Maurise was practically vibrating with excitent for the start of the new term.
The dragon blood he had ticulously prepared was finally ready. The ti had co to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest and unearth those buried dragon bones. If he could successfully restore vitality to that ancient skeletal structure, he might just beco the proud owner of an undead, necromantic fire dragon.
Just thinking about the prospect sent a delightful little shiver down his spine. He could hardly wait.
September arrived in the blink of an eye. The Hogwarts Express belched thick, white steam into the air, waiting right on ti at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Navigating through the bustling platform, Maurise spotted the familiar faces of the Weasley twins and their best mate, Lee Jordan. Once aboard the scarlet steam engine, the four of them cramd into a single compartnt, perfectly mirroring their seating arrangent from the previous year.
The mont the train lurched forward, Fred and George practically bubbled over with excitent.
"Care to guess where we sneaked off to over the sumr?" Fred asked. He wiggled his eyebrows with a remarkably smug expression, shooting a conspiratorial wink at Lee Jordan sitting across from him.
"Oh, please don't keep us in suspense," Lee drawled, slumping lazily against the window. "Let guess. Knockturn Alley?"
"Ugh." Fred's smug expression instantly deflated. "You are absolutely no fun. But fine, yes, we actually managed to sneak into Knockturn Alley."
Lee chuckled. "You two have been going on and on about doing that since the end of last term. So, spill it. What is it really like in there?"
"We wore heavy cloaks and kept our hoods up the whole ti," George eagerly took over the story. "You would never believe the sights down there. The street itself is completely different from Diagon Alley, entirely gloomy and sinister. And then there was this shop... what was it called again? Borgin and Burkes! The atmosphere inside was absolutely bone-chilling. We even bought a creepy little music box that screams when you wind it up. Sounds like a brilliant holiday, right, Maurise?"
"Not bad at all," Maurise agreed with a nod. "Perhaps you guys can co look for at Number Twenty-One soti."
"Number Twenty-One what?" Fred asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Knockturn Alley," Maurise stated, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I live there now."
A stunned silence descended upon the train compartnt. It lasted for several seconds.
"You live in Knockturn Alley?!" Fred's voice cracked, rising an octave in pure, unadulterated disbelief.
George and Lee mirrored his shell-shocked expression.
Maurise rely shrugged. "Yeah. I an, the neighborhood environnt leaves a bit to be desired, but it still beats living at the Muggle orphanage by a mile. There is a surprisingly decent shop owner down there, and I work for him. Oh, please wipe those horrified looks off your faces. Dumbledore knows all about it. You can relax."
Another brief mont of silence hung in the air before Fred fiercely slapped his own thigh.
His eyes lit up with mischievous brilliance. "That is incredibly cool! Next sumr, we are absolutely visiting your place. Mum will not have a single excuse to stop us if we tell her we are simply responding to a formal invitation from a dear schoolmate."
"You are welco anyti," Maurise smiled.
Halfway through the scenic journey, the twins proudly presented Maurise with the fruits of their sumr labor. It was a half-finished prototype for a line of joke sweets they called Skiving Snackboxes.
"This little beauty is the Nosebleed Nougat," Fred announced. He fished a piece of candy wrapped in obnoxiously bright pink paper from his pocket and handed it to Maurise. "The magical effects are still a tiny bit volatile, but you can take a gander."
Maurise carefully peeled back the shiny wrapper. Inside sat a remarkably ordinary-looking piece of nougat.
"There might be a few minor side effects," George chid in helpfully. "Our main issue right now is the exit strategy. Once you eat it, the bleeding is absolutely guaranteed. However, the blood might choose a rather unorthodox escape route. Sotis it pours heavily out of your ears, or, well, directly out of your backside."
Upon hearing that final, horrific detail, Maurise silently and permanently banished any lingering thoughts of taste-testing the candy. Even when they finally perfected the finished product, he was fairly certain he would never let one near his mouth.
The four boys spent the rest of the journey chatting idly. Through the twins' endless stream of gossip, Maurise learned that the famous Gilderoy Lockhart had been appointed as their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the term.
This revelation did not surprise him in the slightest. After all, their required reading list for the year consisted entirely of Lockhart's published bibliography.
The rest of the evening followed the standard, ti-honored Hogwarts procedures. After the train pulled into Hogsade Station, Maurise followed the sea of students into the Thestral-drawn carriages. They were whisked away to the brightly lit Great Hall for the annual Sorting Ceremony.
Once the final, trembling first-year student was sorted into Hufflepuff, a spectacularly dressed Gilderoy Lockhart stood up from the staff table. He was draped in flamboyant, flowing robes that demanded attention.
Instantly, the gaze of the entire Great Hall locked onto him.
Lockhart was clearly in his elent, thriving under the spotlight. He offered a practiced, gleaming bow to Professor Dumbledore before turning to face the sea of students. His voice echoed grandly across the room. "It is my most profound honor to arrive at Hogwarts, taking up the vital mantle of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Please rest assured, you shall learn a magnificent amount from ..."
While Maurise had initially held a sowhat neutral impression of Lockhart, this terribly long, boastful, and entirely substance-free speech was making it incredibly difficult to stay seated.
The rest of the Great Hall, however, seed thoroughly enchanted. This was especially true for a large portion of the female student body. Hermione Granger, for instance, sat with her back perfectly straight. She was hanging onto his every word and had already begun furiously taking notes.
"I heard Professor Lockhart was in Ravenclaw back in his school days."
Maurise turned his head toward the voice. He noticed a bespectacled Ravenclaw boy whispering to his neighbor. "I have an uncle who was actually in the sa year as him."
"Oh? He must have been an outstanding student, then?" the neighbor asked eagerly.
"Hard to say." The boy with glasses wore a highly complicated expression. "My uncle ntioned that he... well, he did not exactly stand out academically. Actually, to tell you the truth, my uncle told Lockhart was an absolute waste of space when he was a student."
A waste of space?
Maurise raised a skeptical eyebrow. Honestly, he had been planning to get on Lockhart's good side. In his mind, anyone capable of writing those thrilling, detailed bestsellers had to possess so genuine, hard-earned skills. The harrowing adventures detailed in those books could not possibly be completely fabricated. Or so he innocently assud.
Lockhart's speech thankfully concluded. The mont Dumbledore officially declared the feast open, the golden plates and goblets across the tables magically filled with a staggering variety of mouth-watering food.
It was finally ti for Maurise's absolute favorite part of the day.
While happily digging into a large slice of cake smothered in thick cream and raspberry jam, Maurise's gaze casually drifted over to the Gryffindor table.
He paused mid-bite.
He could not spot Harry Potter or Ron Weasley anywhere in the crowd.
This was highly unusual. Neither of those two boys were the type to voluntarily skip the Start-of-Term Feast. This was particularly true for Ron, a boy who treated the act of eating with a level of dedication bordering on religious devotion.
Hermione, however, was present. She was taking delicate little bites of pudding while simultaneously reading a heavy textbook.
By breakfast ti the very next morning, Maurise discovered exactly why Harry and Ron had been absent from the grand feast.
"...STEALING THE CAR, I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY HAD EXPELLED YOU. YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU. I SUPPOSE YOU NEVER STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE..."
"...IT IS ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING. YOUR FATHER IS FACING AN OFFICIAL INQUIRY AT WORK..."
It was a Howler.
A blazing red, violently loud Howler sent by Mrs. Molly Weasley, packed with enough maternal rage to shake the stone walls.
As Maurise casually sipped his overly sweetened pumpkin juice, he listened to a boy nad Kevin relay the juiciest gossip spilling out of the Gryffindor common room.
According to the rumors, Harry and Ron had sohow missed the Hogwarts Express. In a mont of sheer, unadulterated panic, Ron had decided the most logical solution was to steal his father's illegally enchanted flying Ford Anglia and fly it all the way to Scotland. Not only were they spotted by Muggles and splashed across the morning papers, but they had also crash-landed directly into the school's incredibly violent Whomping Willow.
Taking all of this in, Maurise honestly did not know what to say.
He could only conclude that it was a remarkably Gryffindor thing to do. The sheer lack of self-preservation was astounding.
But mostly, he felt a deep pang of sympathy for poor Mr. Arthur Weasley. Working at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was hard enough without your own son completely torpedoing your career in front of the entire wizarding world. Having such a spectacularly troubleso son was truly a colossal stroke of bad luck.
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