The Hogwarts Gaijin

Chapter 4. Where Lessons Begin

When Ron descended into the common room yawning so widely his jaw cracked, he expected the usual morning scene: half-asleep pupils shuffling groggily towards the exit, perhaps a first-year hunting for a lost pet. Instead, life was in full swing by the fireplace, where logs crackled cheerfully.

Hermione, already fully dressed and perfectly groomed (how she managed it at this hour was a mystery), sat in an armchair surrounded by books, explaining something with great animation. Opposite her, back ramrod straight, sat Kieran; beside him Harry was nodding off, chin propped on fist.

'Have you all lost the plot?' Ron grumbled, halting at the foot of the staircase and rubbing his eyes. 'Breakfast isn’t for another half-hour. Why get up if you don’t have to?'

'Good morning, Ron,' Hermione beamed without looking up from her book. 'We’re just bringing Kieran up to speed.'

Morgan looked suspiciously alert. No bags under his eyes, gaze clear, hair neatly tied back. Ron felt a stab of envy — he himself felt as though the Night Bus had run him over.

'And why t*****e Harry?' Ron asked, flopping onto the sofa beside his friend.

Harry lifted his head, gave Kieran a brief, meaningful glance and huffed softly. Morgan’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles in return.

'Oi,' Ron looked from one to the other. 'What am I missing? Have you started some secret early-bird club?'

'Just routine, Ron,' Harry said evasively, stretching until his joints popped. 'You wouldn’t understand.'

Ron scowled, feeling suddenly superfluous, but Hermione had already turned her attention back to the newcomer.

'…so the most important thing is never to dawdle on the staircases,' she instructed, tapping a diagram of the castle in Hogwarts: A History with a professorial air. 'On Fridays the staircase leading to the Charms classroom likes to change direction precisely at half past eight. If you hesitate, you’ll end up on the third floor instead of the second.'

'The staircases change direction?' Kieran frowned slightly, as though he’d just been told of a structural flaw in a castle wall. 'By themselves?'

'Yep,' Ron nodded, joining in. 'And there’s that trick step. You always fall in up to your knee if you don’t jump over it. Neville still forgets about it half the time.'

'And that’s only half the trouble,' Hermione continued. 'There’s Peeves. The poltergeist. He loves pelting people with chalk, tipping vases on heads or flooding corridors. If you hear shrieking and crashing, best take a detour.'

Kieran set the book aside, looking genuinely perplexed.

'Hold on. You’re telling me that in a school where hundreds of children carry explosive wands in their pockets, the staircases have minds of their own and a malicious spirit spends all day playing sabotage?'

'Pretty much,' Hermione nodded.

'And nobody does anything about it? The teachers? The Headmaster?'

'What can you do?' Ron asked, surprised. 'Peeves has always been here. He’s like… well, like old furniture. Nasty, flying furniture.'

'This is chaos,' Kieran said quietly, shaking his head. 'Pointless and dangerous. How do you even survive to your OWLs?'

Ron laughed. It struck him as funny that a boy raised in a moated castle should be alarmed by a staircase.

'Relax, mate!' Ron grinned broadly and, with friendly enthusiasm, clapped Kieran on the shoulder. 'A true Hogwarts pupil doesn’t ask questions like that! It’s all part of the fun!'

His palm landed on Morgan’s shoulder, and in the same instant the boy’s body turned to stone beneath his hand. The muscles under the robe fabric hardened instantly, as though Kieran had braced for a fight or flight. For the barest fraction of a second a cold, prickling gleam flashed in his eyes before it vanished.

Ron, feeling the sudden tension, snatched his hand back as though he’d touched a scalding kettle. Merlin’s pants, he thought. What’s got him so jumpy? Do they beat kids in that Japan place for asking too many questions? Or make them kneel on peas?

The notion that someone might be physically punished at school made Ron feel distinctly uncomfortable. His cheer evaporated like mist.

'Er… sorry,' he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 'Didn’t mean to… y’know, startle you.'

Kieran exhaled; the tension drained from his shoulders as swiftly as it had appeared. He looked like an ordinary calm pupil once more.

'It’s all right, Weasley,' he said gently, though the smile was a touch forced. 'Just caught me off guard.'

'Right,' Harry intervened, rising from his chair and rescuing the moment. 'Let’s get to breakfast. I could eat a hippogriff.'

'Me too!' Ron seized the change of subject with relief. 'Hope they’ve got those sausages from yesterday.'

They headed for the portrait hole. The Fat Lady, still in her night-cap, grumbled crossly as she swung open, but Ron was no longer listening.

The Great Hall welcomed them with the familiar roar of hundreds of voices, the clatter of cutlery and the mouth-watering smell of frying sausages. The enchanted ceiling was covered in low, grey clouds today, but even that could not dampen the buoyant atmosphere. The Goblet of Fire, now standing in the centre of the hall where the staff table usually sat, drew every eye like a magnet. Its white-blue flames danced lazily in mid-air, and each time an older student approached the Age Line the murmur of voices grew a little louder.

The friends found free seats roughly halfway down the Gryffindor table. Ron immediately pulled a heaped dish of fried bacon and scrambled eggs towards him, liberally dousing everything in ketchup. Kieran, after a quick assessing glance over the table, carefully helped himself to a couple of pieces of toast, a boiled egg and several tomatoes, pointedly ignoring the sausages oozing grease.

'Not much of a breakfast,' Ron commented through a full mouth, eyeing Morgan’s modest plate. 'Missing your rice and raw fish, eh? After that, normal food must feel a bit heavy?'

Hermione, in the act of spreading jam on her toast, froze and shot Ron a withering look.

'Ron!' she exclaimed indignantly. 'That’s appallingly rude! You can’t reduce an entire culture to stereotypes about food. It’s… it’s practically racist!'

Ron choked on his pumpkin juice.

'Oh come off it, Hermione, I was only asking!' he protested, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'That’s what the books say!'

Kieran, far from offended, calmly peeled his egg while watching the exchange with a faint half-smile.

'It’s fine, Hermione,' he said gently. 'Ron’s not wrong. Japanese menus really are different. Far more vegetables, seafood… and far less fat. My stomach’s still in mild shock from the amount of oil everything here floats in.'

He carefully nudged the bacon dish further away, as though afraid it might attack. Mercifully, the conversation drifted to safer ground.

'Wonder who’ll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year?' Harry asked, gazing at the empty space at the staff table. 'Dumbledore didn’t introduce anyone yesterday.'

'What do you mean "this year"?' Kieran looked up from his toast, eyebrow raised in surprise. 'You get a new teacher every single year?'

'Yep,' Harry nodded.

'The post is cursed,' Ron confided, lowering his voice. 'Nobody lasts longer than a year. Quirrell died, Lockhart lost his memory, Lupin… well, he had his own issues. They say You-Know-Who cursed the job when Dumbledore wouldn’t give it to him.'

Kieran slowly shook his head, regarding them as though they were describing not a school but a lunatic asylum.

'A cursed post,' he repeated. 'Killer staircases, poltergeists, and now teachers replaced annually because of curses. I’m beginning to understand why Father thought I’d learn to survive here.'

He added nothing more, returning to his tomatoes, but Harry noticed the slight shiver that ran through Kieran’s shoulders, as though shaking off a chill.

At that moment a group of Slytherins approached the Goblet, led by a tall boy who looked like a troll. Warrington. With bravado he stepped over the golden line and dropped his parchment into the flames. The fire flared red, then returned to blue. The Slytherins erupted in approving cheers.

Ron watched them with n***d envy.

'If I were seventeen…' he muttered, momentarily forgetting his food. 'I’d take the risk. Imagine: eternal glory, a thousand Galleons…'

'Ron, stop dreaming,' Hermione clapped her hands sharply, making both Harry and Kieran jump. She had already slung her bag over her shoulder and was tapping her watch meaningfully. 'Bell in ten minutes. We’ve got Herbology with the Slytherins, and if we’re late Professor Sprout will make us squeeze Bubotuber pus without gloves.'

'Coming, coming!' Ron hastily crammed the last sausage into his mouth, grabbed his bag and hurried after them, still chewing.

They left the Great Hall for the cool entrance hall, where they were immediately joined by the stream of other Gryffindors.

'Hi, Harry!' came Dean Thomas’s cheerful voice. He was walking with Seamus Finnigan, who was unsuccessfully trying to scrub an ink stain off his shirt. 'Did you see? Angelina Johnson just put her name in the Goblet!'

'Really?' Ron’s eyes lit up. 'Brilliant! Hope she gets picked!'

'And you’re the new boy, right?' Neville Longbottom, clutching a dog-eared textbook to his chest, gave Kieran a shy smile. 'I’m Neville.'

'Kieran,' Morgan nodded.

'Hello, boys!' Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown caught up with them near the castle doors. Parvati glanced at Kieran with undisguised curiosity, giggled and whispered something in Lavender’s ear. Lavender giggled too, darting a look at the newcomer.

Harry noticed Kieran tense slightly under the attention; his face assumed that polite but distant expression he had worn on the train.

'Come on, hurry up,' Hermione commanded, ushering them all outside into the drizzling rain towards the distant greenhouses shimmering through the grey haze.

The group set off across the wet grass, discussing Angelina’s chances and wondering whether they would have to wrestle with dangerous plants again today. The path to the greenhouses was slick and treacherous. The drizzle that had looked light from the castle windows proved to be a miserable, bone-chilling mist. Ron pulled his robes tighter, casting envious glances back at the warm, dry glow of the common-room windows.

To their left stretched the Black Lake. Today it fully lived up to its name: the water was dark as diluted ink and unnaturally still. Mist lay low over the surface, hiding the far shore; only the Giant Squid lazily extended a tentacle, slapped the water once and vanished again into the depths. Behind them the castle rose in granite majesty, its towers piercing the low grey clouds, reminding Ron of the illustrations in the scary fairy-tales his mother had read to them as children.

The grim landscape, however, troubled Ron far less than what was happening right in front of him. Hermione walked a little ahead, gesturing animatedly, and the newcomer beside her kept dipping his head to hear her over the wind. She was explaining something again — probably the history of Hagrid’s hut or the peculiarities of local flora. Ron could see only Morgan’s back and his long hair whipping wildly in the damp breeze, yet the boy seemed oblivious to the discomfort, listening attentively to Granger.

Inside Greenhouse Three they were met by thick, humid air smelling of damp earth, fertiliser and something sickly-sweet. The glass panes were steamed from within, creating the illusion of a tropical jungle that shut out the Scottish autumn entirely.

'Quick, quick!' Professor Sprout called cheerfully, adjusting the patched hat on her untidy grey hair. 'Important topic today! Repotting Trembling Shrubs! They’re in peak growth phase, so mind the roots — they can sense fear! Pair up, grab pots and soil!'

Ron turned automatically towards Harry and Hermione, expecting the three of them to claim one of the big tables as usual. But before he could speak Hermione was already in motion.

'Come on, Kieran,' she seized Morgan decisively by the sleeve of his robes, as though afraid he might get lost among three trees. 'I’ll show you the right way to mix compost with dragon dung. I’m sure they do things differently at Mahoutokoro, but Professor Sprout is very strict about proportions.'

Kieran only had time to cast a quick, apologetic glance at Harry and Ron before Hermione dragged him off to a workbench at the far end, well away from the predatory rustling plants. Ron stood frozen, mouth open, staring after them.

'Did you see that?' he asked, turning to Harry. 'She’s practically adopted him.'

Harry shrugged, pulling two empty clay pots from the shelf and nudging one towards Ron.

'They’re old friends, Ron. She just wants to help him settle in.'

'Settle in?' Ron snorted, slamming his pot down on the wooden table with a thud. 'Harry, she’s treating him like a first-year who doesn’t know which end of the wand to hold. "Come on, Kieran, I’ll show you the compost"… Seriously? He went to some ultra-strict Japanese school, not nursery.'

They began scooping soil. Ron did it with unnecessary force, sending clods flying in all directions. He felt… uncomfortable. Not jealous — of course not! — but the familiar, rock-solid order of things that had held since first year had suddenly developed a c***k. It had always been Harry, Ron and Hermione. Now Hermione was over there with this brooding boy who flinched at touches and rose before dawn.

He stole a glance at the neighbouring table. Hermione was pointing at something in the textbook; Kieran nodded, studying the page seriously. They looked like the two top pupils who had secretly agreed to outshine the rest of the class.

'Still, doesn’t it strike you as odd?' Ron whispered, leaning closer to Harry so Professor Sprout wouldn’t overhear. 'She only saw him yesterday on the train, and today she’s dragging him around like he’s glued to her.'

'Ron, give it a rest,' Harry said calmly, digging a hole in the soil. 'She’s pleased to see a childhood friend. You’d be the same.'

'If I ran into a childhood friend who turned out to be descended from dark wizards and lived in a creepy castle, I’d ask a few questions first,' Ron muttered stubbornly, eyeing Morgan’s back with suspicion. 'And you don’t seem to care at all?'

'I do care,' Harry sighed, brushing soil from his hands. 'I just don’t see a problem. He seems all right. Quiet, but all right.'

'Exactly,' Ron raised a finger meaningfully, leaving a muddy streak on his nose. 'Too quiet…'

He broke off because the Trembling Shrub suddenly quivered indignantly and tried to lash out at his hand with a branch.

'Ow!' Ron jerked back and shoved the plant deeper into the pot with vengeful force, piling earth on top as though burying it alive. Then he decided to steer the conversation to something pleasanter: 'Just imagine, Harry. A thousand Galleons. A thousand!'

'Mm,' Harry replied, tamping down the soil melancholically. 'Loads of money.'

'It’s not even the money, though that wouldn’t hurt,' Ron lowered his voice, glancing round to check no Hufflepuffs were eavesdropping. 'Eternal glory! Imagine it. Your name in the history books. School champion. People look at you not like… well, not like just another Weasley, but like a winner.'

Harry wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a dirty hand, leaving a dark streak across his skin.

'You know, Ron, I think I’ve had enough "eternal glory" to last a lifetime,' he said without a trace of irony. 'I’d happily trade it for one quiet year. No basilisks, no Dementors, no raving murderers trying to break into my bedroom. I just want to go to lessons, play Quidditch… oh wait, there isn’t any Quidditch this year. Then just go to lessons.'

Ron stared at his friend in bewilderment. Refusing a chance at fame was incomprehensible to him, but he remembered the last three years and decided not to argue.

'Well, maybe you don’t need it,' he conceded, returning to his shrub. 'But Fred and George are dead serious. They were whispering in the corner of the common room all last night, then told me. They reckon they’ve found a way round the Age Line. Some Ageing Potion — just a couple of drops to make you a few months older.'

'Dumbledore’s not that easy to fool,' Harry said sceptically. 'He’ll have thought of tricks like that.'

'We’ll see,' a gleam of excitement lit Ron's eyes. 'If they pull it off, I might ask for a couple of drops myself. You never know.'

At that moment Professor Sprout clapped her hands loudly, shaking off clumps of soil.

'Excellent, class! Finish up! Make sure all the roots are covered, water them with wormwood infusion and you may wash your hands!'

The students stirred, gratefully peeling off protective gloves. Ron, brushing down his robes, glanced again towards the far table. Hermione and Kieran had already finished. Their shrub looked suspiciously content with life and wasn’t even trembling. Hermione was saying something, pointing at the leaves; Kieran was smiling as he listened. He replied, and Hermione laughed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Ron felt that unpleasant, prickling sensation stir inside him again. It was like someone had taken his favourite armchair by the fire — not exactly begrudged, but still, it was his place.

'What are they doing over there, writing a thesis?' he muttered, eyes fixed on them. 'Lesson’s over and they’re still nattering. And why’s he smiling like that? Gloomy sod, and suddenly he’s all sunshine.'

Harry followed his gaze and suddenly snorted, putting the tools away.

'Ron,' he said, his voice full of open amusement. 'Your ears have gone red.'

'They have not,' Ron snapped at once, feeling the treacherous heat bloom in his ears. 'It’s just hot in here. Especially after outside.'

'Of course it’s hot,' Harry nodded, wiping his hands on a rag. 'And you’re jealous.'

Ron choked on air and stared at his friend in outrage.

'Jealous? Me?! Harry, you’ve overheated! Why on earth would I be jealous? Hermione can talk to whoever she likes — even the Giant Squid if she wants! I’m just… this Morgan’s weird. I’m concerned, that’s all. It’s called "friendly vigilance"!'

'Right, "vigilance",' Harry grinned, clearly believing not a word. 'Come on, next is Defence. Let’s see who the new teacher is.'

They headed for the greenhouse door. At last Hermione and Kieran joined them.

'Phew, it’s stuffy in there,' Hermione exhaled, fanning herself. 'But the lesson was brilliant! Kieran said they use similar plants in Japan to guard perimeters, only theirs don’t just tremble — they start shrieking if you get too close. Can you imagine?'

'Shrieking?' Neville, passing by, went pale. 'I hope Professor Sprout doesn't order any.'

'Don’t worry, Neville,' Kieran reassured him, holding the door for Parvati and Lavender. 'They don’t like cold climates.'

The Gryffindor group, once more a single unit, made their way back towards the castle.