parchment flew up, and Dumbledore caught it deftly.
"Kronk Pepikrankenitz!"
Hogwarts Professors: ???
Hogwarts Students: ???
The silence was immediate—and absolute.
Ominously absolute.
The visiting schools glanced around in confusion. Why were they all reacting like that to the name?
Only the crackle of the Goblet's flames could be heard, almost smug, reflecting in Dumbledore's frozen, bewildered face.
Kronk rose from the Hufflepuff table, uncertain but resigned. Despite not having put his name in the Goblet, somehow, fate—or perhaps his own luck—had doomed him to be chosen anyway.
With so many eligible students, what were the odds?
"Uh… me?" he said, pointing at himself, still hoping there might be another Kronk Pepikrankenitz somewhere, and this was all a misunderstanding.
Dumbledore peered over his glasses, his smile utterly frozen.
Kronk was going to represent Hogwarts…
The thought filled him with equal parts pride and terror.
"Yes, Kronk."
Harry looked at Ron. Ron looked at Hermione. Hermione opened her mouth to protest—but no words came out.
Even though Kronk was in fourth year, he was, in fact, of age, which meant he met the tournament's requirements. And once chosen, there was no turning back.
The students stared at him in a mix of disbelief, indignation, and… respect.
Cedric felt deflated; he had a hunch he might've been chosen, but at least he could take comfort in knowing the Champion was a fellow Hufflepuff—not someone from another house.
The Beauxbatons students whispered among themselves, many of the girls' eyes subtly tracing Kronk's muscular arms and broad back with quiet longing.
The Durmstrang students, on the other hand, watched with confusion and reluctant respect.
They didn't understand why the locals reacted this way to Kronk, but at least Krum seemed to have a worthy rival.
And so it was: Kronk, chosen by the Goblet of Fire.
As for the uproar that followed when a fourth name emerged…
Well, that wasn't nearly as interesting.