The Hogwats Gaijin

Two days had passed since the Second Task. The temperature had dropped again and snow had fallen, but the wind was no longer as vicious and biting as before, and sunlight occasionally broke through the clouds.

Hermione walked along the snow-covered path following Viktor, pulling her warm scarf tighter.

Krum was unusually quiet. On the ground he always seemed a little awkward, hunching his shoulders and burying his neck in the fur collar of his robes. The stern look that made entire stadiums tremble now appeared more like protective armour for a very shy person. He had shyly suggested “a short walk”, but had led her to a wide clearing hidden behind the trees, where two brooms already waited on stands. And these were not old school “Shooting Stars”, but professional models with polished handles that seemed to hum with impatience.

‘I… I thought,’ Viktor began hesitantly, not meeting her eyes, ‘you are always in the library. But the air… it helps you think differently. I fly well. If you want, I can show you. I can teach you a few tricks.’

His voice sounded so sincere and timid that Hermione felt a wave of tenderness rise in her throat. There was not a trace of arrogance in this world-famous Seeker — only a desire to share the one thing he was truly confident in.

Hermione had never liked flying — it was too dangerous and unpredictable — but now she obediently approached the broom. Viktor stepped up behind her, carefully — barely touching — adjusting her hands on the handle and explaining how to shift her centre of gravity so she wouldn’t slip during a turn.

‘The main thing is to trust it,’ he whispered. ‘The broom knows the sky. It will carry you.’

They rose into the air together.

The world instantly expanded. From this height Hogwarts looked like a majestic stone model surrounded by an endless sea of the Forbidden Forest and the leaden mirror of the lake. Cold wind struck her face, knocking every worry of the past weeks out of her head. Hermione cried out — first in fright, then from sudden delight. Viktor circled around her like a huge bird of prey, but there was no threat in his movements — only absolute grace. In the air all his stoop and awkwardness vanished; he became an extension of the broom, light and swift.

‘Relax, Herm-own-ninny!’ he called, performing an elegant loop right above her head. ‘Feel the air!’

She dared to increase her speed. The hem of her robes flapped wildly in the wind, and her mane of chestnut hair turned into a wild cloud. For a moment she felt what Harry probably felt in every match — the intoxicating freedom from gravity and unnecessary thoughts.

When they landed smoothly, Hermione’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. She jumped off the broom, still feeling a slight dizziness.

‘That was… incredible, Viktor. Thank you.’

Krum merely nodded, pleased with the effect. He walked over to the roots of an old oak and pulled out a wicker basket he had hidden there. Judging by the aroma of fresh cinnamon buns and hot tea, he had clearly had serious negotiations with the house-elves. With a wave of his wand the air around them grew warmer, as though a continuous stream of heated air surrounded them from all sides.

Hermione sat down on the spread blanket, feeling awkwardness stir inside her. Viktor was trying so hard. He had arranged this flight, this picnic, and he looked at her with such silent adoration that it almost physically hurt her that she could not respond with the same passion. He saw her as the queen of the ball, while she… she saw him as simply a very lonely, talented boy who felt uncomfortable in his own fame. And she could not answer with the enthusiasm this talented person undoubtedly deserved.

They talked a little about the lake, about the merpeople, and how difficult it had been for Krum to maintain the Transfiguration spell for so long. Then Viktor grew sombre. He stirred his tea with a spoon for a long time before raising his eyes.

‘Your friends…’ he began slowly. ‘Are they always so… protective of you?’

Hermione smiled.

‘We’ve been through a lot together, Viktor.’

‘That boy,’ Krum frowned, searching for words. ‘The one with long hair. At the lake. He looked at me as though he wanted to attack me right there. In Durmstrang we look at each other like that only before a big fight.’

He fell silent, then asked very quietly and sadly:

‘Tell me… is there something between you? Many people think so.’

Hermione stared into her cup for a long time before answering. The wind rustled in the treetops, and the sound helped her find the right words. She did not want to discuss her friends, but leaving Viktor in the dark would have been unfair.

‘Ron…’ she began from afar, smiling slightly, ‘actually he’s your fan. He has a poster of you in his room, and he knows all your Quidditch statistics for the last three years. Ron was terribly upset that I went to the ball with you — he even made a scene. But he’ll be happy to get to know you properly once all this is over.’

Viktor nodded seriously, accepting the explanation.

‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘And Potter… your friend Harry. I’ve watched him. He flies excellently. He could have a great future in Quidditch. He’s not bulky, very light, and his reactions… are astonishing. I respect that.’

Hermione felt a surge of pride for Harry, but then the conversation gradually turned to the topic that still clearly bothered Krum.

‘As for Kieran…’ Hermione sighed, wrapping her scarf tighter. ‘I understand why it worries you. We were very close friends as children. When we were really small. It was hard for me to get along with other children back then — I read too much, I was a know-it-all — and people often dislike that. But he… he never teased me, he always protected me. He was a kind, curious boy. Then he was taken away. At Mahoutokoro they take children at seven, not eleven.’

She paused, remembering her searches in the library.

‘I looked for information about that school. There’s almost nothing — just fragments. But I didn’t see him for seven years, Viktor. I think…’ her voice grew quieter, ‘I think something bad happened to him there. Even now he protects me, only now it can be… frightening. But it’s not what you think. No, we’re not together. I’m not together with anyone. I’m only fifteen, Viktor! I need to finish school first!’

She laughed awkwardly, and caught a mixture of relief and sadness in Krum’s eyes. He had probably hoped she would confess that she wanted to be with him. She should have said something like that. Or not? Books didn’t cover situations like this. Realising she had been silent too long, Hermione hurriedly added:

‘I would really like you all to become friends! But that will probably only happen after the Third Task… when the Cup chooses a winner and all this tension disappears.’

Viktor set his cup down on the blanket and looked at her very seriously. His stern face softened.

‘Soon I will have to return to Durmstrang,’ he said slowly. ‘But I don’t want to lose touch. Herm-own-ninny, you… you are special. I don’t want to lose you so quickly.’

He hesitated, his ears noticeably reddening.

‘I want to invite you to Bulgaria. In the summer. If you want — bring your friends, Harry and the red-haired one. It’s warm there, there are mountains, plenty of space to fly. My father will be glad to have guests. Think about it, yes?’

Hermione froze, feeling heat flood her cheeks. Almost no one had ever said anything like that to her. This was not an invitation to a ball where everything was for show. In his words there was simple, human sympathy — so unusual and disarmingly sweet.

‘I… I’ll definitely think about it, Viktor,’ she whispered, lowering her eyes. ‘Thank you. That means a lot to me.’

They sat in silence, finishing the cooling tea. The sun slowly sank towards the horizon, painting the towers of Hogwarts in golden light.

Hermione couldn’t help smiling. It was still ridiculously pleasant when someone was interested in her not as Harry Potter’s friend and not as the swot whose notes everyone wanted to copy, but as Hermione Jean Granger — a pretty, clever girl, a person, a living human being.

An hour later Viktor walked her to the main doors of the castle, and Hermione headed towards Gryffindor Tower. The evening air still chilled her skin, but her mind felt strangely clear, mixed with quiet sadness.

She slipped quietly through the portrait hole. The common room was lively in its evening way: it smelt of the fireplace, old parchment, and something sweet. In the far corner, at their usual spot by the fire, it was especially noisy. Hermione saw Harry and Ron — they were arguing heatedly about something with Dean and Seamus, waving their hands. A little further away, in a deep armchair, sat Kieran. He wasn’t taking part in the general chatter, but he was listening, lazily twirling his wand between his fingers.

Hermione had already taken a step towards them when she suddenly stopped. Some strange, prickly feeling made her freeze. She looked at Ron, who could still flare up at the mere mention of Krum, then at Kieran, whose cold gaze by the lake still lingered in her mind.

Not now, she thought. Suddenly the room full of people who expected something from her — explanations, loyalty, or simply her usual presence — felt unbearably cramped.

Turning around before anyone could notice her, Hermione slipped back out into the corridor. Her first impulse was to go to the library, to the silence of the shelves, but halfway to the stairs she ran into Ginny.

The red-haired Weasley seemed to appear exactly when she was needed. She looked carefully at Hermione’s face, at her slightly windswept hair after the flight, and at her distant gaze.

‘Everything all right?’ Ginny asked directly.

Hermione opened her mouth to give the usual “yes”, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt a vague unease she couldn’t quite put into words. The walk with Viktor had been wonderful, Kieran had apologised, Harry was safe… but something was still scratching at her heart.

Hermione gave a helpless shrug, staring at the floor.

Ginny didn’t ask unnecessary questions. She simply walked up and firmly took Hermione by the arm.

‘Come with me,’ she commanded. ‘We’re going to the greenhouses. Neville promised to show me and Luna some new, incredibly rare plant. He says it glows when someone nearby tells the truth, or something like that. Anyway, you simply must see it, otherwise he’ll bore us to death with lectures about its root system all by himself.’

Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little. She understood that Ginny saw everything and was simply giving her an excuse not to return to the common room and not to be left alone with her thoughts.

They went downstairs and walked through the crunching snow towards the greenhouses. Ginny chattered nonstop about Neville, about how adorably he blushed when Luna called him “the brave knight of the cacti”, and about how Professor Sprout really ought to update the stock of protective gloves.

Hermione listened with half an ear, but her mind was elsewhere. In some strange, almost magical way she — the one who always tried to be the voice of reason and logic — had become the cause of a silent conflict between people who mattered to her. She hated it. It was irrational, it interfered with their common goal, and worst of all, it was destroying the fragile atmosphere of safety they had worked so hard to build.

I’m not a prize in the Tournament, she thought darkly, looking at the glowing windows of the greenhouses ahead. And I won’t let them turn our friendship into a battlefield. The situation needs to be resolved, and it looks like I’ll have to do it myself.

Ahead, in the doorway of the greenhouse, Neville’s silhouette and Luna’s fair hair were already visible, and Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath of the cold night air. The problems could wait until tomorrow. Right now she just needed to look at the glowing plant and be among people who weren’t going to fight over her.