The Gryffindor common room greeted them with noise, warmth and that particular cosiness Harry had missed so sorely over the summer at Privet Drive. In the circular chamber a steady hum prevailed: the news of the Triwizard Tournament had landed like a Blasting Curse. Fred and George had already drawn a tight knot of first-years around them and were eagerly debating ways to hoodwink the Age Line, while Lee Jordan was scribbling calculations on a scrap of parchment, no doubt working out potential betting winnings.
Against the backdrop of such a momentous event, the arrival of a new pupil passed almost unnoticed. When Professor McGonagall had briefly introduced Kieran in the Great Hall and he had taken his seat at the Gryffindor table to polite but restrained applause, most students were already whispering about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Morgan appeared perfectly content with the arrangement — he ate calmly, ignoring the curious glances, and looked as though he were quite used to fading into the background.
Slipping through the portrait hole after Hermione, Harry drew in a deep, appreciative breath of burning logs and the warm, worn fabric of ancient armchairs.
'Password for the week is "Balderdash",' Neville called over his shoulder as he passed with a pot containing some peculiar plant.
Kieran, bringing up the rear of their little procession, stepped inside and immediately halted just inside the entrance. With a clearly automatic motion he bent down and began unlacing his Converse.
'Er... what're you doing?' Ron, who had nearly walked into Morgan's back, stared in bewilderment at his feet. 'Lost something?'
'Hm?' Kieran froze, balanced on one leg. He blinked, taking in the carpet of the common room and the filthy shoes of the other students trampling it without a second thought. 'Oh. Right. Sorry.'
Morgan hastily shoved his foot back into the trainer; a faint flush appeared on his pale cheeks.
'Habit,' he muttered, adjusting the tongue of the shoe.
'In Japan it is customary to remove one's shoes upon entering a home,' Hermione supplied at once in her most instructive tone. She had already claimed their favourite spots by the fire but was keeping a sharp eye on proceedings. 'It is a sign of respect to the hosts and a way of keeping the tatami clean. There is a special area by the entrance called the genkan. Correct, Kieran?'
'Something like that,' he nodded, moving further into the room and dropping into a deep, sagging armchair beside Harry. 'Just a reflex. Six years of having it drummed into you that walking past the threshold in shoes is utter barbarism.'
Harry regarded his new housemate with interest. Here, in the relaxed atmosphere of the common room, Kieran seemed less tense than he had on the train, yet he still held himself slightly apart, as though quietly assessing new territory.
'Listen, how much of a... well, how Japanese did you actually become in all that time?' Harry asked. 'Do you speak the language? Eat with chopsticks?'
Kieran gave a small, wry smile, gazing into the flames.
'I speak the language — you can't manage at Mahoutokoro without it. I eat with chopsticks. But I never quite became one of them.'
He paused for a moment, twisting a plain silver ring on his finger.
'In Japan I was gaijin. Too tall, too loud, wrong colour eyes. And now I've come back here... and it seems I'll stay gaijin even more than I was there.'
'Gai-what?' Ron repeated, flopping down on the arm of Harry's chair and unwrapping a Chocolate Frog. 'Is that some sort of title?'
'It means "foreigner", Ron,' Hermione explained patiently, without looking up from the lesson timetable she had already begun to draw up. 'Or, more literally, "person from outside".'
'Spot on,' Kieran murmured quietly. 'Person from outside.'
A brief silence fell. Harry felt a strange pang of fellow-feeling. He knew exactly what it was like to be an outsider in your own home — living with the Dursleys — and to be the one everyone whispered about in the wizarding world. To belong nowhere.
'Well, Gryffindor's used to oddities,' Harry said encouragingly, offering a smile. 'We've got Nearly Headless Nick, our own resident poltergeist, and there was even a giant basilisk... once. So shoes are small beer.'
Kieran returned a faint smile, but his eyes remained cool. He looked exhausted. The shadows beneath them had deepened, and his shoulders had sagged.
'Thanks,' he said, stifling a yawn. 'Listen, where are... where are the dormitories?'
'Fourth year, up the spiral staircase and turn right,' Ron waved a hand, still chewing chocolate. 'Your bed's probably next to ours — there was a free spot by the window.'
'Brilliant,' Kieran rose with an effort from the enveloping chair. 'Don't take offence, but I'm off. It's been a mad week. Moving, Portkeys, time zones... I can barely tell day from night any more.'
'Of course, go on,' Hermione said, softening. 'Lessons don't start till nine tomorrow — you'll have time to catch up on sleep.'
'Night,' Kieran said, shouldering his bag and trudging towards the staircase.
Harry watched him go. Morgan's walk was quiet and springy, quite unlike Neville's awkward shuffle or Seamus's expansive stride. Even half-dead with fatigue, he moved with care.
'Bit odd, isn't he,' Ron whispered once the dormitory door upstairs had clicked shut. 'But seems all right. For someone who lived in a castle with a moat and went to school with the Japanese.'
'Give him time, Ron,' Hermione replied, rolling up her parchment. 'It can't be easy for him right now.'
Harry said nothing, staring into the dancing flames. For some reason he suspected it wasn't only the change of time zones weighing on the new boy.
Another hour passed before Harry said goodnight to Hermione and climbed the spiral staircase to the dormitory. The room was dark, lit only by silver bars of moonlight across the floor.
By the window, slightly crowding Dean's bedside table, a new four-poster bed hung with red velvet had indeed appeared. Harry tiptoed past, careful not to creak the floorboards. Kieran was asleep, turned to the wall, blanket pulled almost to his ears. He lay utterly still, making not a sound — in stark contrast to Ron, who on the next bed was already producing loud, wet snores through his nose.
Exhaustion crashed over Harry like a leaden Invisibility Cloak. He changed hurriedly into pyjamas, set his glasses on the table and, the moment his head touched the pillow, sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Or so it seemed at first.
Through the heavy drowsiness he registered faint sounds — the soft creak of door hinges, barely audible footsteps — but his mind refused to wake, dragging him back into darkness. Then the nightmare came. It was vague and clinging: flashes of green light, a hissing that froze the blood, the sense of something terrible drawing nearer.
Harry shot upright, gasping for air. His heart hammered in his throat; his pyjama top clung to his back.
The dormitory was quiet and grey — the first timid rays of sun were only just beginning to seep through the curtains. Ron still snored; Neville breathed softly, face buried in his pillow. Harry glanced automatically towards the window.
Morgan's bed was empty and neatly made.
Sleep was out of the question. The images from the nightmare still lingered, and Harry decided a splash of cold water was exactly what he needed. He fumbled for his glasses, pulled on his dressing gown and shuffled in slippers down the chilly corridor.
Halfway to the bathroom he nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.
'Morning,' came a calm, even voice.
It was Kieran. He looked as though he had already lived half the day. He wore a grey, damp T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms; a towel hung round his neck. His hair was gathered in a careless knot at the nape, several wet strands plastered to his forehead.
Harry blinked, trying to focus.
'Er... hi,' he croaked, still thick with sleep. 'What're you doing up so early? The sun's barely up.'
Kieran shrugged, readjusting the towel. Harry's gaze dropped and he noticed the other boy's hands. The knuckles were reddened, freshly scraped.
'Habit,' Morgan answered, catching the look but making no attempt to hide his hands. 'At Mahoutokoro the day started at dawn. An hour of meditation, then training, and only then breakfast. I can't sleep in any more.'
'Meditation?' Harry repeated, rubbing the scar that still prickled faintly.
'Yeah. Clears the head,' Kieran gave a crooked smile. 'Trouble is, I haven't found a quiet spot here yet. Too many portraits, and they're too chatty. So I just ran round the lake instead.'
'You went running?' Harry shook his head. 'While everyone normal is still asleep?'
'While everyone normal is still asleep,' Kieran echoed. 'Like I said, routine. The body wakes itself at five and demands exercise.'
'Sounds awful,' Harry said frankly. 'I'd never get up voluntarily at that hour.'
A faint, elusive irony flickered in Kieran's eyes.
'Who said I enjoy it, Potter?' he huffed. 'I hate it. But habits beaten into you with sticks for years sink in deep. Try not getting up — the body rebels on its own.'
He gave Harry a nod and walked on towards the showers, leaving behind the faint smell of lake dampness.
Harry stood a moment in the corridor, reflecting that the Japanese school must be a far less jolly place than Hogwarts, then washed his face in icy water and trudged back. He no longer wanted to sleep, but lying in a warm bed still beat running on wet grass.
Passing the entrance to the common room, he glanced inside. The fire had died to a heap of glowing embers. In one of the armchairs sat Morgan, already dressed in school robes. An open sheet of parchment lay across his knees, quill and ink beside it, but the boy's gaze was fixed on the window, where the cold Scottish morning was slowly brightening.
Harry did not call out to him. He climbed the stairs quietly, leaving the new housemate alone with his strange habits and the stillness of dawn.