The Hogwats Gaijin

For Harry, truly remarkable times had arrived — perhaps the calmest and most pleasant he had known in all four years at Hogwarts. After he had emerged from the icy depths of the lake with Cho Chang in his arms, the world around him seemed to change its colours.

The vicious magenta signs reading “POTTER STINKS” had finally disappeared from the corridors. Those who had once ostentatiously pressed their badges when he appeared now either looked away in embarrassment or, on the contrary, tried to give him a friendly clap on the shoulder. Even some Slytherins had stopped curling their lips at him, replacing open hostility with wary glances. Harry no longer felt like a target; he had truly become the champion of his school.

Their evening training sessions in the disused classroom continued, and now Harry genuinely enjoyed them. Magic, which had once seemed to him merely a collection of learnt movements, began to feel different — denser, more obedient. Thanks to Kieran’s advice he was gradually learning to sense the weight of each spell, and this gave him a confidence he had sorely lacked in the autumn.

But, hand on heart, neither his progress with non-verbal charms nor the approval of the entire school could compare with the main event of that winter.

Cho Chang.

If inviting her to the ball had once seemed a task more difficult than duelling a Hungarian Horntail, now everything felt… natural. Cho was no longer a distant, unattainable dream on a broomstick. She approached him herself after lessons, asked how his preparations were going, and they took long walks around the castle together when the February sun lazily gilded the remains of the snowdrifts. Cho turned out to be surprisingly sweet and sincere; she laughed at his jokes, and Harry discovered with delight that he could talk to her about anything — from Quidditch tactics to Professor Trelawney’s peculiar habits. In those moments he almost forgot that he was “the Boy Who Lived” or the fourth unwanted champion. He was simply a boy who liked a girl, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

Of course, at the back of his mind anxiety still pulsed. The approaching Third Task reminded him of itself through brief visits from Ludo Bagman and vague hints from the teachers, but Harry diligently pushed those thoughts aside.

The only thing that slightly troubled him was Hermione’s behaviour. Lately she had begun disappearing more and more often straight after lessons. Whereas before she had been the “brains” of their group, now she sometimes didn’t appear in the common room until curfew, citing enormous amounts of homework or extra projects. Harry put it down to her usual academic zeal, and to be honest, he was too preoccupied with thoughts of Cho’s eyes and smile to seriously question his friend. Ron wasn’t particularly worried either, gradually getting drawn into the training sessions.

Life was good. So good that Harry sometimes felt afraid — he knew only too well that in his case a calm always preceded a storm. But while the sun was shining and Cho was smiling at him, he was happy simply to enjoy the moment.

Harry was in high spirits as the three of them — he, Ron and Ginny — made their way along the echoing corridors towards their training refuge. Even the castle’s perpetual dampness seemed less unpleasant today. Beside him, Ginny was practically bouncing with impatience, her eyes shining with determination.

‘What do you think Morgan will teach us today?’ she asked, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Ron, walking with his usual loose gait, gave a sceptical grunt.

‘Ginny, you’ve turned him into a second Dumbledore. Kieran isn’t a professor — he’s just sharing the experience he picked up in his Japan. Don’t build him up into some great master.’

Ginny narrowed her eyes slyly at her brother.

‘What’s the matter, Ronnie? Are you jealous? Does it bother you that someone your age is better at duelling than you?’

‘Me? Jealous?’ Ron stared at her indignantly. ‘You don’t understand anything. You’ve just got a crush on that foreign specialist with the long hair. You follow him around like a lost puppy.’

‘Look who’s talking!’ Ginny shot back, not in the least embarrassed. ‘You still drool over Fleur Delacour whenever she comes within a mile!’

Harry chuckled quietly, listening to their familiar bickering.

When they pushed open the heavy door of the disused classroom, the merriment vanished at once. Kieran and Hermione were already there, but they were not alone. Towering over them was the massive, intimidating figure of Mad-Eye Moody.

The room was silent except for the professor’s hoarse voice.

‘…independence is commendable,’ Moody was saying, his magical eye whirling madly in its socket as it scanned the walls. ‘But don’t forget: you are only fourth-years. Your opponents in the Tournament are nearly seventh-years, with years of practice behind them. You’re wasting your time not coming to me for books and advice. I don’t bite… at least not unless provoked.’

Moody pulled out his metal flask and took a hefty swig. Harry noticed Hermione frown slightly as she watched the professor.

Spotting the newcomers, Moody gave a crooked grin that made his scars stand out even more sharply in the flickering torchlight.

‘Ah, reinforcements. Come in, lads. Old Auror’s seen more curses than you’ve seen History of Magic textbooks. I’ve got plenty to tell you.’

He gave them a short nod and, with the thump of his wooden leg on the stone floor — thump-thump, thump-thump — headed for the exit. Harry watched him go, then turned to Hermione. She was still staring at the closed door, and the expression on her face worried him.

‘Something wrong, Hermione?’ he asked quietly.

She started and turned a serious gaze on him.

‘That potion he’s always drinking…’ she hesitated, searching for words. ‘It has a very distinctive, familiar smell. I notice it every time he opens the flask, and it’s been bothering me for several days now. But I just can’t remember where I’ve smelled it before.’

Ron, who had already dropped his bag on the floor, shrugged.

‘Oh, come off it, Hermione. It’s Moody. Probably some Auror tonic to keep him going. Or medicine for old wounds. The man’s over sixty — he’s held together with spare parts.’

Hermione frowned and slowly shook her head, clearly not satisfied with such a simple explanation. But then she seemed to shake herself, pushing the troubling thoughts aside. Her face became businesslike and focused once more. She clapped her hands briskly.

‘Right! No more lounging about. I’ve prepared a list of universal spells that might come in useful in the maze. Kieran will help us with the non-verbal side. Harry, start with Impedimenta.’

Harry obediently drew his wand, but after one more quick glance at his friend he noticed that the worry in her eyes had not disappeared. It was simply hidden behind her intensified training mode.

The training session under Hermione’s guidance today felt more like an obstacle course under heavy fire. She was unusually sharp, almost fierce. Her spells didn’t simply fly — they lashed out like invisible whips, striking her friends’ shields with a dry, electric crack.

Harry felt he could barely keep up with her pace. Kieran was getting the worst of it. It seemed Hermione had set herself the goal of breaking through his defences, unleashing cascades of spells on him again and again. Morgan didn’t dodge as usual — he stood his ground, lips pressed tightly together, pouring all his strength into his defence as he held up the shimmering wall of his Protego. Even through the noise of the training, Harry could see how tense his shoulders were.

Ron, noticing his friend’s mood, sensibly tried to stay in the farthest corner of the room, hoping to blend into the shadows and avoid her wand as much as possible.

‘Defend yourself, Morgan,’ Hermione growled threateningly. ‘You’re not just good at making scenes by the lake, are you? Show me what you can do!’

And so he defended himself against flashes of light, clumps of trembling air, Transfigured pebbles and tiny magical birds.

An hour later Hermione finally lowered her wand, exhausted. All four of them were breathing hard. Harry’s shoulder ached from the constant sharp movements, and sweat ran down his back.

‘That’s enough for today,’ Hermione said curtly. Her face was pale and her eyes still flashed.

‘Maybe…’ Ron cleared his throat cautiously, ‘we could go to the elves? Get something to eat? I could really do with…’

‘No!’ Hermione cut him off, stuffing her textbooks into her bag so violently that the parchment gave a plaintive crunch. ‘I’ve still got heaps to do. I have to go!’

She spun on her heel and literally flew out of the classroom, slamming the door so hard that the torches in the corridor flickered.

Ron spread his hands in bewilderment.

‘What was all that about?’

Kieran silently watched her go. His face, usually impassive, now looked strangely broken. He stood with his wand lowered, and in his eyes Harry saw deep, almost childlike bewilderment.

Harry had already taken a step towards him to ask if he understood what had got into Hermione, but Ginny beat him to it. She walked up to Kieran and asked in a surprisingly tactful, quiet voice:

‘Is everything all right?’

Kieran gave a helpless shrug.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied softly.

There was so much genuine sadness and confusion in that short admission that Harry felt uneasy. The menacing aura that usually surrounded Morgan had suddenly vanished, leaving behind simply a frightened boy.

‘Come on,’ Ginny said gently, taking him by the arm just above the elbow. ‘You need some fresh air. Let’s take a walk round the grounds, and I’ll tell you a thing or two about girls. It seems they skipped that subject in your Japanese school.’

Harry watched with open astonishment as Ginny led Morgan away. This was an entirely different Kieran — one Harry had never seen before.

When the door closed behind them, silence fell over the classroom.

‘He’s a strange one, all the same,’ Ron muttered, poking at a crack in the floor with the toe of his boot.

‘He’s all right, Ron,’ Harry replied lightly, wiping his glasses on the edge of his robe. ‘Everyone’s got their own problems.’

Ron drew in a breath as though about to say something important. But at the last moment he seemed to change his mind, deflated, and simply waved a hand.

‘Never mind. Let’s go to the elves. I’m starving.’

Harry nodded and followed his friend. But as they walked towards the kitchens, his thoughts kept returning to Moody. “Come and see me… we’ll have a chat.” The old Auror clearly knew something or wanted to help. And Harry decided that perhaps he really should pay the professor a visit. After all, Moody was the only adult who openly offered him support without trying to lecture him at the same time.