The Great Hall sparkled under the glow of a thousand floating candles, while the walls were draped with green and silver banners, celebrating Slytherin's impending victory. Students from the house were already exchanging discreet handshakes and smug smiles, as if the cup were already resting on their private shelves.
Amid this selective jubilation, Dumbledore stood up with the sound of his chair scraping softly. The chatter gradually faded until silence fell like a silent enchantment.
"Before we begin this year's final feast," he announced clearly, though with a slight nasal tone from springtime rhinitis, "I must ask you to allow me to make a few last adjustments to the final house points."
Eyes widened across the room.
Along the Gryffindor table, Ron looked like he was holding his breath, Hermione had stiffened her spine, and Harry—paler than usual—gripped the edge of the table as if trying not to be sucked into a storm of nerves.
If Dumbledore took even one more point from them, it would mean social death until they graduated Hogwarts.
"To Hermione Granger…" Dumbledore began, "for her brilliant use of logic in the face of fire: 50 points."
Hermione's eyes went wide, and her classmates gave her a contained round of applause. Only Fred and George let out a loud "Hermione!" before McGonagall silenced them with a menacing eyebrow.
"To Ronald Weasley, for his outstanding skill at wizard's chess and his willingness to sacrifice himself: 50 points."
Ron, who had been chewing on a raisin for the past five minutes without swallowing, finally choked on it and needed a pat on the back from Seamus to return to the land of the living.
"To Harry Potter, for his courage and determination in the face of one of the darkest challenges of this century: 60 points."
The cheers were louder this time. Gryffindor wasn't just celebrating anymore—they were doing the math (which meant Hermione was doing it for them).
They hadn't surpassed Slytherin yet, but they were dangerously close.
Dumbledore raised his hand once more to request silence.
This time, his tone shifted slightly.
"But there's one final contribution we must recognize. A student who faced the same challenges as the others, though… he did so armed with a five-foot machete, a watering can, and a logic all his own which… well, still baffles me deeply."
Now every eye in the hall turned toward the Hufflepuff table. After all, Kronk had earned a bit of a reputation over the year, and everyone knew who he meant.
He was sitting there, wearing his little cap, holding a tiny teacup that clearly didn't come from Hogwarts' dishware, and a fern decorated his spot like he was president of a botanical club.
The spoon stirred the tea by itself, enchanted and seemingly delighted, and the air around him felt cooler—probably thanks to the large block of ice he had placed on the table to chill his tea quickly.
"To Kronk, of Hufflepuff: 60 points."
And with that, the Slytherin banners began to shimmer… then slowly shifted into intertwined Gryffindor and Hufflepuff colors, waving in the air over an unprecedented shared victory.
"A complete tie," Dumbledore declared, sounding surprised. "For the first time since the founding of the school, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor will share the House Cup!"
The Great Hall erupted.
Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors jumped from their seats, clapping and cheering.
The professors looked at one another with surprised smiles, and Snape, arms crossed, seemed to be seriously reconsidering his decision not to drink anything alcoholic during dinner.
Minutes later, as the feast filled the tables and the air was thick with the scent of victory, Kronk approached the staff table, walking with the solemnity of someone who had completed a mission.
With a blend of childish pride and martial determination, he stood before Dumbledore.
"Headmaster," Kronk said in a formal tone, "I recall you promised me a medal…"
Dumbledore blinked.
"Did I?" he asked, scratching his beard.
"Yes, you were wearing a robe with little stars on the second Tuesday of the term."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Ah, yes… Tuesdays. I do tend to forget about Tuesdays," he said, shaking his head. "Well, Kronk, there's no doubt you deserve it. I'll have it sent to you soon, alright?"
Kronk said nothing, merely nodded.
He backed away without breaking eye contact with the headmaster, like a soldier accepting an injustice with dignity. Then, in total silence, he pulled out a rectangular, brown paper bag with a shiny label: Zonko's Deluxe Flatulence – Surprise Scent!
His movements were quick and precise.
A glance around, and he slipped the magical fart bag under Dumbledore's seat cushion.
No teacher noticed the slight increase in the headmaster's seating height.
Kronk returned to his seat and had a bit of pudding.
He raised his cup, smiled, and waited.
At the exact moment Dumbledore sat down again, lifting his wand to officially declare the school year over… it happened.
PHRRRRRRRT~~~
A monumental, exaggerated, echoing noise, as if a tuba had sneezed inside a cave. The reverberation was… perfect.
Silence fell instantly.
All the professors slowly turned toward the headmaster.
Dumbledore remained seated, bearing the dignity of a king caught in a middle school prank.
"…Very well, that wasn't part of the program," he said, without losing his composure.
There was a pause—and then, the explosion of laughter.
First the students, especially the Weasley twins, who looked like they had just discovered an entirely new field of prank potential.
Then Flitwick, and even Madam Hooch, who pounded the table from laughing so hard.
Even McGonagall let out a small "hmph" that sounded dangerously close to a repressed giggle.
Snape didn't laugh… but his left eye twitched.
Kronk did nothing—he simply raised his cup in silence.
Three days later, as all the students boarded their trains, a brown owl flew to Hagrid's wooden hut, where Kronk was tearfully saying goodbye to Fang.
In its beak, it carried a small round case made of blue velvet.
Inside? A finely crafted medal gleamed, engraved with golden letters and the title he had been promised, along with a separate note:
For services rendered to Hogwarts through unorthodox but effective methods.
– A. (Many Names) Dumbledore
On the back, in smaller letters:
P.S.: That bag had rotten peach scent. Good taste, Kronk.
Kronk was going to frame that medal in his shop.
"It was totally worth it."