The Hogwats Gaijin

Hermione opened her eyes, and reality crashed down on her together with the deafening roar of the stands. Her brain, accustomed to working ahead, instantly began piecing together the chain of events. The Headmaster’s office… Dumbledore gently but insistently explaining that she had been chosen as “the person Viktor Krum would miss most of all”. Hermione had disliked the idea immediately. After Rita Skeeter’s poisonous articles and Ron’s stupid accusations, the role of “hostage” to the Bulgarian champion seemed to her a dubious honour. She had briefly thought that Kieran would hardly be pleased either — he already watched her interactions with Krum with poorly concealed doubt. But Dumbledore had pressed the importance of the Tournament and international cooperation, and, as always, she had yielded.

Then came the wave of a wand, an overwhelming desire to close her eyes, and… darkness.

And now she was here.

The water was murky and leaden. Hermione felt Viktor’s strong arm around her waist, but as soon as they reached shallow water she began kicking her legs actively. The thought of being carried ashore in front of the entire school like a helpless doll seemed unbearably humiliating to her.

To the frenzied cheers of the spectators they emerged onto the bank. Hermione stumbled, tangling in the heavy wet hem of her robes, but someone’s hands immediately draped a towel over her shoulders. A commotion began: Viktor was unceremoniously pushed aside. Hermione blinked, wiping water from her face, and saw a displeased Professor Snape standing in front of her.

But it was not him who caught her attention.

Beside her, a young unfamiliar witch knelt down. She wore an expensive, elegantly tailored robe, and her hair — perfectly styled and cut just above the shoulders — framed a face with a bright, disarmingly friendly smile. The witch immediately wrapped Hermione in another fluffy blanket and began checking her shoulders and arms with such care as though they were old friends or sisters.

‘Are you all right, dear? Are you feeling well?’ Her voice was soft and melodic. ‘No dizziness? Nothing hurting?’

She offered Hermione a small vial containing a shimmering emerald potion.

Hermione hesitated, eyeing the stranger warily. But Snape stood nearby, Madam Pomfrey was fussing a little further away, and neither of them looked disturbed by the woman’s presence. Noticing her hesitation, the stranger narrowed her eyes understandingly and added quietly:

‘Professor Snape brewed it especially for you. Drink, don’t be afraid.’

In response, Snape merely twitched his cheek irritably, staring off into the distance, but grunted:

‘Drink it, Granger. You won’t be poisoned. At least not today.’

Hermione took a sip, and a wave of invigorating warmth instantly swept through her body, driving the lake’s chill from the deepest parts of her bones. The unfamiliar witch waved her wand, and Hermione felt her clothes and hair dry in seconds — an extremely powerful non-verbal spell. The woman examined her once more and seemed satisfied.

‘There we are,’ she turned to Snape. ‘What do you think, Severus? Does she look alive enough?’

‘Quite,’ Snape replied sarcastically, never using the witch’s name.

The woman adjusted the blankets on Hermione once more, gently touching her cheek, and with a light smile fluttered over to Snape.

‘Thank you for your help, Professor. I think we may go.’

‘Excuse me!’ Hermione rose, wrapping the blankets tighter. ‘Thank you very much… Are you from the Ministry?’

The witch laughed lightly, giving an elegant wave of her hand adorned with thin rings.

‘Oh no, not at all!’

She added nothing more and left with Snape, leaving Hermione in complete bewilderment.

But she didn’t have long to ponder. Pushing through the crowd, Kieran came striding towards her. He looked thunderous. Kieran dropped to his knees beside her, his fingers gripping the edges of her blanket.

‘Are you all right?’ His voice was sharp, and his face showed open worry bordering on outright panic.

‘Yes, I’m fine, I…’ Hermione began, but was interrupted by Krum’s voice.

‘I saved her,’ Viktor said sullenly, standing a little way off. ‘No need to make such a fuss.’

Kieran slowly turned his head towards the Bulgarian. His voice dripped with venom:

‘Of course you saved her, Krum.’

Viktor scowled, his thick eyebrows drawing together.

‘You got something to say to me?’

What happened next made Hermione flinch. With a fluid, almost imperceptible movement Kieran changed his posture — one moment he was on his knees before Hermione, the next he was on his feet, standing very close to Krum and staring him down. The difference in age and shoulder width clearly did not bother him.

The tension between them became almost physical.

‘Look! Another one!’ someone shouted, breaking the silence.

‘And here comes our youngest champion — Mr Potter!’ roared Ludo Bagman’s voice.

Hermione, Kieran, and Krum all turned their heads towards the lake at once. The quarrel was instantly forgotten as Harry’s messy head appeared above the surface.

Harry was climbing ashore, breathing heavily, but an oddly inappropriate, almost blissful smile played on his face. He held Cho Chang tightly in his arms; she, chilled and bewildered, clung to his neck.

Feeling a surge of strength from Snape’s potion, Hermione resolutely shrugged off the extra blankets. Sitting still and playing the role of rescued hostage felt almost physically unbearable, especially now, with the heavy, prickly tension still hanging between Kieran and Viktor.

She needed to occupy herself with something useful to quiet the subconscious guilt — she felt that this flash of Morgan’s anger had been caused solely by her role in the task.

‘Harry! Over here!’ she called, running to the water’s edge.

She helped Harry carry Cho to the dry stones and immediately draped one of her fluffy blankets over the girl’s shoulders. Morgan steadied the exhausted Potter.

Harry, soaked through and breathing hard, nodded gratefully. Madam Pomfrey bustled over at once, taking Cho under her care and beginning to fuss over both students.

While the matron tended to Harry, Hermione turned to Kieran. She gently touched his arm. Morgan flinched; she felt the muscles beneath his robes tense like stone. He caught her gaze and slowly exhaled.

‘Sorry,’ he said quietly, so only she could hear. ‘I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.’

Hermione only squeezed his elbow tighter, letting him know she wasn’t angry.

Viktor Krum, noticing this fleeting interaction, scowled with clear offence. He cast Hermione one more long look, but receiving no attention, he moved away towards the Durmstrang delegation, who were already loudly celebrating his success.

Harry, meanwhile, was vigorously rubbing himself with a huge towel.

‘Hermione, you have no idea how strange it was,’ he said, still stuttering slightly from the cold. ‘When I saw you down there… I thought I’d have to fight all those merpeople at once. I already had my wand ready, thinking how to pull out two people… But then Krum appeared. He looked like… well, like Krum, only with a shark’s head. He grabbed you and shot upwards. So I followed…’

Harry looked out at the lake, where grey waves still rolled. Minutes dragged on, and Hermione felt increasingly uncomfortable at the centre of this champions’ commotion. Harry, having completely forgotten everything else, was literally hovering around Cho Chang, and his delighted, slightly foolish smile made Hermione want both to smile fondly and to hide her face in her hands.

On the other side, Kieran and Viktor continued exchanging glances in which lightning flashed brighter than in the storm clouds over the Forbidden Forest.

Feeling like a prize in a competition she had never entered, and fearing that Rita Skeeter might leap out from behind any rock with her Quick-Quotes Quill, Hermione decided she had had enough. She did not want to be either the cause of an international conflict or the heroine of yet another gossip column.

She quietly slipped away from the champions’ area, trying not to attract attention. Near the path leading to the stands she almost bumped into Mad-Eye Moody. He was leaning against a wooden post, winking at her with his normal eye while his magical one whirled madly, scanning the shore. A crooked grin twisted his scarred face.

‘Well, Granger?’ he growled hoarsely. ‘How does it feel to have been a drowned woman? The fish didn’t bother you too much?’

‘I don’t remember anything, sir,’ Hermione replied politely. ‘Dumbledore said it was some kind of magical sleep.’

Moody grunted, pulled out his ever-present hip flask and took a hefty swig. The moment he opened the lid, a strange smell reached Hermione — sharp, thick, vaguely familiar… Her brain immediately latched onto the sensation like a dog onto a bone. She couldn’t quite place it, but the thought lodged in her subconscious as an uneasy motif — like a song whose lyrics hover on the tip of the tongue but refuse to surface.

‘Well, well,’ Moody wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off her. ‘Only just back from the dead and already causing trouble. The lads down there nearly came to blows over you. And you’re only in your fourth year.’

He said it with a rather unpleasant smirk, as though implying that her only real achievement was her ability to make promising young wizards lose their heads. There was thinly veiled contempt in his tone for her abilities as a witch.

Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks — not from the warming potion, but from the sting to her wounded pride. She wanted to remind him of her top marks and the hours she had spent in the library helping Harry, but she merely gave a restrained nod.

‘I’ll try to behave more carefully in future, sir,’ she said dryly and walked past him.

Squeezing through the crowd on the stands, she finally spotted a familiar fiery-red head. Ginny was sitting in the front row, gripping the railing.

‘Hermione!’ Ginny immediately shifted to make room. ‘Thank Merlin you’re all right! We were going mad up here. What happened? Did you see anything underwater? How are you feeling?’

The genuine concern in Ginny’s voice affected Hermione better than any blanket. There was no male rivalry or Moody’s venomous hints in this kind-hearted care.

‘Honestly? I’m just very tired, Ginny,’ Hermione sighed, sinking onto the bench. ‘I don’t remember anything underwater, just… darkness. And now everything feels somehow unreal.’

She leant her shoulder against her friend, and together they scanned the grey waves for those who were still beneath the surface.

Time for the task was running out, and a heavy, anxious silence hung over the lake.