"Perhaps I am overstepping," Maurise said, observing the girl's dejected posture as they walked, "but is there friction between you and the others?"
To make enemies on the very first day of school was, in a sense, a talent all its own.
Hermione sighed softly, her tone laced with a helplessness that seemed too heavy for an eleven-year-old. "They are my roommates. We haven't argued, exactly."
In truth, she found the whole situation baffling.
It seemed her three dormitory mates had become bosom friends over the course of a single evening and morning, forming a tight circle that left her decidedly on the outside. She simply could not fathom why.
To be fair, she hadn't done anything particularly offensive. All she had done was demonstrate a few simple spells she had mastered over the summer to show she belonged.
Maurise rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
He had heard rumors about the complex social dynamics of young girls. However, did it really start this early? In his previous life, when he was eleven, his biggest existential crisis involved trying to collect a complete set of rare gaming cards.
Although he wanted to present himself as a helpful sort, this was a battlefield where he was woefully unequipped to assist.
"What about your roommates?" Hermione asked suddenly, looking up. "What are they like?"
"Unfortunate situation there," Maurise shook his head with a slight grin. "I live alone. No roommates."
Hermione immediately cast him a look of profound sympathy.
She had clearly misunderstood the situation, assuming he was an outcast. Maurise merely smiled, offering no correction. Solitude, after all, was a luxury.
"Oh, here is the staircase. I will see you later."
"Goodbye," Hermione waved, looking slightly more cheerful now that she thought someone else was worse off than her.
The first class of the day was Transfiguration.
After finishing breakfast in the Great Hall and spending a solid twenty minutes hopelessly lost in the shifting corridors, Maurise finally located the correct classroom.
Despite the detour, he was early. The room was devoid of students.
The only living thing in the room was a striking tabby cat perched atop the teacher's desk. It was likely a pet that had wandered off from some Hufflepuff.
The cat lay perfectly still, its eyes fixed on Maurise with an unsettling intelligence.
Incidentally, Maurise did not dislike cats. If he did, he wouldn't have chosen Tin as the subject for his very first reanimation spell back home.
With time to kill, he walked up to the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he transfigured his wand into a long stick with a feather tied to the end. He waggled it gently in front of the tabby's nose.
The cat's ear twitched. Otherwise, it remained stoic.
"Not a fan?"
Maurise muttered to himself. He focused his magic again, morphing the feathers at the end of the stick into a chaotic ball of yarn.
According to his knowledge of feline psychology, no cat could resist the allure of wool. His own foolish undead cat certainly couldn't.
Sure enough, the tabby moved.
However, it was not the playful pounce Maurise had anticipated.
The cat stretched languidly and leapt gracefully from the desk. In mid-air, the fur retracted, the body elongated, and the limbs shifted. By the time boots hit the floor, Professor McGonagall stood there, her expression severe.
She adjusted her square spectacles, her sharp gaze landing on the wand in Maurise's hand which, regrettably, still looked like a ball of yarn.
"That was a very sophisticated piece of Transfiguration, Maurise," McGonagall said. Her lips were a thin line, but there was a flicker of professional appreciation in her eyes.
"Er... Good morning, Professor."
Maurise silently cancelled the spell, restoring his wand to its original wooden state.
He hadn't expected the cat to be a faculty member. It occurred to him that he would need to be careful in the future; at Hogwarts, kicking a stray toad might accidentally count as assaulting a teacher.
"If the class had actually started, I would award you points," McGonagall waved her wand, summoning a steaming cup of tea from a side table. "Unfortunately, we are still thirty minutes early."
"Can Transfiguration turn humans into animals, then?" Maurise asked, genuinely curious.
From his perspective, the tabby cat had been flawless. It was a perfect camouflage. In a dangerous situation, that kind of ability would be an incredible trump card.
"It can," McGonagall allowed a rare, small smile. "But what I just performed is not ordinary Transfiguration. It is a specific, highly advanced branch of magic known as becoming an Animagus. Once you have mastered the basics of this art, perhaps you will have the opportunity to learn it."
Maurise nodded.
McGonagall offered no further explanation, likely deeming it too complex for a first-year. Maurise, for his part, was not one to run before he could walk.
"Your foundation is exceptionally solid," McGonagall noted, taking a sip of her tea. "Self-taught over the summer?"
"Yes," Maurise replied matter-of-factly. "As you know, I do not come from a wizarding family. I had to catch up."
McGonagall's eyes crinkled slightly. It seemed Hogwarts had acquired a truly promising student this year. It was a pity, she thought, that the Sorting Hat hadn't placed him in Gryffindor.
"Take a seat, Maurise. It will be some time before the others arrive."
Maurise chose a seat by the window, watching the morning light filter through, and waited for his first official lesson at Hogwarts.
Gradually, the classroom began to fill.
Most classes at Hogwarts were shared between two houses. This Transfiguration session was a joint venture between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.
When the bell rang, the room was only half full. Maurise surmised the other half was currently arguing with a portrait or stuck on a vanishing step somewhere in the castle.
Professor McGonagall seemed to expect this. She didn't start the lecture immediately. She simply sat there, composed and terrifying, sipping her tea.
It took another three minutes for the stragglers to burst in, breathless and panicked. Fortunately for them, McGonagall was in a merciful mood and did not deduct House Points.
Maurise had already looked into the House Point system. Professors awarded or deducted points based on behavior and academic achievement. At the end of the year, the House with the most points won the House Cup.
It was an internal competition mechanism designed to foster school spirit.
Maurise, however, found it entirely unmotivating.
He had checked the rulebook: there was no scholarship, no cash prize, and no magical artifacts awarded for winning the House Cup.
Whether in the Muggle world or the magical one, schools should really understand a universal truth: incentives without tangible rewards are just empty talk.
Yet, the other students seemed obsessed with the idea. Maurise found their enthusiasm for a shiny cup baffling.
A standard class lasted one hour.
The objective of today's lesson was classic: turn a matchstick into a needle.
To Maurise, this felt as simple as riding a bicycle with training wheels. Regrettably, the rest of the class found it akin to rocket science. Aside from Terry Boot, the boy in his house who had competed with him for the single dorm, no one else made any progress.
Professor McGonagall anticipated this struggle. She moved through the rows, patiently correcting wand grips and pronunciation, lecturing on the theory of molecular alteration.
Maurise, naturally, received "special" attention.
"Since you are ahead, Maurise," McGonagall said, dropping a matchstick on his desk, "please turn this into a silver letter opener. And I want the handle to be engraved with a lion's head."
Frankly, asking a first-year to perform detailed sculpting via magic was pushing it.
It took Maurise nearly half an hour of intense focus to satisfy her requirements. The resulting letter opener was sleek, silver, and featured a grim-looking lion on the hilt.
For his efforts, he earned Ravenclaw five points.
When the dismissal bell finally rang, and the students began to file out with relief, McGonagall called out.
"A moment, Maurise. We need to discuss yesterday's incident. You do not have a class next, correct?"
"Incident?" Maurise stopped, surprised. "What is the matter?"
"Regarding the Thestrals," McGonagall explained succinctly. "Usually, the carriage beasts do not approach students. Yet, yesterday, you arrived at the castle riding one."
Maurise blinked, realization dawning on him.
To be honest, he hadn't given it much thought. He had just ridden the strange, skeletal horse because it was there.
"Am I to be punished?" he asked.
McGonagall shook her head. "You did nothing wrong. However, we must ensure that a specific Thestral understands that allowing students to ride it unsaddled is a safety hazard."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Simply identify the creature that carried you," McGonagall said gently. "We have a specialist, Professor Kettleburn, who will have a stern word with it."
Maurise nodded slowly.
Safety regulations were understandable, even in a castle full of moving staircases and poltergeists. Besides, he didn't mind the opportunity to see those strange, deathly creatures again.