Professor McGonagall led Maurise through a series of heavy oak doors, eventually bringing him to a small, empty antechamber just off the Great Hall.
"We shall wait here," she instructed briskly. "The other first years will arrive shortly."
Maurise looked around with genuine curiosity. In the corner, two suits of armor were rolling their shoulders, their joints popping with a rhythmic clack-clack.
"Professor, we're about to do the Sorting Ceremony, aren't we?" he asked casually.
"Indeed," McGonagall replied, her answer clipping the air.
"So, how do we actually choose the right House?"
"You will find out in due time."
"What about Gryffindor?" Maurise pressed on, testing the waters. "I hear it's quite a decent House."
"Gryffindor is excellent," McGonagall said. She adjusted her spectacles, a hint of barely suppressed pride leaking into her voice. "However, every House has its own noble history and unique virtues."
"Is that so?" Maurise watched her adjust her glasses and a sudden, rather impertinent thought struck him. "Speaking of which… you wear glasses. Does magic not cure nearsightedness? Or is it a fashion choice?"
"Mr. Black," McGonagall let out a long, weary sigh, the kind reserved for students who were already testing her patience before term had even started. "You ask far too many questions."
"Oh. My apologies."
Maurise wisely clamped his mouth shut and returned his attention to the stretching armor.
Moments later, the sound of chaotic, shuffling footsteps echoed from the stone corridor outside. The chamber door was struck three times with a heavy fist.
The giant man Maurise had seen earlier, Hagrid, ducked through the doorway first, trailing a gaggle of nervous-looking first years behind him.
"All here, Perfessor," Hagrid's booming voice filled the small room.
McGonagall offered him a curt nod.
It was then that Hagrid spotted Maurise standing comfortably next to the Deputy Headmistress. His beetle-black eyes crinkled in confusion. "Here now, who's that? Professor McGonagall, is that a first year?"
"He is," McGonagall said, her voice dropping to a dangerous temperature. "And regarding that, I feel compelled to remind you, Hagrid, that as the Keeper of Keys and the one responsible for escorting the new students, you somehow failed to notice that your headcount was short by one."
Hagrid's face, already hidden behind a bush of wild hair and beard, turned a deep shade of crimson.
"Must've… must've slipped me mind," he mumbled into his moleskin coat.
Being dressed down by the Deputy Headmistress in front of a crowd of eleven-year-olds was clearly not the highlight of his evening. Maurise, the culprit behind the confusion, offered a silent, internal apology to the half-giant.
"Rejoin the line, Mr. Black," McGonagall said, ushering Maurise forward with a firm hand.
Maurise slipped to the very back of the group. Almost every pair of eyes turned to stare at him. He noticed the girl with the bushy brown hair, Hermione Granger, glaring at him with suspicion.
McGonagall cleared her throat, commanding immediate silence. "Welcome to Hogwarts…"
She gave the standard introductory speech regarding the House system and the points cup, instructed them to smarten up, and then swept out of the room to check if the Great Hall was ready.
The moment the door clicked shut, the nervous silence shattered into excited whispering.
Hermione immediately cut through the crowd, marching straight up to Maurise. "Where on earth were you?" she demanded in a harsh whisper. "I checked the lines at the boats. I didn't see you anywhere."
"Ah," Maurise blinked, surprised anyone had initiated conversation with him so quickly. "It was quite dark on the lake. You probably just missed me. I was right at the back."
"Then why were you here before us? And why are you completely dry?" Hermione looked at his immaculate robes. "The boats were damp."
'Sharp kid', Maurise thought. 'A bit annoying, but sharp.'
He shrugged effortlessly. "I got lost in the courtyard and found a side door. Terribly confusing castle, this."
The explanation was leakier than a cauldron with a hole in the bottom, and Hermione opened her mouth to tear the logic apart, but McGonagall returned before she could fire her next question.
"Form a line," the Professor commanded. "And follow me."
The chatter died instantly. The students scrambled to obey, shuffling into a somewhat orderly queue. Maurise and Hermione naturally ended up at the tail end.
The line began to move. They marched through the double doors and stepped into the Great Hall.
"Hmm. Not bad," Maurise muttered, glancing around.
It was undeniably grand. The hall resembled a massive, ancient cathedral. Four long tables were arranged in parallel, laden with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the far end sat the High Table for the staff. In the center sat an old man with a beard long enough to tuck into his belt, Albus Dumbledore.
Maurise looked up. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, casting a warm, flickering glow. Above them, the ceiling had vanished, replaced by a velvety black sky scattered with stars.
It was pretty, certainly. But Maurise didn't feel the overwhelming awe the other children seemed to be experiencing. In his previous life, he had seen CGI and holographic technology that could put a few floating candles to shame. This was just atmospheric lighting.
However, something else did catch his eye.
Drifting among the four house tables were pearly-white, translucent figures.
Ghosts.
This was the first time Maurise had seen a genuine, free-roaming soul. As a bit of an amateur necromancer, his interest spiked immediately. He stared at the spectral forms with the intensity of a biologist looking at a rare specimen.
Noticing his fixated stare, Hermione leaned in and whispered, "Those are the Hogwarts ghosts. I read about them in Hogwarts: A History. They've been part of the castle for centuries."
Maurise didn't respond. He was too busy analyzing the ectoplasmic resonance of the nearest spirit.
"Hello? Are you even listening to me?" Hermione huffed.
"Oh, sorry," Maurise blinked, snapping out of his trance. "Run that by me again?"
"No!"
She turned away, puffing her cheeks out in irritation. Maurise watched her go, baffled. Children were incredibly difficult to understand.
They reached the front of the hall. McGonagall placed a four-legged stool before the first years. On top of it, she set a pointed wizard's hat. It was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty.
Then, the hat opened a rip near the brim like a mouth and began to sing. It was a strange, rambling song about the founders and the qualities of the houses.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," McGonagall announced as the song ended. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down.
So that's the sorting method, Maurise thought, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Telepathy?
If this dirty rag was a Legilimens capable of reading thoughts, his status as a reincarnated soul from another world was at risk of exposure. That simply wouldn't do.
Maurise narrowed his eyes. Caution was paramount.
If push came to shove, he decided he would cast the Wailing Curse on himself internally. It would scramble his surface thoughts into a screeching, chaotic slurry. It would hurt like hell, but it would hide his secrets.
"Black, Maurise."
His name was called. A ripple of whispers broke out across the hall. The surname Black carried a certain weight in the wizarding world, usually associated with dark wizards and pureblood mania.
Maurise walked up calmly. He sat on the stool and lowered the hat onto his head. The world went dark.
"Hmm…" a small voice whispered right in his ear. "Relax, child. Tension makes it difficult for me to see."
Maurise immediately began to empty his mind. For someone who had mastered the art of deep meditation, clearing his thoughts was second nature. He created a blank white void in his consciousness.
Ten seconds of silence passed.
"…"
"Are you… are you actually relaxing?" the Hat's voice sounded confused. "This is very strange. Why can't I see anything? Is there anyone home? Are you a fool?"
The Hat twisted uneasily on Maurise's head, visibly confused.
The Great Hall began to murmur. He had been sitting there longer than anyone else so far. A true Hatstall.
Hearing the Hat's frustration, Maurise relaxed slightly, reassured that his mental defenses worked.
'Mr. Hat', Maurise projected a polite thought into the void. 'Please, no personal attacks. I would appreciate it if you could just toss me into any house. Dealer's choice.'
"Not at all!" the Hat replied indignantly in his ear. "I have a duty! Hmm… but since I cannot get a read on you… I suppose there is one obvious choice for a mind this guarded and detached…"
"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat shouted to the room.
The table second from the left exploded into applause. Maurise took off the hat, looking relieved.
Over at the Gryffindor table, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan looked visibly disappointed they hadn't scored the mysterious Black boy.