Egypt.
Temperature: hell with a golden filter.
Kronk's dehydration level: powdered cheese.
Thousands of kilometers from Hogwarts, a lone figure was crossing the desert, riding what appeared to be a food truck with a retractable awning that automatically adjusted to the sun's direction for shade.
"This was supposed to be a relaxing trip!" Kronk complained, fanning himself with a pot lid. He wore a safari hat, heart-shaped sunglasses, and a damp towel wrapped around his neck like a fashionable snake. "I just wanted to see a couple of camels, maybe milk one, and what do I get?
Sand… in places that should never have sand!"
The vehicle made a strange clunking noise, followed by a sound that could best be described as clonk-meow-ding. Kronk glanced down at the dashboard, which now displayed a blinking hieroglyphic: a chicken, a beetle, and a skull with ears.
That was a custom mod he'd added—for ambiance.
"…Is that good?" he asked.
The ground trembled.
"That's not good."
The sand beneath the wheels suddenly gave way. The food truck screeched, Kronk screamed, and the world turned into a landslide of golden dust and shifting rocks that felt suspiciously alive.
"I DOOOON'T LIIIIKE NATURAAAAL ELEVATOOOOOORS!"
The truck plummeted down a vertical tunnel, bouncing off carved stone walls, whizzing past ancient statues and bas-reliefs that—bizarrely—depicted what looked suspiciously like him running from many-legged horrors.
Reassuring.
With a final whump, the vehicle landed in a subterranean chamber lit by floating blue torches. Kronk crawled out through the side door, coughing and brushing sand out of his bellybutton and safari hat.
"You okay, champ?" his devil-shoulder asked, poking his cheek.
"That was wild!" said the angel-shoulder, gazing upwards. "At least a four-hundred-meter drop!"
"I'm fine! Just blacked out a tiny bit from fear..."
The place looked like a mix between a tomb, a death trap, and a museum nobody had checked on for two thousand years. The walls pulsed with ancient magic, and a statue of Anubis slowly turned its head to stare at him with timeless judgment.
"Hi," said Kronk. "Is this the Seven Wonders tour?"
In response, a hidden door slid open with a groan. A shambling mummy emerged, dragging chains. Then more mummies—faster ones, unchained and clearly doing cardio. And behind them, a smoky shadow with tentacles made of screaming.
Kronk pulled out his pocket mirror.
"Emergency meeting of the Rapid Decision Committee!"
All three versions of himself popped into the reflection, to avoid neck strain.
"I told you! I knew this would happen!" yelled Devil Kronk. "But noooo, 'let's go see the Nile', 'let's admire history and maybe milk a camel'. And now what?! Homicidal mummies!" He pointed dramatically at the approaching undead.
"I don't think they're waiting for our vote!" yelled Kronk, tipping his hat back. "Escape plan, go!"
He bolted back to the truck, dove into the driver's seat, and shouted: "TRANSFORMATION: FORM NINE!"
The truck whirred and groaned. Wheels folded in. Mechanical legs extended. A helicopter rotor—somehow made of ladles and broken dreams—popped out of the roof. Two robotic arms punched a nearby sarcophagus and retracted.
"Propulsion system, engage!" Kronk slammed a big scarab-shaped button.
A massive burst of steam launched the truck forward, steamrolling one unfortunate mummy who ended up plastered to the windshield, flailing its arms like it was asking for help.
"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I SWEAR!" Kronk shouted, dodging cursed beams, collapsing pillars, and a snake roughly the size of a train.
The truck skidded, spun to shake off the mummy, leapt over an altar, and launched itself up a ramp that, by all logic, should not have existed. It blasted through a crack in the pyramid wall just before the entrance caved in with a satisfying ancient doom rumble.
Kronk took a deep breath.
Fresh air. Freedom.
Almost no sand in his underpants.
"That was easy!" he said—right before hearing someone scream like they'd just sat on a cactus.
"AAAGGHHH!" shrieked Percy Weasley, who had been walking across the dunes, nose in a map and full of academic dignity, when Kronk's truck hit him full-on and sent him flying through the air like an uptight ragdoll.
Percy vanished into the horizon, leaving behind a trail of sand and a single feather slowly falling.
"…Was that Percy?" Kronk leaned out the window. "Pretty sure I just launched a prefect into orbit. Oops."
At that moment, the rest of the Weasley family emerged from a nearby campsite.
Bill, shirtless for no clear reason, wielded a serpent-shaped staff.
Ginny ran over, waving enthusiastically.
Fred and George immediately bet how many times Percy would spin before hitting the ground.
Arthur Weasley stopped mid-step, mouth agape.
"Is that… the same food truck from before?"
"Yup!" Kronk beamed. "Just a few tiny upgrades here and there—y'know, for the business."
Molly Weasley stormed toward him, holding a sarcophagus like a club.
"Kronk!? Did you just run over my son?!"
"By accident!" Kronk sweated—definitely due to the heat. "But uh… I did it with love?"
Fred and George were already laughing so hard they were choking, slapping Kronk on the back.
"Kronk, you're a legend. You're going in the family album!"
"No he's NOT!" Molly shouted.
Percy landed head-first in a nearby palm tree. His wand flickered on and off like an SOS signal.
"I'm… I'm okay… I think I can read hieroglyphics now," Percy mumbled, seeing double and inexplicably smelling chocolate.
And so, not only did Kronk survive an ancient magical death trap, but he also accidentally became the Weasley family's Summer Myth.