The Sorting Ceremony soon drew to a close.
It turned out that Morris had been placed in Ravenclaw House. Not bad at all.
Beyond that, he finally caught sight of the legendary Harry Potter—a small, skinny boy sorted into Gryffindor. Morris studied him for a long moment until Harry noticed his gaze and offered a small, polite smile. A very ordinary child, it seemed. Morris silently committed Harry Potter's face to memory before redirecting his attention to the ghosts floating nearby. He was eager to catch one and ask what it felt like to drift through the air.
"…Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
With Dumbledore's final words, the banquet officially began.
The abundance of food exceeded Morris's expectations; it was more exquisite than any meal he had ever tasted at the Children's Home or at school. The only disappointment was the absence of desserts. If possible, he would have preferred to start with cake, even if it meant eating in reverse order.
Fortunately, when most of the students had nearly finished their main course, the golden plates magically piled high with sugary treats: muffins drizzled with chocolate sauce, jam tarts, raspberry cakes… "Now this is more like it," Morris thought, delighted.
He placed a piece of tempting raspberry cake in front of himself and took a small bite. While savoring the sweet flavor, he barely noticed the Ravenclaw students chatting around him. To him, there was only food.
Perhaps noticing this outlier so focused on eating, a female student across from Morris spoke up. "Uh… hello, could you pass me the chocolate cake in front of you?"
Reluctantly, Morris slid the plate over. Only then did he notice the girl's friendly, East Asian features. She gave him a polite smile.
"Are you British?" he asked.
The girl nodded slightly. "Of course, but I am of Chinese descent. By the way, my name is Cho Chang, second year."
"Morris Black, freshman," he introduced himself simply.
He briefly felt regret at having hoped to meet someone who was purely Chinese in appearance.
"I'm Marietta Edgecombe," a red-haired girl beside Cho Chang chimed in warmly. "By the way, Black, what did the Sorting Hat say to you? You seemed to take quite some time."
"Just call me Morris. As for the Sorting Hat… it called me a fool," he replied with a shrug.
The two girls exchanged glances.
"Oh, fools don't come to Ravenclaw," Marietta said with a smile.
"Maybe," Morris answered casually, unbothered.
At that moment, a translucent ghost floated past his head.
Morris's eyes lit up. "Mr. Ghost, could you come here for a moment?"
The ghost wore a long-sleeved tunic and surcoat, topped with a soft, drooping hat—attire reminiscent of medieval times. He had clearly been dead for centuries.
"Young gentleman, are you calling for me?" the ghost asked, turning with a graceful bow. His body shimmered pearly under the candlelight.
As he floated closer, Morris realized how handsome the ghost appeared.
"Are you… already dead?" he asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"Evidently, my dear friend," the ghost replied proudly. "In pursuit of true love, I drank a fatal poison—thus ended my romantic tale."
Morris blinked, unsure how to respond to what seemed like a boast. "Uh… sounds nice," he said awkwardly.
"May you, too, experience such a romantic demise," the ghost said, bowing once more. Then, he drifted upward, passing through the floating candles, and vanished into the night-sky ceiling.
Cho Chang looked after him and murmured, "I advise you not to talk too much with the ghosts. Most of them… well… their minds aren't quite normal."
Marietta nodded. "I agree, especially The Bloody Baron. He's… covered in blood."
Morris cut another small piece of cake thoughtfully. "I actually think they're interesting. But why are there so many ghosts at Hogwarts? They couldn't all have died here, could they?"
If that were the case, the castle would be a rather frightening place.
Cho Chang wiped cream from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not sure either, but I heard Hogwarts has the most ghosts in Britain."
"Exactly how many ghosts?" Morris pressed.
"Hmm… that's a tough question," Marietta said, tilting her head. "Sixty-eight in total."
Just then, a voice called from behind him.
Morris turned to see a male ghost wearing elaborate, lace-trimmed clothing. His coat was elegant, yet a gruesome wound on his neck revealed his head was nearly severed, barely hanging by a few inches of flesh.
"Oh, it's you, Nearly Headless Nick," Cho Chang introduced him. "He's Gryffindor's resident ghost."
"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, if you please," the ghost said, bowing gracefully. His head wobbled dangerously with the motion. "I am pleased to meet a young gentleman so interested in ghosts."
Marietta's eyebrows lifted. "Are there really that many ghosts at Hogwarts? I've been here a year and haven't seen more than twenty."
Nearly Headless Nick smiled faintly. "It is normal to see only a few. Many of us—especially those who have existed for centuries—prefer not to appear to the living. Those you encounter are the minority."
"Sir Nicholas, could you come a bit closer?" Morris requested.
Though slightly puzzled, Nearly Headless Nick floated forward. "Certainly, young friend. Is there something you wish to ask?"
"Just call me Morris," he said, reaching out to touch the ghost's head.
His fingers passed through the translucent form, feeling only a pleasant chill.
Nearly Headless Nick paused, then laughed heartily. This behavior wasn't impolite—it was simply unusual.
"The living cannot touch ghosts, sir," he explained proudly.
Morris nodded thoughtfully, eyes lingering on the elegant, spectral figure. There was something captivating about the quiet presence of Hogwarts' ghosts—a living bridge to history, tragedy, and forgotten tales.
As he returned to his cake, Morris reflected that Hogwarts was not only a place of magic but a haven for souls who lingered between worlds, each ghost carrying a story worth hearing. Perhaps someday, he would learn them all.
For now, however, the raspberries and chocolate were far too delicious to ignore.
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