Chapter 28: The Opening Ceremony

Far away at Hogwarts, Maurice was unaware of what was happening on the Hogwarts Express.

He was in the Great Hall, waving his wand to adjust the floating candlelight, putting the final touches on the upcoming opening ceremony. The lights rose and fell in response to his wand, as if dancing.

Just as he was about to adjust the last cluster of candles, familiar footsteps echoed from the doorway, approaching slowly before coming to a stop behind him.

Maurice’s hand paused. He did not turn around, but instead adjusted the height of the final candles until he was satisfied. Only then did he retract his wand and turn.

"Professor Snape," he said with a faint smile, "it has been a long time."

Standing before him was indeed Snape. His signature black robes seemed to blend into the shadows of the Great Hall, his black hair hung slightly, and his stern face remained devoid of any unnecessary expression.

Snape looked at Maurice intently. His thin lips parted, and he replied in a low voice, "Professor... Maurice. It has been a long time."

The two looked at each other for a moment. A complex atmosphere permeated the air, as if some unresolved past were silently surging between them.

Maurice did not rush to speak. He merely tilted his head, glanced at the rising candlelight in the hall, and then refocused his gaze on Snape, his tone remaining calm. "I thought you wouldn't be interested in the decorations of the Great Hall."

"I am indeed not interested," Snape said quietly, a trace of his usual sarcasm in his voice. "But clearly, some people do not realize the value of time as I do—wasting so much energy on these meaningless ornaments."

"Ornaments?" Maurice raised an eyebrow, the smile in the corners of his mouth deepening. "Perhaps. But I prefer to call them... a welcoming ritual."

"Welcoming?" Snape sneered. "Do you think a group of eleven-year-olds cares about these flashy details? Professor Maurice, don't you think your efforts are, perhaps, a bit... redundant?"

"Of course—" Maurice’s answer was unexpected. He changed his tone, speaking firmly, "They are not redundant."

Snape was slightly taken aback and looked up at Maurice. His expression remained cold, but his gaze lingered involuntarily on the other man's face for a moment.

In that instant, it was as if something had been touched.

Memories emerged like an old drawer being opened, sliding out from the depths and flooding his mind. In the vision, it was Hogwarts long ago: a secluded corridor and a small boy beaten to the ground. The boy was thin and pale, clutching tattered books to his chest, his hands trembling with nervousness, his eyes darting about, filled with helplessness and fear.

"Stop sniveling."

A clear, bright voice rang out. The little boy looked up blankly, and a slender hand was extended toward him.

"Get up. Like a man, don't snivel—get up and take them on."

A boy who looked a few years younger than him stood before him, wearing a confident and mischievous smile. His face looked exceptionally bright in the sunlight, and like that warm smile, it was impossible to ignore.

"My name is Byrne Maurice. From now on, you're my sidekick. I’ll take your Potions textbook as a protection fee. If they dare to bully you again, just use my name."

"..."

"Did James and his friends bully you again? Did you use my name?"

"You did? And they still dared to touch you? That means they don't respect me. You wait here; I'm going to settle the score for you."

"This is James’s trousers. It’s my trophy from just now. You hold it for me."

"If he dares to bully you again, I’ll beat them every time I see them."

The memories gradually blurred, but the boy in the vision and the man before him began to overlap and merge. Snape’s gaze inevitably became complex, and a moment of trance flashed across his expression.

"Why?"

A series of questions welled up from the bottom of his heart, like a gale whipping up waves. Why did he suddenly drop out of school back then? Why was there no word from him? Why, after so many years, was there not even a single greeting? And why, just as he had almost convinced himself that everything was merely a dream, did the person suddenly reappear before him?

Without realizing it, Snape’s hands had clenched into fists. He quickly pulled himself out of those thoughts, struggling to restore his usual coldness.

"Others say you have changed, that you have changed a great deal, but I think you are still the same as before... meddlesome." Finally, Snape said coldly, turning to leave, but he stopped after taking a step. "I hope your enthusiasm can last until the end of the term."

"Oh, I will persist," Maurice said softly. "I hope you can too, Severus."

Snape’s figure faltered, but he did not look back. His black robes stirred a wave of shadow in the dim light, and he disappeared into the doorway of the Great Hall accompanied by heavy footsteps.

Maurice stood where he was, watching his back. His eyes held a hint of complex emotion, as if he were reminiscing or contemplating. A moment later, he lowered his head, and that polite smile returned to his face.

He raised his wand once again to continue adjusting the hall's layout. The candlelight flickered, and the stars shimmered.

...

An hour later, everything in the Great Hall of Hogwarts was ready.

The high ceiling was adorned by magic to resemble the night sky, with tiny stars embedded within, casting a radiance alongside the floating candles. Thousands of candles drifted mid-air, illuminating the hall. The four tables were set with gleaming golden plates and goblets, and a long table was set on the dais at the front—the staff table.

Professor Sprout was eagerly discussing something with Professor Sinistra (likely about the connection between Herbology and Astronomy), and smiles blossomed on their faces from time to time. Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick, and several others also formed a small circle, exchanging lighthearted conversation.

However, at the other end of the staff table, it was exceptionally desolate. Snape, Quirrell, and Maurice sat in the far left corner in succession. No one spoke to them, they made no attempt to join any conversation, and they did not even speak to each other. Their presence seemed deliberately severed, forming a small island completely out of place with the rest of the joyful atmosphere.

The three of them looked... incredibly lonely.

Quirrell was fine; he kept his head down, staring motionless at the plate on the table, as if he could see a flower in it. Snape and Maurice watched everything with cold (or gentle) indifference. All the joy had nothing to do with these three.

Just then, a commotion came from afar.

"The students are here!"

The Great Hall of Hogwarts instantly quieted down, and even the candlelight floating in the air seemed to pause for a heartbeat. The professors took their seats, their eyes focused in unison on the entrance of the hall. Meanwhile, the students already seated at the long tables also turned their expectant gazes toward the great doors, waiting for the incoming newcomers.

With a bang, the great doors slowly opened. A group of little wizards in black school robes, led by Professor McGonagall, walked into the hall. Their footsteps were uneven, and their faces were a mix of nervousness and excitement.

Everything in the hall was like a dream to these first-years stepping into Hogwarts for the first time. The twinkling stars on the high ceiling, the floating candles, the gleaming golden plates and goblets, and the faces looking at them from the long tables made these little wizards hold their breath, not daring to speak loudly.

"Stay close," Professor McGonagall said, standing at the front of the group, her tone as stern as ever. "Stay quiet, we are about to begin the Sorting Ceremony."

She led the newcomers slowly past the student tables toward the tattered Sorting Hat in the center of the hall. The hat looked decrepit, with patches everywhere, yet every newcomer’s gaze was deeply drawn to it. The students in the hall whispered; some laughed as they commented on the most nervous among the newcomers, while others, as in years past, made bets on which house their younger siblings would be sorted into.

Maurice and Snape’s gazes swept over the newcomers calmly. Both of their eyes lingered for a moment on a thin, black-haired boy—it was Harry Potter, who wore a look of obvious reserve and unease, yet there was a unique light in his eyes.

"He will surely enjoy the feeling of being in the spotlight," Snape suddenly said in a low voice, his tone cold and laced with his usual sarcasm. "The Savior, the center of everyone's attention."

Maurice tilted his head slightly and looked at Snape. He did not reply immediately, but nonchalantly shifted his gaze back to the line of newcomers. "He is just a child," he said softly. "To bear so much at this age is nothing to be envious of, Professor Snape."

Snape squinted slightly, as if he were not surprised by Maurice’s answer, merely huffed, and said no more.

The Sorting Hat had begun to sing its song. Its voice was raspy, echoing through the hall. As for the song itself—Maurice offered no comment. The newcomers held their breath; some even looked as if they were about to faint.

Once upon a time, had he not stood in that very spot, just like them? Waiting for a destiny that had long been ordained by heaven? Maurice felt a bit dazed.

Professor McGonagall stood straight nearby, holding a roll of parchment. After the Sorting Hat finished singing, she cleared her throat.

"When I call your name," she said loudly, "you will come forward, put on the Sorting Hat, and be sorted. The hat will assign you to the house that suits you based on your traits."

"Hannah Abbott!"

Before long, a rosy-cheeked little girl with two blonde braids stumbled out from the middle of the line. She put on the hat, and the wide, floppy Sorting Hat covered her eyes. Her short legs dangled from the stool, swinging nervously as if she were on a swing.

After a moment’s pause—

"Hufflepuff!" the Sorting Hat shouted.

A burst of warm applause erupted from the Hufflepuff table. The ceremony continued, and Maurice’s gaze swept over the sorted newcomers from time to time, his expression remaining calm.

"Susan Bones!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Theodore Nott!"

"Slytherin!"

"Terry Boot!"

"..."

"..."

The Sorting Hat’s speed varied; sometimes it would shout the name of the house the moment the little wizard put it on, and sometimes it needed to think before making a decision. For such a major event that would influence a wizard’s future life trajectory, it was only natural to be cautious. It seemed like a stereotype, branding little wizards who had not yet defined their life paths with labels that would never wash off—it was too arbitrary.

But this was the world of magic. The magical world was always wondrous.

However, if you asked Maurice whether a hat could truly determine a wizard’s future path, he would laugh and tell you with a meaningful look, "No, it only gives you a starting point. As for how you walk the path, that is entirely up to you."

In Maurice’s memories, he had seen many wizards sorted into different houses. Their lives were often full of variables—the bravery of Gryffindor was not necessarily innate, the wisdom of Ravenclaw did not always prevail, the loyalty of Hufflepuff was sometimes broken, and the ambition of Slytherin... was often twisted into many different things. Maurice himself, who came from Ravenclaw, was a living example.

"Harry Potter!"

When Professor McGonagall read the name, a commotion erupted in the hall. Everyone stood up and stretched their necks to see what the legendary Savior looked like. For a moment, all eyes were focused on Harry. He was startled by the sudden attention, a look of bewilderment on his face, but he straightened his back and walked up to the platform.

Maurice could see out of the corner of his eye that Snape’s hands, hidden under the table, were clenched into tight fists.

Still unable to forget?

Oh, he had tried his best.

The Sorting Hat was placed on Harry’s head, and the hall fell into silence.

"Oh, interesting," the hat’s voice rang through the hall, though only Harry could hear it. "You possess the wisdom of Ravenclaw, the loyalty of Hufflepuff, the courage of Gryffindor, and of course, the ambition and potential of Slytherin."

"I don't want to go to Slytherin," Harry whispered. He didn't want to be in the same house as the boy who slandered Professor Maurice—he was afraid he wouldn't be able to resist the impulse to teach him a lesson.

"Is that so? But Slytherin could help you achieve greatness," the hat said softly, like a temptation. "There, you will have true power."

"I don't want to go to Slytherin," Harry emphasized again.

The Sorting Hat was silent for a moment, then shouted, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, walking quickly toward his table.

Maurice followed Harry’s back with his gaze and smiled lightly.

"An interesting child," he said softly.

"A troublesome child," Snape retorted coldly.

Maurice did not refute him; he simply picked up the teacup at his side and took a gentle sip.

This year, it was destined to be interesting.