The moon rose over the gigantic magical maze, casting shadows that seemed to breathe.
The air was thick with tension. The four champions—Harry, Fleur, Krum, and Kronk—waited their turn before the living entrance of the enchanted hedges.
The leaves rustled as if hungry, and given what had already happened during the tournament, that was perfectly possible.
The others adjusted their robes, checked their wands, and rehearsed mental strategies.
Kronk, meanwhile, was holding a picnic basket and humming as if preparing for a pleasant countryside outing.
"What's that for?" asked Harry, bewildered.
"Oh, this," Kronk replied casually, lifting the basket. "It's my survival kit. Freshly baked bread made with whole-grain flour, raisins, and a pinch of electrifying cinnamon. It lasts longer, smells good, and you can use it as a marker."
"You brought bread into the maze?" Fleur asked in disbelief.
"Yeah. Keeps me calm and the monsters distracted."
Before anyone could ask more, Ludo Bagman announced the start of the task, and the gates of the maze opened, exhaling a thick, cold gust of air.
Kronk smiled, stretched his neck like an athlete before a marathon, and strode inside, leaving behind his first handful of crumbs.
…
The silence of the maze was broken by the steady sound of a deep voice humming what sounded like an exploration tune.
Every few meters, Kronk dropped a crumb.
At every crossroads, an entire slice.
And on dangerous turns, half a loaf.
The system, according to him, was foolproof!
According to the maze… it wasn't trained or designed to deal with that kind of behavior, so its reaction was mostly confusion.
A winged bull-like creature emerged from between the hedges, bellowing.
Kronk didn't flinch.
"Hey, big guy. Want some bread?" he offered, holding out a slice.
The creature sniffed it… and walked away happily with the bread between its teeth.
Further along, a group of pixies planning an ambush caught the scent and ended up fighting among themselves over the crumbs.
Even a confused troll stopped, sniffed the ground, and decided to follow the crumbs in the opposite direction, utterly fascinated by the smell.
The result was that the maze, which was supposed to be a gauntlet full of traps and monsters, turned into an all-you-can-eat buffet for its own inhabitants.
Meanwhile, Kronk moved forward unhindered, his basket getting lighter as he tried to find the heart of the maze.
"Never underestimate the power of well-baked bread," he said to himself serenely.
Elsewhere, Harry stopped. He had heard strange noises—laughter, chewing, fighting sounds…
What unspeakable horrors was he about to witness?
Turning a hedge, he found Krum staring in confusion as two fire-snails competed over half a loaf of bread, unsure whether attacking them would make them hostile by thinking he wanted to steal their bread.
Farther ahead, Fleur was trying to advance while a dozen minor creatures offered her chunks of bread as tribute—apparently influenced by her veela charm that transcended species.
Meanwhile, Kronk was whistling along, completely unaware of the chaos he'd caused.
When he finally turned the last corner, he found the Triwizard Cup resting on a pedestal bathed in blue light.
A gentle breeze ruffled his hair as he struck a heroic pose, thinking, I knew it. I always knew I was on the right track.
"Finally, I was running out of bread," he said calmly, glancing at his almost empty basket.
"Guess this marks the end of the maze. But what now? Do I just take it?"
He looked back and saw the ground behind him completely covered in crumbs.
A glowing golden trail that marked his entire journey.
He almost felt proud.
Just as he was about to touch it, he heard footsteps running behind him.
Harry appeared, panting, his robe in tatters and his hair even messier than usual.
"Kronk! Wait—the cup might be a trap!"
"A trap?" Kronk repeated, looking at it closely. "Nah… doesn't look dangerous."
"I'm serious, don't touch it alone," Harry said, catching his breath. "If we take it together, Hogwarts still wins—but if I'm right…"
"Ah, teamwork. I like the way you think."
They shook hands, counted to three, and touched the cup at the same time.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the air filled with light and wind as a burst of magic surrounded them.
The blue light became blinding, the ground vanished beneath their feet, and both were swept away through space. The audience barely had time to react before they vanished.
"Kronk!" McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth. "Not again!"
Snape sighed in resignation.
"If he comes back with another portable oven, I'm quitting."
Dumbledore, remaining calm, stroked his beard as the pieces began to fit together in his mind.
"Stay calm. Trust Kronk. He has… unique survival methods. And hopefully, he'll bring young Potter back too."
…
The landing was rough, with a solid thud and a synchronized "ouch!"
Both looked around.
Tombstones. Statues. A chilling air thick with ancient magic and death.
"Kronk," whispered Harry. "This isn't part of the task."
Though uneasy, he couldn't help but feel oddly satisfied that his suspicions were right—even if they were now in unknown danger.
"Nope, definitely not," Kronk replied, pointing at a bubbling cauldron like it was a suspicious squirrel. "And that doesn't smell good… not even like food."
A hooded figure moved in the shadows, placing a small, twisted body on a gravestone.
Pettigrew's desperate voice echoed, and Harry turned pale.
"Kronk… that's Voldemort."
"The little guy with no nose?" Kronk squinted at the frail form of the Dark Lord. "Yikes… must be hard to wear glasses."
Harry was speechless—but Kronk wasn't wrong.
"And that cauldron? What are they pouring in?"
"Don't touch it!" Harry warned. "What if it explodes? Think of all the potion class disasters!"
But it was too late. Trying to figure out what was inside, Kronk sprinkled a pinch of pink Himalayan salt from his spice belt.
The cauldron bubbled violently, releasing a cloud of pink smoke.
Pettigrew screamed, tossing the Dark Lord into the cauldron before the ritual went even worse.
Moments later, the body emerged… but Voldemort's voice was high-pitched, like he'd inhaled helium, and his skin shone bright pink, as if glazed in melted bubblegum.
Harry didn't know whether to scream or laugh.
Voldemort, confused that his body didn't match his dark magic's design, tried to cast a spell—but his wand slipped from his fingers as if coated in oil.
"Hmm… that probably wasn't supposed to happen," Kronk mused. "But look on the bright side—he won't need sunscreen anymore."
He grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "So, this is the part where we run?"
"Yes, we run!" Harry nodded instinctively. "No, wait—grab the cup! Just like before!"
They dashed for the Cup, still glowing among the tombstones.
They touched it just as a green bolt of light shot toward them—and vanished in a flash.
Voldemort erupted in fury. With his eyes in that condition, he couldn't hit anything even if he had a troll standing one meter away!
The shadows descended from the sky as the Death Eaters arrived in response to his call—but they all froze upon seeing their Dark Lord: pink as bubblegum, cross-eyed, and noseless.
…Maybe they'd come a little too quickly.
The silence of the graveyard shattered as a burst of blue sparks lit the stadium, and Kronk and Harry crashed to the ground covered in dirt and leaves.
Everyone stared in confusion.
Harry, exhausted, simply said:
"He's back… Voldemort's back."
Silence fell over the entire arena.
Meanwhile, Snape dragged out a certain impostor—Barty Crouch Jr.—who had posed as Moody to tamper with the Cup, and the real one was found shortly after.
Later, when Dumbledore and the other professors saw the accidental rebirth of Voldemort and his new form, their expressions were subtle…
Should they start calling him the Pink Lord from now on?