The Hogwats Gaijin

Draco Malfoy stood beside a tall ice column, absently twirling a goblet of sparkling drink between his fingers. The Great Hall of Hogwarts had been transformed beyond recognition, and this was the one thing Draco was prepared to admit deserved his attention. Walls coated in living silver frost, floating candles turned into slowly revolving snowflakes, and the heavy, cold scent of a winter forest — all of it created the illusion of an endless icy grotto.

For Draco this was familiar territory. He had grown up surrounded by such decorations, amid false polish and icy courtesy.

Pansy Parkinson, clad in a garish pink dress with endless frills, clung to his elbow with a death grip. She chattered incessantly, shouting over the music of the Weird Sisters, her excited squeals stabbing Draco’s temples like a serrated blade.

‘Look, Draco,’ Pansy pressed closer, ‘ice sculptures! They say they were commissioned from masters in the Arctic. And the music! Isn’t it divine?’

‘Tedious, Pansy,’ he replied curtly, without even glancing at her.

His gaze roamed the hall, dissecting the crowd with surgical precision. The dance floor resembled a chaotic cauldron. Weasley in his absurd robes — looking like curtains from an abandoned orphanage — was a living affront to good taste. Longbottom, clumsily treading on his partner’s feet, merely inspired the urge to look away.

The champions’ grand entrance began.

Potter escorted Cho Chang. Draco permitted himself an inward smirk: Typical of the Golden Boy. He chose the heroine of his House so everything looks like an illustration from a cheap romance. Potter seemed stiff; his movements were wooden, his glasses forever slipping down his nose. Few paid them much notice — Potter always lost half his dubious charm on solid ground.

The real murmur of admiration greeted Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour. They looked exactly as magical aristocracy ought to look. Cedric, tall and assured; Fleur, whose Veela blood made the air around her vibrate with almost tangible beauty. They seemed carved from a single piece of crystal.

But the next pair made even Draco momentarily forget his studied indifference.

Viktor Krum, dour and awkward on land, walked arm in arm with… Granger.

Draco narrowed his eyes, hardly believing them. Granger? That same bushy-haired swot who forever lugged around mountains of parchment? Tonight she seemed someone else entirely. Her hair — usually resembling an exploded pillow — now fell in a smooth cascade down her back, evidently straightened with complex charms. The soft blue gown flattered her figure, and her movements held something fluid, almost aristocratic. To Draco’s exacting eye, she looked… quite acceptable. Damn it all, she looked presentable.

‘What’s this — Granger?’ Pansy hissed beside him, though Draco caught the poorly concealed envy in her voice. ‘Goodness, how many concealment charms did they have to pile on that horror?’

Draco made no reply. He suddenly felt stifled. The hall full of sweating students, the loud music, Pansy’s cloying perfume — all of it began to grate on him. He needed a place to breathe air not poisoned by pumpkin pie and cheap excitement.

‘Wait here, Pansy. I must discuss something with Nott,’ he said, detaching her hand with cool precision.

‘But Draco! The slow dance is coming up!’

‘Later,’ he cut her off in a tone that brooked no argument.

He moved through the crowd with such grace that no careless Gryffindor brushed his robes. His target was visible from afar. By the archway leading to the inner courtyard — where enchanted snowflakes drifted in the air — stood a small group.

Theodore Nott, quiet and watchful as ever, leant against the stone wall observing the hall like an entomologist. Beside him was Daphne Greengrass — her silver gown shimmering in the torchlight, making her resemble an ice nymph. And Kieran Morgan.

‘Morgan,’ Draco gave a slight inclination of his head as he approached the group. ‘At last I see you in proper company. That lion pelt clearly doesn’t suit you.’

Kieran — whose high, tight knot made his face look even sharper and more predatory — gave the faintest smile.

‘No choice in the matter, Malfoy. Direct all gratitude for rescuing me from the lions’ den to Daphne. She was… persuasive.’

Daphne Greengrass — looking in her silver gown like an ice nymph — made a mock, barely perceptible curtsy.

‘One must preserve the honour of ancient houses when they neglect it themselves,’ she remarked with irony.

‘Heartening to hear,’ Draco grew serious, lowering his voice. ‘Pure-bloods must stand together. Especially now. You do understand, Morgan, that everything may change very soon? The old order requires restoration.’

Daphne shifted her gaze from Draco to Kieran and, with elegant grace, set her empty goblet on a passing elf’s tray and adjusted her glove.

‘Boys, I believe I shall go and freshen up while you conduct your geopolitical debates,’ she said with a light smile. ‘Do try not to declare war on France before I return.’

‘In which direction will this order change, Draco?’ Kieran asked without mockery, meeting his eyes steadily.

‘Towards purity. Mudbloods and Muggles will no longer dictate how we live or how we hide. We shall stop accommodating their limited little world.’

Kieran gazed thoughtfully at the sparkling drink in his goblet.

‘And what exactly is so terrible about Muggles? Apart from the fact they don’t wield wands? You must have heard the story of my grandfather?’

‘Who hasn’t?’ Draco permitted himself a faint smirk. ‘Your ancestor won a duel by shooting his opponent with a Muggle pistol. A barbaric gesture, though effective for its time. But now… all those fuses, gunpowder, waiting for the shot — it’s simply laughable compared with an instant curse.’

Kieran gave a quiet, almost soundless laugh.

‘Waiting?’ He laughed softly. ‘Draco, Grandfather used a Smith & Wesson .44 revolver. Modern Muggle weapons can fire dozens of rounds per second. That’s far faster than any charm or wand movement. If you think the world beyond our ghetto is still muskets, you’re making a critical mistake. We are not above them… not any longer.’

Draco frowned, feeling the calm logic of the other boy scratch unpleasantly at his certainty.

‘No matter. The Dark Lord will unite us. And their guns won’t save them. The Dark Lord is beyond any technology. Or do you think a little piece of lead can stop a living god?’

‘A fanatic cannot be a true leader, nor a god,’ Kieran replied just as calmly. ‘He is literally the shepherd of a pack of rabid dogs, forgive me, Draco. If he returns — he will burn and take revenge, as before. Do you want to be king of ashes, Draco? Or servant to Voldemort? Do you think he will raise you as an equal? Recall whom he truly respected and valued? You can’t remember either, can you? Neither can I…’

‘It seems you’ve spent too much time with your Gryffindor friends,’ Draco tried to regain his usual tone. ‘Granger’s bad influence on you. Soon you’ll be justifying their existence in our circle.’

Kieran looked at him steadily for a second — thoughtfully, without threat. Then he said softly:

‘Don’t touch her, Draco.’

Malfoy froze. This was not a threat one could laugh off. It was a calm, polite request that would be foolish to meet with rudeness. Draco smiled, but no suitable barb came to mind.

Theodore Nott gave the slightest nod, acknowledging the moment’s weight. Draco sighed and reluctantly inclined his head in return.

‘Very well, Morgan. Don’t worry — I understand. Your… personal attachments are your own affair.’

Nott spoke for the first time. His voice was quiet, like the rustle of pages.

‘All very fascinating discussion,’ Theodore said. ‘But when the real trouble begins, Kieran, everyone will have to choose a side. Neutrality is a luxury not always affordable.’

Kieran turned his gaze to him.

‘I know, Theodore. I only hope that when the moment comes, I won’t see you on the opposite side.’

The atmosphere grew almost palpably heavy, but it was cut by Daphne’s return. She moved swiftly; she was no longer smiling. There was a light agitation in her eyes — not fear, but sharp urgency.

‘Kieran, a word. Now!,’ she said, touching his forearm.

‘Something wrong?’ Draco leant forward. ‘Need assistance?’

‘Thank you, Draco, but no,’ Daphne gave him a brief nod. ‘It’s personal. Urgent business. Excuse us.’

She took Kieran’s arm firmly and almost dragged him towards the exit, vanishing behind the ice decorations.

Draco remained standing with Theodore, watching their backs. Music continued to play; someone laughed, but in Draco’s mind echoed words about dozens of shots per second. He wanted to dismiss Morgan’s words as Gryffindor nonsense, yet to his horror he found a certain cold sense in that logic.

‘Strange fellow,’ Draco muttered.

‘He’s simply already made his choice,’ Theodore replied, turning back to the hall. ‘Have we made ours?’

Draco shrugged, gazing thoughtfully at the enchanted falling snowflakes.