The Sorting Ceremony soon came to an end.
As it turned out, Morris had been sorted into Ravenclaw House.
Not bad.
Besides that, he had finally seen the legendary Harry Potter.
A small, skinny child who had been sorted into Gryffindor.
Morris stared at him for a long time, until Harry seemed to notice his gaze and turned to smile at him.
A very ordinary child.
Morris simply committed Harry Potter's face to memory, then turned his attention back to the ghosts around him.
Right now, he really wanted to catch a ghost and ask what it felt like to float in the air.
"...Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
After Dumbledore finished saying this, the feast officially began.
The lavish spread far exceeded Morris's expectations, more exquisite than any meal he had eaten at the children's home or at school.
The only pity was that there were no desserts.
If possible, he would have liked some cake before his main course-even if that was the wrong order.
Fortunately, when everyone had more or less finished eating, the golden plates suddenly changed again.
They were piled with all kinds of sweet treats: pancakes drizzled with chocolate sauce, jam tarts, raspberry cake...
"That's more like it."
Satisfied, Morris moved the tempting slice of raspberry cake in front of himself.
While he enjoyed the food, the Ravenclaw students beside him kept chatting about all sorts of things.
But Morris turned a deaf ear to those topics.
He only had eyes for the food.
As the sweet flavor blossomed on his tongue, he narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.
Perhaps noticing the "odd one out" at the table who did nothing but keep his head down and eat, a girl sitting opposite Morris could not help speaking up. "Er... hello, could you could you pass me the chocolate cake in front of you?"
Reluctantly parting with it, Morris politely pushed the plate over.
Only then did he notice that the girl speaking to him had an East Asian face.
The familiar-looking face gave him a favorable impression of her.
"Are you from Britain?" Morris asked.
The girl nodded slightly and answered politely, "Of course, but I'm of Chinese descent. Oh, right, I'm Cho Chang, a second-year."
"Morris Black, first-year," Morris introduced himself briefly.
He immediately felt a little disappointed. He had thought he might meet someone fully Chinese here.
"I'm Marietta Edgecombe." A red-haired girl beside Cho Chang leaned over and said warmly, "By the way, Black, what did the Sorting Hat say to you? You seemed to take a long time."
"Just call me Morris. As for the Sorting Hat... it called me an idiot." Morris shrugged.
The two girls exchanged a glance.
"Oh, idiots don't get into Ravenclaw," Marietta said with a smile.
"Maybe," Morris replied casually.
Just then, a translucent ghost happened to float over Morris's head.
Noticing him, Morris immediately looked up and called out enthusiastically, "Mr. Ghost, could you come over here for a moment?"
The ghost wore a long-sleeved tunic, a pullover robe, and a soft hat with a drooping brim. It was probably medieval attire.
Judging by that, he must have been dead for quite some time.
"Were you calling me, young sir?"
The ghost turned and bowed gracefully, his translucent body gleaming like a pearl in the candlelight.
Only when he floated up to Morris did Morris realize that he was a handsome man.
"Are you dead already?" Morris asked curiously.
"Evidently, my dear friend." The ghost spread his arms gracefully and said in an exceedingly proud tone, "In pursuit of true love, I drank that fatal cup of poison-and that was my romantic end."
Morris felt that this ghost was showing off the way he had died, and for a moment he did not know how to respond.
"Er... sounds nice," he said hesitantly.
"May you one day have a death as romantic as mine." The ghost bowed gracefully. "Goodbye, my friend."
With that, he floated lightly upward, passing through the floating candles and disappearing into the night-sky ceiling.
Watching the spot where the ghost had vanished, Cho Chang said quietly to Morris, "I'd advise you not to talk too much with ghosts. Most of them... well... aren't quite right in the head."
Marietta nodded in agreement. "I agree, especially the Bloody Baron. He's covered in blood."
Morris thoughtfully cut off a small piece of cake. "I think they're quite interesting. But speaking of that, why are there so many ghosts at Hogwarts? Surely they didn't all die here?"
If that really was the case, it would be rather creepy.
Cho Chang wiped the cream from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not too sure either, but I've heard Hogwarts has more ghosts than anywhere else in Britain."
"Exactly how many ghosts?" Morris pressed.
"Hmm, that's a tough question." Marietta tilted her head in thought.
"Sixty-eight in total."
Just then, a voice came from behind Morris.
He turned to look and found a male ghost dressed in fine clothes.
The ghost's collar was trimmed with lace, and his coat was very elaborate. He looked quite elegant-if not for the horrifying wound on his neck.
His head was almost severed from his neck, barely connected by a few inches of flesh, making it hard not to worry that it might suddenly fall off.
"Oh, it's you, Nearly Headless Nick." Cho Chang introduced him to Morris. "He's Gryffindor's resident ghost."
"Please call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington." Nearly Headless Nick bowed gracefully, a movement that set his head wobbling dangerously. "It's a pleasure to meet a young gentleman with such an interest in ghosts."
Marietta was somewhat surprised by the number of ghosts Nearly Headless Nick had mentioned. "Are there really that many ghosts at Hogwarts? I've been here a year, and I've probably seen fewer than twenty."
Nearly Headless Nick smiled faintly. "My dear girl, it's perfectly normal for you to see so few. Many ghosts-especially those old fellows who have been around for well over a thousand years-are rather reluctant to appear before the living. Those like us are actually in the minority."
"Sir Nicholas, could you come a little closer?" Morris suddenly asked.
Though somewhat puzzled, Nearly Headless Nick floated a little closer. "Of course, young friend. Is there something you'd like to ask?"
"Just call me Morris."
As Morris spoke, he reached out, trying to touch the head of the ghost before him.
Unfortunately, his fingers passed straight through the ghost's translucent form, and he felt only a pleasant chill.
Nearly Headless Nick froze for a moment, then let out a hearty laugh.
He did not consider this rude behavior.
"The living cannot touch ghosts, sir," he said proudly.