The Charms classroom was cozy, with tall windows through which sunlight filtered into the castle. On the walls, portraits of former professors whispered among themselves, discreetly betting on which student would set their quill on fire first.
At the center of the room, standing atop a pile of books that nearly reached the height of a regular desk, Professor Filius Flitwick adjusted his robes with enthusiasm.
"Welcome, first-years," he said with a kind smile. "Today we'll be practicing one of the most useful and elegant charms: Wingardium Leviosa, the Levitation Charm."
At the back, Kronk —wearing a Hufflepuff robe noticeably tighter than the rest— listened intently, his head slightly tilted, seated next to Justin Finch-Fletchley.
His heart told him this was a perfectly safe place.
His survival instincts disagreed.
"So this makes stuff float?" he whispered to Justin, eyeing a white feather on his desk.
"Yeah, in theory. I practiced at home but still can't get it to work..."
"Pff, floating feathers... reminds me of when I made an omelet without using my hands."
"...I don't know if that counts as magic," Justin replied, a bit confused.
"The movement is like this," said Flitwick, swishing his wand with a gentle upward-and-outward curve. "And it's pronounced: Wingardium Levi-o-sa. Not Levios-á, nor Wingardium Lebosca, as someone said last year right before their kidneys spontaneously combusted. Repeat with me!"
Flitwick moved between desks, encouraging the students.
"That's it, Susan! Very good, Ernie!"
The class followed along. So did Kronk, quietly, practicing the motion as if he were drawing an invisible spiral with great care.
"Win-gar-dium Le-vio-sa," he repeated with extreme precision.
He still needed to use his kidneys for a long time and wasn't keen on losing them.
The feather twitched slightly, then began to rise… but instead of hovering, it spun in the air and landed gently on top of Flitwick's head like a decorative headpiece.
The class burst into giggles. Flitwick, unfazed, removed the feather with a smile.
"Wonderful! Mr. Kronk, that was impressive. You have remarkable control for someone with no prior experience."
Kronk looked at the feather, then at Flitwick.
"Maybe it's because I try to move the wand like a paintbrush, not a stick. Gotta let the magic flow, not force it… right?"
The professor raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.
"A very intuitive perspective," he nodded. "I dare say you might have a natural magical sensitivity. But please, try it again so your classmates can observe carefully."
Kronk repeated the gesture. This time, the feather shot forward, bounced off a Slytherin student's head, and landed on Flitwick's desk in a superhero pose...
"That wasn't part of the spell!" the Slytherin protested before fainting from the bump on his head.
How could a light, fragile feather hurt like a bat strike?
Flitwick, still cheerful: "Keep practicing, Mr. Kronk. But please, no more knocking classmates unconscious without supervision."
"Promise!"
While the rest of the class struggled with crooked, erratic, occasionally explosive or simply motionless feathers, Kronk kept repeating the spell a few more times, always with smooth, controlled results.
The Slytherins kept a cautious distance from the avian object.
When the bell rang, Flitwick approached him again.
"Mr. Kronk, if you keep up that attitude and consistency, I believe you'll have much to teach us as well. Don't underestimate your unique way of thinking."
"Thanks, Professor. I'll try not to knock anyone out next time."
"That's all I ask," Flitwick said, beaming.
And as Kronk passed by a window, he caught his reflection in the glass. He stopped and smiled at his mirrored self with a renewed sense of confidence.
"We're doing good, buddy. We're doing good."
He turned a corner and—
WHAM!
...
One minute earlier...
After hearing Ron's mocking voice, Hermione's expression tightened. She didn't say anything—just pressed her lips together, picked up her bag, and hurried down the corridor, bumping into the rude boy, her vision blurred by unshed tears.
She turned a corner—
WHAM!
She bounced off a figure that didn't even flinch. Hermione landed on the floor, her bag flung open, sending books flying, along with a rolled-up parchment and a very battered quill.
"Oh my gosh!! Are you okay?" said a deep, concerned voice.
The figure crouched down at once, offering a giant hand. He wore a robe a bit too short for his size, a Hufflepuff badge on his chest… and a kindly alarmed expression. It was Kronk.
"Sorry, sorry! I didn't see you coming," he said, gently picking up one of the fallen books. "Did you break anything?"
Still surprised, Hermione shook her head and took his hand. He helped her up with great care, as if afraid she might be made of porcelain.
"Thanks," she murmured, quickly wiping her eyes. "It wasn't your fault."
"Well, maybe a little. People always say I'm like an open door—nobody sees me coming until they're already on the other side."
Hermione let out a small involuntary laugh.
"I'm Kronk, by the way. First year. Are you the girl with all the books? I saw what you did in class. It was amazing!"
He couldn't get his feather to behave unless the professor was nearby. He suspected his feather liked attention... or had violent tendencies.
But the girl in front of him? She was a pro. Moved the feather like it was dead weight.
Hermione shrugged.
"Didn't seem so amazing to anyone else."
"Who said that?" Kronk asked, raising a brow in mild indignation. "Did someone criticize your charming pronunciation?"
She hesitated, then finally said it.
"Ron Weasley. He said I sounded like I wanted to be a teacher."
Kronk pursed his lips.
"And what's wrong with that? Teachers know a lot. I once met a guy who taught me to make the best cornbread without using actual corn. He was brilliant! (The teacher, not the bread.) If you want to be a teacher, go for it! People who don't wanna learn just won't listen."
This time Hermione laughed for real, covering her mouth with her hand.
Kronk smiled with the kind of genuine expression that didn't need pretending. Then he looked at the books still on the floor and picked them all up, handing them to Hermione with something like an improvised bow.
"For you, future Professor Granger," he half-joked, raising his eyebrows theatrically.
Hermione grinned from ear to ear.
"Thanks, Kronk. I think I really needed this today."
And together they began walking down the corridor.
Well—Hermione spoke in a stream of words while Kronk nodded along, most of it going in one ear and partially out the other.
The little angel and devil on his shoulders watched the scene with jaws so slack they thudded against Kronk's shoulder.
"Is that girl making him learn things without him noticing?!"
Witchcraft!