The interior of the Hogwarts Express was not what Morris had expected—just an ordinary train beneath its magical surface.
Excited students were packed nearly every compartment he passed. Their noisy chatter was clearly perceptible even through the closed doors. Through the windows, Morris caught glimpses of reunions, students comparing their summers, showing off new possessions, or simply enjoying the freedom of being away from adult supervision.
He'd arrived a bit later than ideal and couldn't find an empty compartment no matter how far down the corridor he walked. Every single one seemed to be occupied, most of them filled to capacity with five or six students crammed onto seats.
No choice then. Though he strongly preferred quiet and solitude for the long journey ahead, preferably time to continue studying the spells in his Standard Book or perhaps meditate undisturbed, he'd have to make do with whatever space he could find. Beggars, as they said, couldn't be choosers.
Finally, in the middle section of the train, after passing at least a dozen fully occupied compartments, he found one with only three students.
Through the window, Morris could see a blond boy with a pointed chin sitting in the window seat. His robes were clearly expensive. Across from the blond boy sat two much larger children.
The blond boy was speaking as Morris observed. The two larger boys nodded in agreement with whatever statement he was making, their synchronization was quite comical.
Morris adjusted Tin-Tin in his arms and knocked on the compartment door with his free hand.
The conversation inside stopped abruptly.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward the doorway in unison.
The blond boy's gaze swept over Morris with assessment, taking in every detail. His eyes lingered on Morris's plain, second-hand robes. Then his attention moved to the black cat in Morris's arms, and his eyebrows furrowed subtly.
"What is it?" The blond boy's tone carried a trace of displeasure at being interrupted.
"Excuse me, is there space here?" Morris asked calmly, as if he hadn't noticed the deliberate sense of distance the other boy was creating.
The blond boy didn't answer immediately. Instead, he exchanged a quick glance with one of his companions.
One of the larger boys spoke up with obvious exclusionary intent dripping from every syllable: "It's already full. Draco doesn't like being disturbed by just anyone."
The boy called Draco raised his pointed chin even higher, apparently quite satisfied with his companion's response.
"Sorry to bother you," Morris replied with automatic politeness.
He'd dealt with plenty of petty bullies and small-minded people in both his lives. This was hardly worth getting upset over. Since they'd made their attitude perfectly clear, he wouldn't insist on forcing his way into a compartment where he clearly wasn't welcome.
Morris turned to leave, already scanning down the corridor for the next possibility, but just as he stepped away from the door, he caught a distinct sound from inside the compartment—a dramatic tongue-click.
This was immediately followed by the blond boy's voice, dripping with mockery and malice: "Tsk... Another one who doesn't know the rules. Look at those pathetic robes, and that weird, mangy cat—probably another Mudblood."
The malicious tone made Morris pause mid-step.
Mudblood?
That didn't sound like a compliment or a neutral descriptor. The wizarding world had its own prejudices, then. How unsurprising.
Forget it—why bother getting worked up over a few ignorant children playing at superiority?
Next time, if there was an opportunity and if circumstances aligned favorably, he'd give them a little practical lesson in respect. Perhaps the Wailing Curse or the Weakening Curse applied judiciously would teach Master Draco something about humility that his clearly inadequate parents had failed to instill.
Bratty kids needed virtuous iron fists to discipline them, after all. Morris considered it almost a public service.
He shook his head slightly, dismissing the incident from his thoughts, and continued down the corridor searching for an empty seat. The train would depart soon, and he needed to settle somewhere before it started moving.
After passing several more packed compartments, Morris finally found another compartment.
"Hello, is there space here?" He knocked and called through the door.
The door slid open almost immediately, revealing a tall boy with dark skin and impressive dreadlocks pulled back from his face. He looked Morris up and down, but his assessment felt curious rather than judgmental.
"Uh... if you don't mind the company, come in." The boy's voice was hesitant but welcoming.
"Thanks." Morris gave a small smile of appreciation and maneuvered his suitcase through the doorway, parking it in the luggage rack above the seats before settling himself on the available spot.
This compartment contained three children, all considerably taller than Morris—clearly not first-years, probably third or fourth years based on their size and the confidence in their postures.
Most notably, there was a pair of red-headed twins sitting opposite each other, grinning with identical expressions.
The third occupant was the dark-skinned boy who'd answered the door.
Morris hefted his suitcase onto the luggage rack with some effort—even with the lightening charm, it was awkward at his height and strength level then sat down beside the dreadlocked boy, adjusting Tin-Tin comfortably in his lap.
"Um... hello," the boy greeted again, this time more formally now that Morris was actually in the compartment. His tone was friendly, if slightly uncertain how to proceed.
"Hello." Morris nodded, responding just as concisely.
After exchanging this greeting, Morris adjusted his breathing and straightened his spine slightly against the seat back. Then, he slowly closed his eyes and began sinking into that familiar meditative state.
The black cat in his arms seemed to pick up on the shift in atmosphere, or perhaps it simply recognized the routine. Tin-Tin stretched its stiff limbs in a elegant relaxation, curled into a tighter ball on Morris's lap, and closed its own eyes.
For a moment, the compartment fell into an oddly quiet.
The other three occupants exchanged glances, all showing somewhat bewildered expressions.
The twins' eyebrows rose in perfect synchronization, a silent conversation passing between them in the way only twins could manage. The dreadlocked boy looked from Morris to the twins and back again, clearly uncertain what to make of their newest companion.
This was... strange. Most first-years were bouncing with excitement, chattering nervously, asking a million questions about Hogwarts. This kid had just sat down, said hello, and immediately entered what looked like some kind of meditation or trance.
'Strange person,' the dreadlocked boy thought, though not meanly. The wizarding world was full of eccentric people, after all.
After nearly a full minute of this unusual silence, with Morris showing no signs of emerging from whatever state he'd entered, the dreadlocked boy cleared his throat loudly: "Ahem." trying to break the somewhat eerie silence that had fallen over their compartment.
He turned toward Morris, who still appeared to be resting with closed eyes, and asked in a friendly tone, "Are you a first-year, then?"
Morris's eyes opened immediately at the question.
He'd only wanted to ride quietly to Hogwarts, using the hours-long journey to continue his magical practice or perhaps study some of the theory from his textbooks. But since his compartment-mate had initiated conversation, and since they'd been kind enough to let him join them when space was at a premium, not responding would be rather rude and ungrateful.
"Yes." Morris smiled politely in reply. "First year."
"I'm Lee Jordan." The dreadlocked boy seemed visibly relieved at getting a response.
For some reason he couldn't quite articulate, he'd felt an indescribable aura around Morris earlier.
A voice seemed to be telling him it was best not to get too close.
Lee Jordan gestured toward the red-haired twins across from them, who were now watching the interaction with interest. "This is Fred Weasley and George Weasley. We're third-year Gryffindors. Been at Hogwarts for two years now, so if you have any questions about the school, feel free to ask."
"I'm Morris Black." Morris kept his introduction simple and direct. "Just call me Morris."
"Black!?"
Fred and George exclaimed in unison, both sitting straight upright as if their tails had been stepped on, the casual playfulness vanished instantly from their faces.
The atmosphere in the compartment suddenly became tense.
"What's wrong?" Morris was taken aback by the extreme reaction.
George leaned forward, his earlier friendliness was vreplaced by intense scrutiny. He stared at Morris. "Your parents are...?"
This question wasn't exactly polite.
However, Morris roughly understood the problem now.
There was probably someone, or more likely a prominent family, called "Black" who was quite famous or perhaps infamous in the wizarding world. Famous enough that the mere mention of the surname triggered instant wariness from students who'd been part of magical society their whole lives.
And given the reactions, this fame probably wasn't the good kind.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Morris answered calmly. "I'm from the Muggle side."
Fred and George almost simultaneously let out long breaths they'd apparently been holding.
"That's good then." Fred's grin returned to his face. "Had us worried there for a moment, didn't he, George?"
"Quite worried," George agreed, though he was smiling now too.
A trace of confusion flashed through Morris's silver-gray eyes. "Is there something particularly wrong with the surname Black in the wizarding world?"
The twin brothers looked at each other.
"It's nothing you need to worry about, really," George finally said, taking over the explanation with a dismissive wave of his hand. His tone was light. "It's just that in the wizarding world, some surnames are... well... rather disliked, you know? Like Malfoy, for instance..."
At the mention of that particular name, perhaps thinking of the natural comedy associated with that family's reputation, or perhaps remembering some specific incident from their years at Hogwarts, the two twins looked at each other and burst into simultaneous laughter.
This was the twins' special understanding.
Morris indicated through his neutral expression that he didn't understand the context, but he had no particular intention of investigating further or pressing for details.
Probably just those typical entanglements between old wizarding families.
He'd bought several miscellaneous books about wizarding history in Diagon Alley and had a general understanding of the magical world.
Speaking of which, the origin of his surname was quite ridiculous when you thought about it.
He'd grown up in the orphanage from infancy. Though he'd possessed his adult consciousness even during those earliest years, a child's thoughts were inherently chaotic.
He'd forgotten at exactly what age his memories had become truly distinct and reliable, when the fog of early childhood had finally cleared enough for him to form lasting recollections.
However, he distinctly remembered one of the caretakers explaining to him years later how he'd gotten his name.
His surname had literally been drawn by lottery.
Perhaps for entertainment during a slow afternoon, perhaps following some unofficial procedure for unnamed children, the caretaker had taken an old, hat and filled it with many paper slips, each bearing a different surname drawn from some list or perhaps just made up on the spot.
Then she'd had several unnamed children from the orphanage, those who'd arrived without records or identification, take turns drawing their new identities from the hat like some kind of grim game show.
Morris had been one of them.
That was the simple, completely mundane origin of the name "Morris Black."
Not a particularly common name in either the Muggle or apparently the wizarding world, which had its advantages and disadvantages.
But ultimately, it didn't matter to him—he had no special feelings about his name one way or another. It was just a designation, a label for others to use, a way to distinguish him from the anonymous masses.
At this point in the conversation, Lee Jordan's attention was drawn away from surnames and family histories to something more interesting. His gaze focused on the black cat still resting on Morris's lap.
He pointed at Tin-Tin with curiosity. "Did you buy your cat in Diagon Alley?"
Fred and George immediately leaned forward as well, their interest clearly piqued. They cast curious, intense looks at the unusual cat.
They'd been interested in this cat from the moment Morris had entered the compartment, actually.
Empty eyes that didn't quite focus properly. An unnaturally cold aura that seemed to radiate from its small body.
Those were Tin-Tin's first impressions on them, though they couldn't articulate exactly what felt wrong. Just that something did.
The undead cat seemed to sense it had become the topic of discussion. It lazily lifted its eyelids, revealing those ghostly yellow eyes that were just slightly too dull. Those dead eyes swept over Lee Jordan with an intensity that seemed to look through him, making him inexplicably feel a chill run down his spine.
"No, I didn't buy it." Morris shook his head. "Just a stray cat I picked up off the streets."
This modest, almost dismissive answer made Lee Jordan's face shift into an expression of disapproval.
"Hey, mate," he said with the air of an old hand who'd learned important lessons through experience,
"cats from the Muggle world are all pretty useless, honestly—they basically don't do anything except eat, and sleep. If you really want to keep a cat at Hogwarts, you'd be much better off getting one from the magical creatures shop in Diagon Alley. The cats there are much smarter, and useful. Some can even help you find lost objects, or warn you when danger is approaching, or deliver simple messages."
Fred and George nodded vigorously in agreement.
Morris rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if seriously considering this advice.
"Hmm..." he hummed, then a small smile appeared at his face. "But my cat is actually very smart and can even perform tricks. Quite impressive ones, actually."
The three older boys exchanged skeptical glances. Right, of course. Every pet owner thought their animal was special.
Morris carefully lifted Tin-Tin from his lap and placed the cat on the compartment floor. He straightened his posture, arranged his face into an expression of complete seriousness, and commanded, "Good cat, do the splits for me. Show these nice people what you can do."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Tin-Tin's eyes were immediately filled with extremely human-like, unconcealed disdain.
It even tilted its head slightly to one side, as if seriously questioning whether its master's brain had completely malfunctioned.
"Useless," Morris clicked his tongue in exaggerated disdain, shaking his head in dramatic disappointment. "Sparkles is so much better than you..."
Tin-Tin immediately performed a perfect split.
"!"
The three older boys' jaws literally dropped open in astonishment, their eyes were wide with disbelief.