The makeshift stadium for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament roared with excitement. Towering stands surrounded the stone arena, decked with banners and enchantments that waved each school's colors proudly.
The crowd hummed with anticipation: the champions would face dragons, mighty guardians brought in to protect the golden eggs.
In the stands, Harry sat beside Ron and Hermione, his eyes fixed on the entrance tunnel.
"I can't believe Kronk's going to fight a dragon," muttered Ron, clenching his fists. "A dragon!"
Hermione sighed, as if carrying the weight of all reason in the wizarding world. Nonsense. All of this was pure, reckless wizard nonsense!
What kind of logic was there in forcing students to face a creature rated XXXXX on the danger scale?
That was the highest possible classification!
"Technically, yes," she said. "But remember, the Goblet chose him… which means, in some way, he's meant for this."
"Or it means the Goblet's still bitter about being used as a campfire," Ron replied absently, earning a stunned silence from those around him.
Fleur and Krum had already completed their turns.
That meant it was Kronk's.
The entire stadium fell silent.
Kronk walked out calmly, waving at the crowd with a smile.
He glanced at the dragon—huge, scales glinting like molten pearl—and nodded, raising his wand to summon something no one had expected: a cauldron that, with a click of a button on its side, expanded into a massive pot the size of a cottage.
"W-What's he doing?" asked Ludo Bagman from the commentator's box, bewildered.
"I don't know, but it smells wonderful," ventured one of the judges.
The dragon—an enormous Antipodean Opaleye—roared at the sight.
Kronk, unbothered, had already conjured what looked like an endless supply of tortillas and cauldrons full of stews he'd apparently prepared earlier, after Cedric had secretly warned him about the dragon.
"Well, little fella—uh, sorry, miss," Kronk said in his usual calm tone as he stirred the pot and corrected himself upon realizing the dragon was female. "If I were about to fight a giant fire-breathing lizard, the first thing I'd want is… a good meal."
With superhuman strength, he lifted a two-meter-long cooking paddle and began stirring. The aromas spread through the air—rich spices, melted cheese, perfectly seasoned meat—all mixed in ridiculous proportions.
The entire audience stared, dumbfounded. Somewhere, someone audibly swallowed.
"The Hogwarts champion is—he's—he's cooking an enchilada the size of the Hogwarts Express!" shouted Bagman, unable to contain himself.
Lucky lizard—he wanted some too!
The dragon, initially roaring with protective fury, soon sniffed the air. Its nostrils flared, and the growl softened into a curious rumble. It took one step, then another, until it loomed directly over the gigantic pot.
Kronk, as if offering a treat to a stray dog, pointed with his massive cooking paddle.
"Go on, try a little," he urged. "It's just right—but you dragons have… particular tastes."
The beast leaned forward, extended its tongue, and in one flick, devoured a surface layer of the enchilada. The stadium held its breath, waiting for the creature's judgment.
The dragon chewed. Swallowed. Then, with a puff of dust, it dove headfirst into the pot, devouring the rest with wild enthusiasm.
The sound of bubbling sauce and vanishing tortillas filled the air. Kronk stood, hands on his hips, nodding in satisfaction like a chef watching a happy customer enjoy his dish.
"That's it, buddy. Eat slowly. Don't choke."
The crowd was stunned, fascinated—this wasn't the duel of strength or cunning they'd expected.
Five minutes later, the dragon, belly bulging and a trickle of sauce running from its snout, gave one final grunt that melted into a yawn. Its wings folded, its body slumped, and it fell fast asleep.
Kronk wiped his hands on an apron that had appeared from who-knows-where, strolled to the nest, lifted the golden egg as casually as if he were picking a melon from a garden, and waved to the audience with a friendly grin.
The stadium hesitated to applaud—no one wanted to wake the dragon—but their astonishment was undeniable.
Harry pressed a hand to his forehead.
"I can't… believe it."
"Neither can I," said Hermione, eyes wide. "But it worked."
Ron, between bursts of laughter, shouted,
"HE PUT THE DRAGON TO SLEEP WITH AN ENCHILADA!"
If Hermione hadn't cast a Silencing Charm on him, who knows what chaos would've broken out in the stands.
The judges, who had been prepared to evaluate bravery, magic, and strategy, now just stared at one another in utter disbelief—and growing headaches. There were no standardized criteria for this.
Bagman summed it up breathlessly as Kronk gave an awkward bow and walked off the field, carrying the golden egg under one arm like a football:
"Ladies and gentlemen, never in the history of the Tournament have we seen anything like it! A dragon defeated not by strength, nor by magic—but by pure gastronomy!"
Some even wondered if the enchilada contained a potion, and how powerful it must've been to affect a dragon.
Hours later, in the dragon caretakers' area, Charlie Weasley (Ron's brother) was going through reports. Suddenly, a parchment materialized before him with an official seal. Curious, he opened it.
Invoice No. 654-AZ
To: Keeper of the Antipodean Opaleye Dragon
Item: Industrial-Sized Enchilada (XXXXXL)
Total: 14,982 Galleons, 3 Sickles, and 9 Knuts
Please remit payment within three business days.
Charlie blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Then the color drained from his face.
"F-Fourteen… thousand… nine hundred…" he stammered.
He collapsed backward with a thud, instantly unconscious.
The other handlers rushed to help him as the parchment hovered in the air, glowing with the dreadful authority of magical accounting.
And so, the First Task of the Tournament would be remembered by all—
not as a battle of blood and fire, but as the night a dragon was defeated…
by an enormous enchilada and a man who never doubted the importance of a good meal—
(receipt included).