It was an especially clear night. The sky over Hogwarts shimmered with scattered stars above the Astronomy Tower, and Kronk, holding a cup of rose petal and currant tea, observed in silence.
"Ahh... now that's a constellation," he said to himself, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
The cold air ruffled his pompadour as his mind wandered.
Heading down the dark hallways toward the Hufflepuff common room after his relaxing night, he heard the sound of three figures sneaking through the forbidden corridor. Kronk narrowed his eyes. Even without seeing them, he could recognize those footsteps.
"Harry, Ron… and Hermione?"
Suspecting a late-night expedition, Kronk raced down the stairs, silent as a soaked brick, following them with quick but stealthy steps (at least in his head).
By the time he reached the trapdoor guarded by Fluffy, the three had already jumped down.
"Fluffy likes music?" he said, surprised at the enchanted harp. "I never would've guessed. Hagrid and I are going to have a serious talk about this!"
Kronk jumped down and landed in a dense mess of dark tentacles.
"Not bad…" he said, adjusting his back. "This is cozier than my recliner!"
The tentacles moved like someone else was giving him a massage.
Until they started squeezing.
"Oh no!" His head began to puff up like a balloon from the pressure. "Friendly plant… too friendly!"
Recalling his Herbology lessons—more for Professor Sprout's alarmed voice than the actual content—Kronk pulled out his five-foot machete and began slicing through the Devil's Snare.
"This is for invading my personal space… and this is for trying to squish my ribs…"
The Devil's Snare had never encountered someone bold enough to use a machete, and it finally let go, if only to stop being chopped up.
Once he hit the floor, free from the vines, Kronk brushed himself off with pride and sheathed his machete like someone who had just trimmed the world's most aggressive hedge.
He moved on and entered a room where hundreds of keys fluttered in the air. A broomstick rested on the ground, and a large, glowing door stood at the far end.
"Hmm... looks like... a puzzle."
He pulled out a butterfly net and began chasing a large key with a broken wing, flapping about like a dizzy duck—unable to gain altitude after rough handling by two previous users.
"Come here, broken friend!" he shouted. "I won't hurt you. I just need to open a suspiciously large door and fix your wing!"
After a few spins, he caught the key and pulled out some string to repair it.
The fixed key fit perfectly into the lock, which clicked open triumphantly.
Further ahead, Kronk came across a massive chessboard, with destroyed pieces scattered everywhere.
"This isn't chess!" he cried, horrified by the board's terrible state. "This is a crime scene!"
How could no one clean up after the game?
So much dust…
Shameless.
He rearranged the fallen pieces, unaware that Ron was inside a stone horse-hole, and when everything was in place, he moved into the next room, which was filled with jars and a wall of fire dividing the room.
Kronk scratched his head.
"Magic fire… that doesn't go out by blowing, does it?"
He read the riddle on the table carefully.
So carefully, in fact, that he understood absolutely nothing.
Clearly, the riddle was broken.
Also, he was sure there were bottles missing—judging by the round marks on the table.
Whoever placed the bottles here didn't think to use coasters to avoid the stains?
The lack of finesse—this was fine mahogany!
"Well, time for Plan B!"
He pulled out his watering can, which he always carried for his dorm ferns, and emptied it at the base of the fire—unaware that the water had been magically enchanted by Neville a few days earlier when he'd borrowed it to water the school gardens.
The fire crackled… and fizzled out.
"How much oil were they burning to keep this flame wall going?" Kronk wondered aloud.
The final room was silent.
A majestic mirror, carved in gold and inscribed with mysterious runes, glowed in the dim light. In front of it—Harry and Quirrell, or what seemed to be Quirrell.
Kronk didn't fully understand, but something about the professor's posture made him frown.
"Professor Quirrell?" The little angel on his shoulder looked on with discomfort. "Why does he sound like he swallowed a badly tuned piano?"
The voice that answered wasn't the professor's.
"Another meddling child!" it shrieked. "Not one more!"
Quirrell turned and revealed the back of his head… and Voldemort's face.
Kronk let out a high-pitched shriek and stumbled back.
"WHY DOES HE HAVE TWO FACES?!"
"Gross!" the little devil stuck out his tongue, trying not to gag. "It's like a newborn picked the wrong side to come out!"
Harry yelled something, but Kronk didn't hear—his body was running on pure instinct.
He lifted the Mirror of Erised, gripping it like a ceremonial boulder… and smashed it over Quirrell-Voldemort with a colossal crash.
CRAAASH.
Magical glass, cursed blood, and enchanted fragments rained across the room.
Quirrell fell backward, screaming, as a gust of black wind erupted from his body, howling with a thousand voices.
Harry collapsed too, unconscious from the magical blast.
Kronk, sweating and panting, looked up… and saw Quirrell's body disintegrate into sandy dust.
"Oof…" Only now did he realize he'd smashed what was probably a very expensive mirror. "I'm gonna need a lot of duct tape for that."
The devil and angel exchanged glances.
Was this the kind of thing you could fix with several rolls of tape?
He gently adjusted Harry's position, while shards of the mirror floated around them. He needed a quick break—the scare had his heart racing and he needed to calm down.
Minutes later, Dumbledore arrived, alerted by Hermione and Ron.
Upon seeing the dust, the destroyed mirror, Quirrell's absence… and Kronk patting Harry on the head as if he were napping, Dumbledore simply raised an eyebrow.
"What happened here?"
Kronk replied without looking up: "He fell. Everything fell." He pointed to a pile of sand in the corner. "Even the extra face."
Dumbledore simply nodded, with the wisdom of someone who no longer gets surprised by anything at Hogwarts.
He wasn't about to say out loud that Kronk being here was not part of his carefully laid plans to boost Harry's confidence for his future inevitable sacrifice.
"Well done… Mr. Kronk, very well done," he praised with a smile. "And yet, I can't help but ask… why the sandcastle?"
Kronk shrugged—he'd gotten bored and had a bunch of sand nearby. Nature took its course.
The most important part?
Dumbledore didn't charge him for the mirror.
So everything was fine!