The Hogwats Gaijin

The morning was so bitter that even Dementors would probably have preferred to stay indoors by the fire. Snow that had lain fluffy drifts yesterday had turned to filthy grey slush underfoot. The air was thick with damp and a cold that crept beneath robes the moment one stepped outside the castle’s warm walls.

Harry stood on the shore of the Black Lake, staring with longing at the leaden, unnervingly still surface. The lake breathed such icy calm that the mere thought of immersion sent phantom cramps through his muscles.

‘Come on, Harry,’ Hermione gave him a gentle push in the back. ‘We can’t discuss theory forever. You need to understand what it’s like to cast underwater! The task is tomorrow.’

‘Why don’t you take a dip yourself?’ Harry retorted weakly, wrapping his scarf tighter. ‘The water’s lovely, honestly. Two degrees if we’re lucky.’

Ron and Kieran, standing a little apart, gave identical grunts, but catching Hermione’s stern glance they immediately began studying the horizon with exaggerated interest. Ginny merely smiled sympathetically at Harry, though curiosity sparkled in her eyes — she clearly wanted to see the spells in action.

‘I’ll dry you the instant you come out,’ Hermione assured him, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘But you need to get used to the water now. You won’t have time to panic from the cold during the task.’

Harry sighed heavily. He knew she was right, and that irritated him most of all. He pulled off his heavy cloak and scarf, handing them to Ron, and kicked off his boots. The ground beneath his bare feet felt like ice.

With a flick of his wand Harry summoned the charm they had practised in class. A transparent, shimmering sphere enveloped his head, fitting snugly to his face. Then he cast Warming Charms on himself, though he knew they were feeble protection against a Scottish lake in December.

Taking a deep breath, Harry waded in. The water did not merely sting — it stabbed his skin with thousands of icy needles, piercing the warming cocoon. When it closed over his head the world changed instantly.

Here it was dark and very quiet. Light barely penetrated the leaden layer of water, turning the bottom into a jumble of grey shadows. Movement was incredibly hard, as though his thin school robes had been weighted with lead — he should have left them too. Harry made several wand thrusts. First he tried non-verbal sparks — they emerged as dull, quickly fading blobs.

Then he risked speaking.

‘Expelliarmus!’ His own voice sounded strange and hollow inside the bubble.

The spell left his wand, but in water it did not fly in a straight line — it seemed to force its way through thick jelly, leaving a trail of tiny bubbles. The true depths beckoned with their blackness, but Harry did not dare swim more than ten feet from shore. He spent another ten minutes underwater, fighting the medium’s resistance and trying to hold concentration until his fingers began to numb.

When he surfaced the piercing wind struck at once. His wet clothes began to crust with ice before his eyes.

‘Well?’ Hermione hurried to him, eyes alight with impatience.

‘In principle… bearable,’ Harry chattered through clenched teeth so loudly he barely recognised his own voice. ‘The main thing… the bubble holds. And spoken spells… work. But aiming… much harder. Hermione… help.’

‘Oh, sorry!’ She drew her wand at once.

Harry was enveloped in a dense cloud of warm air. It felt as though he had been wrapped in an invisible woollen blanket. His clothes and hair began slowly steaming, shedding moisture, and feeling gradually returned to his limbs.

At that moment a second-year boy Harry had not noticed before came hurrying down from the castle. The boy looked out of breath.

‘Miss Granger?’ he squeaked. ‘Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this.’

He handed Hermione a folded scrap of parchment. She frowned, quickly scanned the lines, and refolded the note.

‘I’m summoned to the Headmaster’s office,’ she said, a note of puzzlement in her voice. ‘Right now.’

Harry felt unease stir inside him.

‘What do you think it’s about? Maybe one of the judges doesn’t like how actively you’re helping me?’ The thought came at once. ‘Karkaroff, for instance?’

Hermione merely gave an uncertain shrug.

‘I don’t know. But we’d better not keep the Headmaster waiting.’

‘We can walk back to the castle together,’ Ron offered, draping Harry’s warm cloak over his shoulders. ‘We’ll wait for you in the common room.’

They set off, squelching through the mud. At the fork by the main doors Hermione parted from the group, heading towards the Headmaster’s tower, while Harry, Ron, Kieran, and Ginny climbed the stairs. Harry still felt the phantom cold of the Black Lake in his bones and somehow sensed that Hermione’s summons to Dumbledore marked the beginning of something he would not like at all.

After dinner — at which Hermione did not appear — Harry and Kieran went to the disused classroom. They left Ron in the common room; he volunteered to “keep watch” in case Hermione returned from the Headmaster and wanted to share anything.

The training room was cool; the torches burned unevenly, casting long, twitching shadows on the walls. Without Hermione conversation did not flow. Harry fidgeted, glancing constantly at the door, while Kieran seemed to retreat even deeper into himself than usual.

To avoid torturing each other with silence they began a duel. It was not like their usual sessions — they did not practise complex charms but simply traded the simplest spells, trying to do so as quickly as possible. Strike, Protego, counter. Again and again.

It reminded Harry of ping-pong, only instead of a ball came bursts of light and trembling air. At one point Harry caught himself tiring of relying only on shields. He remembered how Kieran had dodged Hermione’s spells on the clearing and decided to try himself.

Memories surfaced of evenings on Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had loved watching boxing — perhaps the only sport he considered sufficiently “manly”. When Dudley expressed interest in boxing, even more tapes of fights appeared in the house. Harry had often glimpsed them: how fighters bounced on their toes, how they ducked under blows, working the torso.

Harry crouched, keeping his centre of gravity low. Kieran released another Depulso, and instead of raising a shield Harry swayed sharply left. The spell whistled past, nearly singeing his ear.

It works! flashed through his mind.

Harry began bouncing on the balls of his feet. Now he perceived flashes from Kieran’s wand as crosses and hooks. He ducked, slipped sideways, twisted his shoulders. With enormous surprise he realised that his Seeker’s reactions, combined with basic boxing technique, made him almost untouchable. For a moment joy surged through him — it felt as though they had discovered something unique, some secret move no one else had thought of.

But the joy died at once. Harry remembered second year, the Duelling Club. Snape against Lockhart. The Potions master had not bounced like a boxer, yet his movements had been short, swift, and incredibly economical. He did not merely stand — he controlled distance so finely that Lockhart looked like a clumsy child beside him.

Wizards were not fools. Experienced duellists surely used something similar, only more elegantly.

Kieran lowered his wand, breathing hard.

‘You’ve got excellent reflexes, Harry,’ he said, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘Lean on that. Underwater everything will be slow. Water is a viscous medium — it binds your legs and arms. But your thoughts and your eyes will stay just as quick. If you can’t swim away — at least dodge with your body.’

Harry nodded, trying to catch his breath.

‘Yes… I understand. The main thing is not to freeze.’

He fell silent, glancing at the door again.

‘You know, I’m worried Hermione’s still not back. It’s been hours. What could Dumbledore possibly be discussing with her for so long?’

Kieran frowned, holstering his wand.

‘I don’t know. Maybe she returned to the common room while we were here? Curfew’s soon. Let’s go and check.’

They walked quickly to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was nearly empty. The fire was dying, and in its dim light they saw only Ron. He sprawled on a sofa, snoring shamelessly with his head thrown back.

Harry shook his shoulder. Ron jolted awake, rubbing sleepy eyes.

‘Eh? What? Hermione?’ He looked around. ‘No, I haven’t seen her. Probably came in while I… well, dozed off. Must have gone straight to the dormitory to sleep before tomorrow. You know how she is — a stickler.’

Harry exchanged a glance with Kieran. The latter stood with arms folded, his face unusually grim. Something about the whole situation bothered Morgan, and that unease transmitted to Harry.

‘All right,’ Harry sighed. ‘Let’s go to bed. The task’s tomorrow.’

They climbed to the dormitory. Harry collapsed onto his bed without even removing his glasses, and the moment his head touched the pillow consciousness plunged into heavy, dark oblivion.

It felt as though he had closed his eyes for only a second.

‘Harry! Get up!’ A hand shook his shoulder without ceremony.

Harry jerked upright, blinking. Kieran stood over him. He was already fully dressed; his face was focused and pale in the pre-dawn gloom.

‘It’s time, Harry,’ Kieran said quietly. ‘The lake is waiting.’