September 1st. Early Morning.
Today was the day Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry opened its doors.
Maurise had packed his luggage long before the sun rose. Now, he stood quietly before the front gate, waiting.
He didn't have much. Just a single trunk and the undead cat cradled in his arms.
"Stupid cat," Maurise murmured, gently stroking the creature's head. "You feel colder than usual today."
Tin, the cat, stretched lazily in the crook of his arm, rubbing its bony head against his chest in a rare show of affection.
In the pale morning light, Maurise's shadow flickered unnaturally.
It was Cinder. The shadow entity seemed displeased by the intimacy between Maurise and the cat.
Maurise could only offer a helpless, slight twitch of his lips in response.
Just then, a sleek car pulled up smoothly and stopped in front of him.
"Good morning, Maurise!" Harold took off his sunglasses, greeting him with a cheerful grin. "How are you feeling? Nervous?"
"Good morning. Sorry to trouble you, Harold," Maurise nodded politely.
Harold waved a hand dismissively, hopping out of the car with practiced ease. He grabbed the trunk and heaved it into the boot. "Hop in. It's a bit of a trek to King's Cross from here."
Maurise climbed into the back seat, still clutching Tin. He immediately noticed a small, crinkled paper bag sitting next to him. Curious, he peeked inside. It contained cookies, if one could call them that. They were misshapen lumps of dough, some already crumbled into sad little fragments.
"Oh, that's my daughter's handicraft project," Harold said as he started the engine, his voice thick with amused pride. "Feel free to try one. They are technically edible."
"Thanks."
Maurise picked up a piece that was still mostly intact and took a tentative bite. It was aggressively sweet, with a heavy buttery aftertaste.
At least she didn't mess up the basic ingredients, he thought.
As the car merged onto the increasingly busy road, Maurise did what he always did. He closed his eyes and slipped into a meditative state.
It had become a routine. Meditation was the only way to truly silence the noise of the world. As his breathing fell into a rhythmic pattern, the clamor of the city faded, replaced by the silent, serene flow of magical energy.
For Maurise, this sensation was addictive.
Harold glanced in the rearview mirror. Seeing the boy's stillness, he assumed Maurise had fallen asleep and quietly turned down the radio.
When Maurise finally opened his eyes, the car was already navigating the dense traffic of central London.
"How much longer?" Maurise asked, watching the gridlock outside.
Harold calculated for a moment. "About half an hour... Did you have a nice nap?"
"No, I wasn't sleeping."
"Then what were you doing?"
"Cultivating my mind."
Harold blinked, confused by the answer. "Like... practicing magic in your head?"
Maurise nodded slightly, turning his gaze back to the passing streetscape. He found himself wondering what kind of place Hogwarts truly was. The anticipation was growing.
"Can I come in and tour your school?" Harold asked suddenly.
"I don't know, but I can ask a professor for you," Maurise replied, catching Harold's eye in the mirror. "Though, honestly? The likelihood is very low."
Harold nodded understandingly. "Figures. A magic school wouldn't be much of a secret if they let just anyone wander in." He sounded a little disappointed.
With half an hour of idle time left, Maurise turned his attention inward, focusing on the Book of the Dead residing in his mind.
Over the last few days, it had unlocked new content.
[The Wailing Curse]
It was a new spell in the curse category. The magic was designed to manifest screeching, wailing noises directly inside the target's mind, disrupting their focus and mental state.
Thanks to his previous experience with the Weakness Curse, learning the basics of this new spell hadn't consumed much energy. Constructing the spell model had been surprisingly smooth, perhaps another benefit of his constant meditation.
Currently, his success rate with the Weakness Curse was nearing one hundred percent. For the Wailing Curse, he calculated his success rate was already above fifty percent.
He needed to test it. But he couldn't cast it on Harold.
"Qwa... Zinth... Oor."
A wisp of dark energy, nearly invisible to the naked eye, seeped out of his right palm. Instead of directing it outward, Maurise instantly drove it back into himself.
He had tested spells on birds and stray cats before. This was his first time using a curse on a human.
Specifically, on himself.
In an instant, a piercing shriek detonated inside his skull.
It sounded as if a thousand vengeful ghosts were screaming, crying, and wailing simultaneously. The sound didn't come from his ears; it echoed directly inside his cranial cavity, bouncing off the walls of his skull in an unbearable cacophony.
Maurise instinctively clamped his hands over his ears, but the volume didn't drop by a single decibel. The curse targeted the spirit, not the eardrums. Physical barriers were useless.
He gritted his teeth, his face paling as he fought to maintain consciousness.
The mental interference was significantly stronger than he had anticipated. It was no wonder the Book classified this as a "Disruption Spell." It was effective. Brutally so.
After about ten seconds, the noise began to fade into a dull hum.
Maurise let out a long, shaky breath. A layer of cold sweat had broken out across his forehead.
'Experiencing one's own magic is necessary', he told himself. 'Unpleasant, certainly. But now I know exactly what my enemies will feel.'
"You alright back there?" Harold asked, looking concerned.
"I'm fine," Maurise said, wiping the sweat from his temple with a steady hand. "Just a bit of car sickness."
He looked out the window. The car had stopped.
"We're here," Harold said, pointing to the massive brick structure ahead. "Do you need me to walk you in?"
"No need," Maurise shook his head, regaining his composure. "Goodbye, Harold. And thanks for the ride."
Maurise dragged his trunk and carried his cat into the bustling station.
"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters... Nine and Three-Quarters..."
He muttered to himself, scanning the numbers. "It should be right here."
He arrived at the dividing barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10. It looked like a solid brick wall, sturdy and unforgiving.
Just as he hesitated, a flash of motion caught his eye. A girl with incredibly bushy brown hair ran straight at the wall and vanished. Maurise only caught a glimpse of her back before she disappeared into the masonry.
That must be the entrance.
Standing near the barrier were a couple, clearly the girl's parents, staring blankly at the wall where their daughter had just vanished.
They looked familiar.
As Maurise approached, the man turned and saw him. A look of recognition dawned on his face. "Ah! You're that lad from Diagon Alley!"
Maurise stopped, his guard instantly going up. "I don't know you."
He scrutinized them closer. The fuzzy memory sharpened slightly. "Oh. You're... Mr. Gra... Ger... Grim..." He paused. "Alright, I don't remember."
"Granger," the man supplied, looking a mix of amused and resigned.
"Right. Good morning, Mr. Granger," Maurise nodded politely, then gestured to the wall behind them. "Now, could you please move? I need to walk into that wall."
The Grangers realized they were blocking the magical gateway and quickly shuffled aside.
Maurise nodded in thanks, offering no further small talk. He gripped his trunk and walked straight toward the solid brick.
Just as he passed through the barrier, he heard Mr. Granger whisper to his wife behind him.
"Is it just me, or is that boy a bit... odd?"
Maurise didn't hear the rest. The station noise vanished, replaced by the hiss of steam and the chatter of hundreds of children.
He was standing on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Before him stood a magnificent scarlet steam engine, billowing smoke into the air. The sign on the front was bold and unmistakable: Hogwarts Express.
'Well, it's certainly classic', Maurise thought.
He took a moment to look around, absorbing the sight of the magical world, before lifting his trunk and boarding the train.