"I have no objections," Morris replied with practiced calm.
"No problem," the boy named Kyle agreed, nodding his head.
Robert, the Ravenclaw Prefect, smiled with satisfaction. "Excellent. Since you are both willing, I shall determine the content of this little contest. Tell me, did you two spend your summer holidays studying Transfiguration ahead of schedule?"
Maurise and Kyle nodded in unison.
"Splendid. It seems you are both well-prepared, as expected of Ravenclaw students," Robert said approvingly. His gaze drifted casually over the other first-years standing nearby.
Two of them lowered their heads in immediate shame. They had spent their entire summer enjoying the last dregs of childhood freedom and had not even considered cracking open a textbook.
"Then it is settled. The subject is Transfiguration."
Robert walked over to a nearby table cluttered with an assortment of random objects.
"The rules are simple," he said, beckoning the two challengers forward. "You may choose any item from this table and transfigure it. There are no restrictions on what you turn it into; however, the finer the detail, the better. The winner will be decided by a vote from everyone present."
The older students gathered around, their faces lighting up with the universal expression of people expecting a show. They knew perfectly well that finding a student who had mastered Transfiguration before the first day of term was rare. In their eyes, Maurise and Kyle were likely just posturing.
"Transfiguration, is it?"
Maurise drew his wand from his waist. He pointed it at a silver teapot sitting amidst the clutter and gave it a gentle, precise wave.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the teapot began to shift.
The spout elongated into a graceful arm, the bulbous body thinned into flowing robes, and the lid morphed into a familiar face wearing a wise, enigmatic smile.
In a mere ten seconds, an exquisite miniature statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood upon the table. Aside from a few minute details in the folds of her gown, it was nearly identical to the marble statue that guarded the entrance to their common room.
"That will have to do," Maurise said, shrugging his shoulders.
He genuinely did not know the standard for an average student, but this was the limit of his current ability without exerting himself too much.
Robert stepped forward quickly, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the miniature figure. "Perfect detail retention. This is third-year level work, Maurise."
The surrounding Ravenclaws broke into spontaneous applause. The older students, who had been ready to stifle their laughter at a failed attempt, now wore looks of genuine shock. They had come for a comedy but had instead witnessed the debut of a prodigy.
Robert found his interest piqued by this freshman named Maurise. Exceptional people often gravitated toward one another. In truth, Robert could have performed such a feat in his first year as well, so he understood exactly how much talent and grueling practice was required to achieve this over a single summer.
He observed the dark-haired boy carefully. Maurise remained perfectly calm, as if that breathtaking display of magic was as trivial as tying a shoelace.
'Is he still holding back?' Robert wondered.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned to Kyle, his voice gentle. "Do you wish to continue the match? I suspect Maurise paid a high price in effort during his holiday to reach this standard."
Kyle remained silent.
Was there even a point?
He was just a normal eleven-year-old. Sure, he had read the introduction to Transfiguration, but his success was limited to turning a matchstick into a needle, and even then, it usually still looked a bit wooden. He looked at the lifelike statue on the table and felt a wave of helplessness wash over him.
'Is this guy really a freshman?'
"I forfeit," Kyle whispered.
And just like that, Maurise secured the coveted single room.
Maurise sheathed his wand and gave Robert a small nod. "Thank you."
"You earned it. Your room is on the top floor, Dormitory Seven," Robert said with a smile. "However, I must warn you. A single room offers quiet, but it also means you lack the immediate support of roommates. If you encounter any trouble, feel free to find me."
"Also, your luggage should arrive in about five minutes."
"Understood," Maurise nodded. His Prefect seemed like a decent enough fellow.
"Alright, everyone," Robert announced, clapping his hands to disperse the crowd. "You may head to your rooms or stay here a while longer. Dismissed!"
As it turns out, excellence acts as a magnet for attention. This was particularly true in Ravenclaw.
Maurise had only intended to rest briefly on the common room sofa while waiting for his trunk, but he was immediately besieged by students from various years. He was forced to field a barrage of questions.
Ravenclaws, it seemed, treated interrogation as a sport, and their questions ranged from the academic to the bizarre.
"How did you learn that spell?"
"Intuition."
"What do your parents do? Are they wizards?"
"I am an orphan."
"What is your wand core?"
"Thestrals' hair."
"Are you male or female?"
"Male..."
"Do you like boys?"
"?"
Maurise looked up to find that the last question had come from a sweet-looking senior girl with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
The corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily. Seriously? Asking a first-year that?
'You really cannot judge a book by its cover,' he thought.
After finally navigating the gauntlet of curiosity, Maurise climbed the winding stairs and entered Dormitory Seven.
It was a beautiful room shaped like a quarter-circle. Four four-poster beds with blue velvet curtains were spaced evenly along the curved wall, flanked by four large, arched windows. There were two long desks, a mirror, a coat rack, and four large wardrobes.
As Robert had said, this was designed as a four-person sleeper. Now, however, the entire space belonged to Maurise alone.
It was a space of sinful, luxurious solitude.
One of the beds had been made up with crisp white linens, and his trunk stood silently at the foot of it.
Maurise walked to the window and looked out. The Great Lake shimmered in the twilight, reflecting the clear, bright moon. It was a magnificent view.
He opened his trunk and began to organize his meager personal belongings. It was not until he had finished unpacking that he realized something was missing.
Where was his cat?
Right on cue, a commotion erupted outside the window.
Maurise stepped forward and unlatched the glass. Immediately, two black shapes shot into the room.
A pitch-black owl flew in, its talons firmly gripping a similarly pitch-black cat.
The cat was wriggling furiously, letting out yowls of indignation. Unfortunately, the owl had a firm grip on the scruff of its neck, the feline off-switch, rendering the cat utterly helpless.
"Where have you two been?"
These were his pets, Tin the cat and Cinder the owl.
Cinder casually dropped Tin onto the carpet, let out a soft hoot, and then promptly dove headfirst into Maurise's shadow, disappearing completely. After dragging that stupid cat for a joyride, the owl evidently needed to recharge in the darkness.
Tin, now free, hissed at Maurise's shadow. After a few moments of impotent rage, the cat collapsed into a heap of aggrieved whimpers and began rolling around on the floor.
It had only wanted a nice walk. Suddenly, a bird of prey had snatched it up and taken it on an unwilling aerial tour of Hogwarts.
This was pure retaliation.
But that was not the main issue.
Tin glanced at Maurise's shadow with jealousy.
Unfair. Unfair.
They were both pets, so why did the bird get the special ability to merge with shadows?
It was naked favoritism.
'It seems they still are not getting along,' Maurise mused.
He crouched down and gently rubbed Tin's head, spending a good long while soothing the traumatized animal. Only when the cat had stopped sulking did Maurise change into his pajamas, climb into his oversized bed, and drift into a deep sleep.