The Hogwats Gaijin

The evening before the third task had turned the Gryffindor common room into a disturbed beehive. The air was thick with tension, the smell of butterbeer and nervous anticipation. Fred and George, who had occupied a corner table, were loudly taking the final bets — judging by the pile of Knuts and Sickles, half the House was betting on Harry, while the other half, out of pure superstition, was betting that “something would go wrong”.

Hermione sat in an armchair, clutching a book she wasn’t even trying to open. The noise pressed on her ears.

She stole a glance at Harry. He was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by Seamus, Dean and Ron, and looked surprisingly calm. There was none of the jittery nervousness from before the first task, nor the resigned gloom before the lake. He was laughing at one of Dean’s jokes, his posture relaxed, but Hermione — who had studied her friend thoroughly over the years — could see that his eyes were serious and alert. He was ready.

‘He’ll manage,’ she thought, feeling a surge of pride. ‘We’ve done everything we could.’

But there was still one more thing. The one they had discussed with Sirius in the cave. The one that had kept her awake for the last three nights.

Hermione took a deep breath and set the book aside. Now or never.

She walked over to the sofa and lightly touched Harry’s shoulder. He turned instantly — his reflexes really had become excellent.

‘Harry,’ she said quietly, trying to sound casual. ‘Can I have a word? About… Transfiguration.’

Ron, who was in the middle of explaining the advantages of the Wronski Feint to Neville, just waved a hand without interrupting. Harry nodded, stood up and followed her to the dark window alcove, away from curious ears.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, lowering his voice. ‘You look like you’re about to break a dozen school rules.’

‘Possibly,’ Hermione said, nervously glancing back at the noisy common room. ‘Harry, I need the Cloak.’

Harry’s face immediately became serious. He frowned, folding his arms across his chest.

‘You’ve decided then?’ There was disapproval in his voice. ‘Hermione, this is a bad idea. Let me go with you now? Or in the morning? You don’t need to go in there alone during the task.’

‘No, Harry,’ she said firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘We can’t do it now. Moody is paranoid. He sits in his office surrounded by lie detectors and Sneakoscopes. We won’t get past unnoticed.’

‘But if we go under the Cloak…’

‘His eye sees through the Cloak!’ Hermione hissed. ‘Remember? The only chance is during the task itself. He’ll be patrolling the perimeter of the maze. That’s his duty, approved by the Ministry. He’ll definitely be out of the castle. It’s the only window.’

Harry was silent, biting his lip. He understood her logic, but the thought of her risking herself while he ran through the maze clearly didn’t sit well with him.

‘What if he comes back?’ he asked. ‘What if he forgets something? Hermione, I don’t know which is worse — a hidden Death Eater or a furious Alastor Moody who catches a student in his office. He’d turn you into a ferret without blinking.’

‘I’ll be quick,’ she promised. ‘In, check the supplies, take a sample and out. Five minutes.’

Harry looked at her for several more seconds, then sighed heavily and nodded towards the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

‘Come on.’

They climbed the spiral staircase, trying not to attract attention. The fourth-year boys’ dormitory was quiet and empty — everyone was downstairs. Only the wind rattled the windowpane and Trevor quietly croaked on Neville’s bedside table.

Harry went to his trunk, lifted the lid and rummaged through a pile of clothes. A moment later he held the silvery, flowing fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. He also took out a worn piece of parchment.

‘Here,’ he said, handing her the Cloak. The fabric felt cool and strange to the touch, like water woven into threads.

Hermione carefully folded it and put it in her schoolbag.

‘Now watch,’ Harry unrolled the Marauder’s Map on the bed. ‘I know you’ve seen me do this, but you need to remember it exactly.’

He touched the parchment with his wand.

‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’

On the blank paper, inky lines began to appear, forming the plans of the floors. Hermione nodded, mesmerised. The magic of the Map always evoked mixed feelings in her — admiration for the complexity of the charms and indignation at the creators’ cheek.

‘To wipe the map, say “Mischief managed”,’ Harry reminded her. He rolled up the parchment and looked at her seriously. ‘Hermione, listen to me.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I’ll give you this, but on one condition.’ Harry’s voice became firm. In moments like these, her old friend seemed several years older. ‘You’re not going alone.’

‘Harry, but…’

‘No buts!’ he interrupted. ‘You take someone with you. Ron or Kieran. One goes into the office under the Cloak, the other stays somewhere nearby, in a safe hiding place, watching the Map. If you see Moody’s dot moving towards the castle — you leave. Immediately. Drop everything and run. I won’t be able to concentrate on the task if I’m thinking you’re there alone without backup.’

Hermione wanted to argue — it increased the risk of discovery, it made coordination more complicated — but looking at her friend’s determined face, she understood: there was no point arguing. And, if she was honest, the thought made her feel a little easier too.

‘Alright,’ she sighed. ‘That’s… fair. I’ll take a partner.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

Harry nodded, relaxing, and handed her the map.

‘Take care of yourself,’ he said simply. ‘And I’ll try not to die in that bloody hedge.’

‘Just try dying, Potter,’ Hermione smiled weakly, tucking the map into her bag. ‘I’ll drag you back from the afterlife and make you rewrite your Potions essay.’

They returned to the common room. Noise and clamour swallowed them. Ron was still arguing with Neville, Fred and George were setting off fireworks under the ceiling.

Hermione looked around. Her gaze found Kieran. He was sitting slightly apart from the centre of the merriment, in the shadows, leaning his back against the stone of the fireplace. He wasn’t joining in the general conversation, simply watching, lazily twirling a chess piece — a black knight — between his fingers.

Their eyes met. Kieran immediately stopped twirling the piece and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hermione walked closer, but didn’t say anything in front of everyone. She simply gave his sleeve a light, almost imperceptible tug and indicated the exit from the common room with a quick movement of her eyes.

Kieran understood without words. He gave a barely noticeable nod, placed the knight on the mantelpiece and, moving silently, headed towards the portrait hole.

The moment the Fat Lady’s portrait closed behind them, cutting off the noise and light of the common room, a heavy silence fell over them. The corridor was sunk in twilight, the torches only just beginning to flare, casting dancing shadows on the stone floor.

Hermione didn’t stop at the entrance. She pulled Kieran further, into a deep alcove behind the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, where no one could see or hear them.

Kieran moved silently, like a shadow. As soon as they were in the hiding place, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head questioningly. In the half-light his eyes looked almost black and very attentive.

‘We don’t have much time, so listen carefully,’ Hermione began, lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper. ‘Harry gave me the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map. Tomorrow, during the third task, I’m going into Moody’s office.’

Kieran’s reaction was immediate.

He pushed away from the wall; his relaxed posture became tense and ready for action in a fraction of a second. His brows drew together, and his lips twisted, ready to spit out a sharp, categorical objection. In his eyes flashed that familiar, suffocating desire to protect, to shield her, to forbid her from taking the risk.

‘Are you out of your—’ he began, drawing breath.

Hermione sharply raised her hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. She stepped right up to him and looked straight into his eyes — from below, but with such confidence that he involuntarily stepped back.

‘And don’t forget,’ she said clearly, ‘we made an agreement. No hovering, Kieran. No “you’re not going there because it’s dangerous”. I’m not asking permission. I’m informing my partner.’

Kieran froze. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles stood out. He looked at her for several long seconds, fighting his own instincts, which were probably screaming at him to grab her, lock her in the tower and post guards.

Finally he exhaled slowly through his nose, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

‘Alright,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Alright. But then I’m the one going into the office. You stand lookout. I have better reactions, and if there are traps…’

‘No,’ Hermione said firmly. ‘I have to be the one who goes in.’

‘Granger, this is stubborn foolishness!’ he snapped, though still in a whisper. ‘I’m faster, and my pain threshold…’

‘You wouldn’t know what to look for!’ she interrupted. ‘It’s not about endurance. It’s about the potion. I brewed Polyjuice in second year, Kieran. I know its smell, consistency, colour at different stages. I could recognise it with my eyes closed. Could you tell Polyjuice apart from, say, Veritaserum or a simple wormwood infusion?’

Kieran opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. The argument was ironclad. He knew a lot about curses and duelling, but in the subtleties of potion-making Hermione far surpassed him.

‘Damn it,’ he said shortly, conceding defeat. ‘Alright. You’re right.’

Hermione nodded and quickly took the folded Marauder’s Map from her bag.

‘Look,’ she touched it with her wand, whispering the password. ‘This is the Marauder’s Map. It shows everyone in the castle. Here’s where Moody will be… hopefully outside. And here’s where we’ll be.’

Kieran leaned over the map with genuine interest, his fingers tracing the inky lines of the corridors.

‘Useful thing,’ he muttered, appreciating the scale of the magic. ‘Very useful.’

He straightened, returning the parchment to her, and his face became utterly serious.

‘Good. The plan is accepted. But with one condition. I’ll go with you to the office. I’ll be as close as possible, under Disillusionment Charms, right by the door. I’ll cover your back. If anything goes wrong, if Moody returns early or a ward goes off in the office — I’ll buy you time.’

Hermione wanted to say something about the extra risk, but she understood: this was his limit for compromise.

‘Agreed,’ she nodded.

‘And one more thing,’ Kieran rubbed his chin, looking into the darkness of the corridor. ‘We need an outer perimeter. Two isn’t enough.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Weasley,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Bring in Ron.’

Hermione blinked in surprise.

‘Ron?’

‘Yes. Station him at the main entrance to the castle or on the stairs leading in from outside. Let him just sit there, pretending to be bored or waiting for someone. If he sees Moody returning to the castle from outside — he gives the signal. Sparks, loud shout, whatever. That’ll give us a few extra minutes to get out.’

Hermione thoughtfully bit her lip. It made sense. Ron knew the castle well, and his presence in the corridors wouldn’t raise any suspicions — a prefect simply on patrol.

‘That… that’s an excellent idea, Kieran,’ she admitted. ‘We should talk to him.’

They fell silent. Somewhere in the distance a door slammed, footsteps sounded, but quickly faded.

Hermione looked at Kieran. He stood beside her, collected, calm, ready to walk with her into the heart of danger, but at the same time — respecting her decision to go in first.

She carefully took his hand — and squeezed it tightly.

‘Thank you.’

Kieran looked at her questioningly.

‘For what? For dragging your ginger friend into trouble?’

‘For not making a scene. For listening.’

He smiled sadly. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed her fingers in reply for a moment.

‘I learned the lesson, Hermione,’ he chuckled. ‘I learned it.’