The Hogwats Gaijin

The cold stone of the steps behind the columns bore no comparison to the icy chill that had spread through Hermione’s chest. She sat huddled, knees drawn up, feeling the heavy silk of her soft blue gown — the gown in which, for the first time in fifteen years, she had felt not merely a swot or a “walking encyclopaedia”, but a truly beautiful girl — now seemed an unbearable burden.

Ron. Ronald Weasley was simply an insufferable, narrow-minded idiot.

Hermione remembered how Viktor’s eyes had shone when he led her into the hall. She remembered the admiring whispers and the way Harry had smiled at her — genuine and warm. She had wanted to go to her friends, to share this fragile, magical moment. But Ron… He had looked at her as though she had committed high treason. “In league with the enemy”, “betrayed Harry”, “the worst thing you could have done”. Each word struck like a slap.

She had walked away from them with her head held high, step measured, but the moment she reached the shadow of the columns the dam broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks, threatening to ruin the makeup on which she had spent so much time.

Suddenly there came the dry rustle of silk and the rhythmic click of heels. Hermione froze, frantically wiping her eyes with her palms. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her like this. And when Daphne Greengrass appeared round the corner, Hermione wished the ground would swallow her whole. She tried at once to stop crying, but the tears kept falling despite every effort of will.

Daphne halted. For a fraction of a second bewilderment crossed her face, replaced by some inner struggle. Hermione braced for a cutting remark, but Greengrass did something unimaginable — she sank down beside her on the steps, heedless of her silver hem, and stared straight ahead without trying to catch Hermione’s eye.

‘Enough, Granger,’ Daphne’s voice was level, yet stripped of its usual ice. ‘You look far too good to allow yourself that red nose and swollen eyelids.’

Hermione gave a hiccupping sob, staring wide-eyed at the Slytherin.

‘Listen to me,’ Daphne leant closer, and from somewhere in the folds of her gown produced a fine silk handkerchief, which she at once held out to Hermione. ‘Tonight you walked in here like a queen. You made the whole hall fall silent. Whatever happens next — do not ruin that first impression! Right now you are not a Gryffindor; you are a representative of every witch in this pen of male conceit. By turning yourself into a laughing-stock you let us all down!’

Hermione froze, forgetting to breathe. Sudden admonition from Greengrass was the last thing she had expected this evening.

‘Stay here. Don’t go anywhere,’ Daphne commanded, rising abruptly.

She vanished so swiftly that Hermione had no chance to reply. A minute passed, no more. Hermione had only just composed herself and smoothed her hair when Greengrass returned, literally dragging a startled Kieran by the hand.

He looked baffled, but the instant he saw the distraught Hermione his expression changed. In a few seconds a whole gamut of emotions flashed across his face: from instantaneous murderous intent to near-childlike panic at the sight of a crying girl.

Daphne gave him no time to recover. She took Hermione’s hand and with decisive firmness placed it in Kieran’s broad, calloused palm.

‘Right,’ Greengrass said imperiously. ‘You two are going back in there now, and you, Granger, are going to smile so hard everyone’s teeth ache with envy. And you, Kieran… you will owe me very dearly. Find me at the bar later.’

With that Daphne spun on her heel and melted into the corridor shadows as quietly as she had come.

Silence fell. Kieran did not release Hermione’s hand. His fingers were dry and warm, and somehow the touch steadied her. He looked down at her, and the ice was gone from his dark eyes — only unaccustomed bewilderment remained.

‘I…’ Kieran hesitated, clearing his throat. ‘I warn you at once: I dance abominably. They tried to teach me and — no joke — beat me with rods in the process. But the result will still not please you.’

Hermione could not help it; she gave a short, surprised laugh, feeling the bitterness of Ron’s words begin to recede.

‘Believe me, Kieran,’ she rose, smoothing her gown and gripping his hand more firmly, ‘you couldn’t upset me more even with the most dreadful dancing. Come along.’

She let him lead her back into the glowing hall, feeling that this evening might yet be salvaged.

The Weird Sisters’ music gave way to a slow, languid piece. Kieran guided Hermione to the centre of the floor, and she could feel his tension through her skin. He held her waist so carefully, as though she were made of the finest glass that might crack at any sudden movement. And indeed he was no great dancer: he moved mechanically, staring fixedly over her shoulder and clearly counting beats in his head to avoid — Merlin forbid — treading on her feet.

But Hermione did not care. His awkwardness was honest and infinitely preferable to Ron’s pompous righteousness. She felt peace settle inside her at last. The hurt still smarted, but the urge to sob had gone — not in the company of someone who stood beside her like a rock.

When the dance ended, Kieran gave a faint sigh of relief and suggested:

‘Let’s go to the bar. Something cold to drink.’

At the ice bar, decorated with frozen roses, they encountered Malfoy and Pansy. Hermione tensed instinctively, bracing for another barb, and caught Draco’s eye. He subjected her to a strange, appraising look.

‘Granger,’ he drawled in his usual lazy tone, then added, as though forcing himself: ‘You look… presentable.’

Parkinson ignored Hermione entirely, suddenly absorbed in the contents of her own goblet.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. This was either another jibe or the political landscape among ancient families was shifting. She gave a polite nod in reply, trying to read something — anything — in Malfoy’s face, but Draco had already turned away, resuming his mask of absolute indifference.

They each took a glass of chilled punch and withdrew to the quieter edge of the hall.

‘You know, I feel awkward,’ Kieran said quietly, gazing at the drifting snowflakes in his goblet. ‘I ought to have thought to ask you sooner. I simply… wasn’t planning to come at all. If not for Daphne’s act of violence…’ He faltered. ‘I’m not at Hogwarts for dancing.’

‘Then what for?’ Hermione looked at him intently. ‘You keep hinting at some grand mission here, Kieran. But you never say exactly what.’

He was silent for a moment, and something dark, adult and sorrowful flickered in his gaze.

‘When the Death Eaters begin stirring again… every wand and every blade of the Morgans will be needed. The family is gathering its strength.’

‘But you’re only fourteen!’ she exclaimed, lowering her voice. ‘What blades are you talking about?’

Kieran gave a crooked smile.

‘Age doesn’t stop me from clearly pronouncing two words and producing a green flash, Hermione.’

‘Don’t you dare joke like that!’ She frowned, a chill running down her spine. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Who said I’m joking?’ He shrugged, and the gesture held so much fatalism that she felt uneasy.

‘You’re saying… the Morgans are preparing for war? You came back because of that?’

Kieran softened his expression and touched her hand.

‘I came back to be near my family. And near those who matter to me. Let’s not talk of gloomy things? If you don’t mind, I’m ready to offer another slow dance. It should go better the second time. I think I’m beginning to recall the lessons.’

Hermione was about to agree when Daphne Greengrass appeared again. She was not alone — trailing behind her, looking somewhat sheepish, came Viktor Krum.

‘Viktor,’ Daphne said commandingly, addressing the Bulgarian champion. ‘We took care of your partner while you were… distracted. Don’t lose her again. And make sure no one dares upset her.’

Krum nodded gravely, casting a brief glance at Kieran. Viktor approached Hermione and offered his hand.

‘Forgive me, Her-mi-vo-na. Shall we dance?’

Before Hermione could answer, Daphne seized Kieran’s elbow with decision.

‘And you, Morgan, are coming with me.’

Hermione caught Kieran’s eye.

‘I’ll see you in the common room, Kieran!’ she called after him as Krum already led her towards the centre of the floor.

Then she turned her gaze to Daphne. The Slytherin had resumed her usual haughty air, but when their eyes met she narrowed them for a second and gave the faintest wink before her face settled back into the mask of an ice queen. Hermione nodded belatedly to the Slytherin girl.

Greengrass merely twitched a shoulder as though it were beneath notice, and as she turned Kieran towards the dance floor she declared loudly:

‘You’ll have to dance with me, Morgan, until I’m tired. And I shan’t tire, so don’t get your hopes up!’

Kieran gave a resigned sigh, but when he glanced back one last time at the radiant Hermione, the guilt had vanished from his eyes.