Kronk cheerfully whistles while checking the ingredient shelves. Tom is busy wiping down tables after the day's rush, unaware that his new cook can't tell the difference between magical and edible.
He pulls out three eggs with reddish veins and cracks them into the pan with finesse. The oil sizzles at the perfect temperature. He adds hand-cut potatoes, a pinch of sea salt, fragrant herbs, and starts flipping the pan with moves worthy of a cooking show.
He plates everything and, just before sitting down, realizes something crucial is missing: the drink!
There's still a bit of that banana-cinnamon smoothie left, but it's far too sweet.
So he grabs some apples and, using his clean, powerful, and muscular hands, squeezes them into fresh apple juice.
He sits and starts eating, experiencing a very peculiar blend of flavors.
It's the first time he's ever tasted eggs that remind him of volcano and lavender.
Without realizing it, a golden glow begins to emanate from his ears.
The chair levitates without warning, his body rises three centimeters off the ground, and his spatula flies off and spins in the air like a hummingbird.
"I don't remember being able to do that," Kronk muses.
"Kronk, are you okay? I heard a—" Tom enters and stops, stunned at the scene.
"I think those eggs weren't as organic as I thought."
"Eggs?" Tom looks at the shells in the trash. "Did you use Ashwinder eggs?!"
"The ones with the pretty label?" Kronk twirls in the air, confused but perfectly happy. "Yeah, they kinda… sparked. Mmm, maybe I made too much. I feel a little full."
BOOM!
A magical shockwave expands through the Leaky Cauldron.
Moments later, an owl crashes into the window, dazed, slowly sliding down the glass before dropping a letter with the Hogwarts seal.
Tom opens it with trembling hands and reads aloud:
"Mr. Kronk… You have demonstrated a spontaneous high-level magical reaction after ingesting unprotected non-edible magical ingredients—and survived. Congratulations. You are now a wizard. Due to the exceptional irregularity of your case, you are hereby offered immediate admission to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, first year."
"Wait a second—do I have to go back to school?" Kronk focused on the most important part.
"Oh no…" the devil shoulder guy trembled in horror. "Homework, exams, boring uniforms… puberty!"
"Do I have to go through puberty again?!" Kronk shouted in terror.
"Of course not!" the angel waved his harp to calm them down. "I think you're missing the main point here."
"Like what?" Kronk asked, tilting his head.
"It said you're a wizard now!"
"Oh," Kronk nodded, starting to get excited. "What kind of wizard?"
"How should I know?"
As the three kept talking, Tom watched Kronk chatting with his own shoulders and quietly stepped back.
He sighed with frustration as he stared at the Hogwarts letter, feeling an emotion he never thought he'd associate with it: resentment.
He couldn't even keep his new cook for one full day, and now he had to find a replacement for the whole term.
"At least I won't need that Gringotts loan," Tom grumbled.
That day's earnings were enough for Kronk to get everything he needed for his first year, and if he added it to the profits from the churro stand where Tom found him, he wouldn't even need secondhand books.
Poor Weasleys…
Since it was near closing time, Tom decided to shut down early and help Kronk get everything sorted.
"…and that's why one galleon equals 17 sickles, and one sickle equals 29 knuts," Tom finished explaining, seeing Kronk had no idea how magical currency worked. "So, one galleon is 493 knuts. Got it?"
"Totally."
"Kronk, are you okay? There's smoke coming out of your ears."
Kronk poured a jug of cold water over his head. The sound of sizzling water filled the air.
"Yeah, much better."
Tom nodded with an uncertain look.
"Alright, since you don't want a pet, the only thing left is your wand," Tom checked the list. "Go ahead—Old Ollivander's very understanding. I'll drop your stuff off in your room."
The place is narrow, dusty, and the shelves look like they'll collapse any second. Boxes and more boxes. Thousands of wands stacked up. Every step creaks under the weight of the years… and now under Kronk, who has to duck to avoid smashing the doorframe.
"Hello?"
From the shadows, Garrick Ollivander appears, pale eyes gleaming, voice barely above a whisper.
"A ghost!" Kronk panics and turns around, slamming into the glass door—which turns out to be unexpectedly solid.
"Oof."
"I am not a ghost!" Ollivander says, clearly offended.
"Oh, sorry."
"Hmm… curious… very curious…" the old man examines him with a level of attention most clients never get. "I've never felt such a peculiar energy. Almost like magic… manifesting by accident."
Ollivander starts pulling boxes after taking Kronk's measurements, mildly concerned when the tape measure stretches to its limit around Kronk's arms—but luckily, it doesn't explode.
"Let's try willow, dragon heartstring, 12 inches, quite flexible."
Kronk grabs it—and instantly, a gust of wind blows through his hair.
"Is it supposed to be windy in here?"
Ollivander frowns, takes the wand back, and hands over a different one.
The next wand sprays foam.
The third one makes a cuckoo clock start playing the Macarena for no reason.
"We've got a tricky one here…"
"What if I keep the foam one? Good for dishwashing," Kronk suggests.
The idea of saving money on soap is very tempting.
Ollivander ignores him and pulls out one last dusty box. He opens it with reverence.
"Walnut, phoenix feather, fifteen and a half inches. Incredibly resilient… destined only for someone with a pure heart… and inexplicably talented in the culinary arts," he explains as he offers it.
Kronk takes it.
Silence.
A warm glow fills the room. Perfect brownies materialize out of nowhere and settle on a plate that wasn't there a second ago. A strawberry milkshake gently appears on the counter, cold and tempting.
"…Was that the wand, or me?" Kronk blinks.
"Both," Ollivander replies gravely.
"Makes sense." (It didn't.) "Does it make waffles too?"
"Hmm?" Ollivander turns, chewing on a brownie, clearly not hearing the question.
"Never mind." Kronk leaves the money on the counter. "Enjoy the food!"
Ollivander watches Kronk leave his shop in silence, sipping the frosty strawberry shake and thoroughly enjoying the surprise snack of the day.
"Very curious indeed…"