Hogwarts, on Christmas morning.
The air was scented with cinnamon and cocoa, fireplaces crackled merrily throughout the castle, and the Hufflepuff Common Room was filled with golden wrappers and laughter.
Kronk sat on the floor, surrounded by opened gifts and ribbons scattered everywhere.
"A Christmas hat with badger ears!" he exclaimed, putting it on with enthusiasm. "Thanks, Hannah!"
He soon noticed a gift marked as being from Hermione.
"Oooooh!" Kronk opened the book as if it were an ancient grimoire. "This is... awesome! Thanks, Hermy," he said, hugging the book.
On the cover, the title read: "777 Ways to Turn Things into Muffins" by The Top Hat Cat.
Hermione would smile when she learned of his reaction—though she'd insist on correcting that embarrassing nickname.
Suddenly, Kronk jumped to his feet as he remembered Christmas wasn't just about presents.
There was also...
"I've got to check on the Christmas dinner!" he said, placing one foot on a stool and his fists on his hips, a (pretend) cape fluttering behind him. "Maybe I can help!"
"Help?" repeated Ernie Macmillan. "With the house-elves? It's barely nine in the morning."
"Of course!" said Kronk naturally. "There's less than twenty-four hours until mealtime, and no cook should be alone on Christmas."
Before anyone could stop him with logic, Kronk dashed out, leaving a blur behind him as he ran toward the secret hallway behind the painting of a fruit bowl. He tickled the pear, which giggled before turning into a doorknob.
As he pushed open the door, the scent of heaven itself enveloped him: spiced cloves, freshly baked bread, rich gravy, glazed turkey, gingerbread cookies...
And dozens of house-elves, barely reaching Kronk's knees, running around, all extremely busy—until they saw him enter.
Silence.
A knife stopped mid-carrot slice and clattered to the floor, a pot whistled in alarm, and one elf dropped a fruitcake in shock—okay, he didn't, because Kronk caught it just in time.
Kronk froze after setting the cake down on a table and raised his hands to show he came in peace.
"Hi! I don't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to take a look and maybe… lend a hand?"
An elf with a pointy (slightly scorched) hat stepped forward.
"Student sir is not allowed here today! Kitchens are only for house-elves on Christmas—everything very organized, very delicate, with lots of turkey at stake," the elf said, looking him up and down, eyebrows trembling. "If student is hungry, we can prepare something quickly."
Kronk leaned down, trying to speak in a hushed tone.
"I get it... but... do you have rotating shifts?" he asked professionally. "A glazing squad?" he inquired. "Who's in charge of the fillings?"
The elves looked at each other.
"Glazing squad?" one of them repeated, completely baffled.
Kronk realized just how serious the situation was. For the love of walnuts, they had no glazing squad!
A silent Christmas catastrophe in the making.
This called for… drastic measures.
Kronk pulled a pink chalk from his badger-eared Christmas hat, his expression grave.
"Listen up," he said loudly. "I've cooked for an egotistical emperor, a (temporary) mad empress, an entire restaurant in the jungle, and a camp of 300 squirrels and one one-legged armadillo." He pointed at them with the pink chalk. "Trust me—if we organize the resources, this will be legendary!" He began looking around. "Where's the nearest blackboard?"
One hour later, the elves stood in line with saucepans on their heads, armed with ladles, carving knives, frosting sleeves, spatulas, and a look of steel and determination that would've made a noseless man cry and caused ovens to ignite without firewood in a single blink.
Supreme Commander Kronk looked upon his troops with pride in his chest, teaspoons of various sizes stitched to his robe like medals.
In front of a massive oven, he'd drawn a battle plan on the large blackboard using only a piece of pink chalk, and now wielded a wooden spoon like a command staff.
"Alright, Baking Squad! You're on Cookie Front," he said, tapping the blackboard with the spoon. "I want clean rows, crisp shapes, and absolutely no gingerbread men without smiles."
"Yes, sir!" the elves chanted, their aprons looking like formal uniforms.
"Glazing Squad! You're with Helga in the east corner," he pointed randomly. "Each cake must shine like Professor Flitwick's bald head under the moonlight. Understood?"
"Yes, sir, Supreme Commander Kronk!"
"Turkey Squad! You have the most delicate mission: the perfect golden brown." He pulled out a strip of paper with twelve color samples, indicating the exact hue the meat should be. "Not dry, not raw, and not so juicy it slides off the plate. Oven formation in five!"
An elf raised a hand.
"And the Roasted Veggie Squad?"
Kronk nodded.
"Ah, of course." He checked his blackboard. "Broccoli Squad, join the Potato Platoon. And stay in gravy harmony!"
The kitchen transformed into a military choreography, with ladles flying, trays levitating, spells cast with perfect timing, and coordination so efficient a Swiss watch would applaud.
Kronk marched among them, correcting stances, adjusting frosting heights, and occasionally taste-testing like a seasoned food critic.
"More nutmeg in the punch! Yes, now it tastes like Christmas and Grandma's hug," he nodded seriously, yet encouragingly. "Excellent!"
Hours later, at the Great Hall dinner.
A wave of glorious aromas swept the place in a procession of gleaming dishes, floating through the air, aligned by squad and category.
The professors were speechless at the surprise menu, Dumbledore wiped away a tear (blinded by a tray's shine), and even Snape swallowed hard at the culinary temptation before him.
Even the portraits applauded!
Kronk had taken the trouble to paint a picture filled with Christmas food just for them, and they were enjoying it delightfully, showering the student with praise.
And at the Hufflepuff table, Kronk dropped onto his bench, exhausted as if he'd just returned from the battlefield, but undeniably happy.
"This is... the best Christmas," he said before cutting into and tasting his own work.
"And the broccoli is perfectly caramelized!"