In the dungeons of Hogwarts, Professor Snape was performing his usual impression of a giant, overgrown bat, though today his rhythm was slightly off. He moved with a distinct, rhythmic hitch in his step, a limp so pronounced it suggested he might have recently tried to kick a brick wall and lost.
However, after a quick, surly swig from a small vial of turquoise liquid, the limp vanished. He resud his gliding pace as if his bones had not been screaming monts prior, his expression returning to its default setting of deeply disappointed in everyone's existence.
Maurise breathed a silent sigh of relief. If Snape was busy managing his own physical trauma, it ant he likely had not noticed the unauthorized visit to his private stores. Maurise turned his focus back to his cauldron, ticulously grinding dried nettles for his Swelling Solution.
This was a joint lesson between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, which ant the atmosphere was a mix of studious silence and whatever noise Ron Weasley was currently making. Ron was seated just behind Maurise, and he had not stopped talking since the mont they sat down.
"Listen," Ron whispered again, his voice cracking with excitent. "We actually took down a full grown mountain troll. Just , Harry, and Hermione. Well, Hermione mostly just froze up at the start, but then we…"
"Right, right. Impressive stuff," Maurise murmured, stirring his cauldron with practiced ease.
He had heard the story four tis now. Hermione had already given him the technical breakdown, a bit of luck, a shaky Levitation Charm, and a very heavy wooden club eting a very thick troll skull. Honestly, from the way they described it, trolls sounded less like legendary monsters and more like particularly slow boulders with legs.
Maurise found it hard to believe that Professor Quirrell had actually fainted at the sight of one. Was that truly the standard for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts? It was a bit concerning.
Perhaps Ron's play by play comntary was a bit too enthusiastic, because Snape's cold, dark eyes suddenly snapped toward their table.
"Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter," Snape's voice cut through the air like a chilled blade. "Talking in my class is a luxury you cannot afford. Two points from Gryffindor."
Ron's jaw snapped shut. Harry, on the other hand, just sighed. He looked like a boy who had long ago accepted that his re presence was a fineable offense in this classroom.
Snape lood over their desk for a mont. He glanced at the bubbling, muddy purple sludge in Harry and Ron's cauldron, his lip curling in a sneer that suggested it slled like failure. Then, he glided over to Maurise. He stared down at Maurise's potion, which was a perfectly translucent, shimring blue.
The silence stretched. Snape's gaze lingered on the potion, then shifted to Maurise for two long, uncomfortable seconds.
"Five points to Ravenclaw," Snape said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Maurise offered a polite, humble smile. He had noticed a pattern. Ever since Snape had recomnded that extra reading list, the Professor had kept a very close eye on him. It was a strange kind of ntorship, one usually reserved for the silver and green ties of Slytherin.
Maurise did not mind the favoritism. There was a certain comfort in being the teacher's pet of a man everyone else feared. As the saying goes, it is good to be the favorite. Of course, if this were a class shared with Slytherin, Snape would surely find a reason to favor his own house, but here, Maurise was the clear winner.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the psychological endurance test that was Potions. Maurise began packing his scales and vials, ready to escape the damp air, when Snape's voice echoed from the front of the room.
"Mr. Black, stay behind."
The departing Gryffindors slowed down, tossing Maurise looks that ranged from good luck to nice knowing you. Being asked to stay behind by Snape was generally considered the first step toward an accidental disappearance.
"What did you do?" Ron whispered as he passed.
"Not a clue," Maurise replied, though his stomach did a small, nervous flip.
He waited until the last student had scrambled out of the door before following Snape into his private office. This was his second ti in the inner sanctum, surrounded by jars of things that definitely used to have pulses.
He barely had ti to sit down before Snape spoke two words that made his blood run cold.
"Living Death?"
Snape did not yell. He said it with a casual, almost bored intonation, as if he were asking about the weather.
Maurise realized he had two choices, lie and die, or lean into his well rehearsed survival strategy. He chose the latter. He stood up slightly, looked Snape right in the eyes with the most earnest expression he could muster, and delivered the Strategic Three Step Defense.
"I am incredibly sorry, Professor. I was completely out of line. It will never happen again."
The apology was smooth, humble, and delivered with the practiced grace of a man who had spent years perfecting the art of staying out of trouble.
Snape actually paused. He looked genuinely caught off guard by the sheer speed of the surrender. "And what, exactly, are you apologizing for, Mr. Black?"
The office went silent. Maurise blinked. Was this a trap? Had he confessed to the wrong cri? He carefully adjusted his gaze, looking at the edge of Snape's desk.
"Brewing the Draught of Living Death, of course," Maurise said cautiously. "Was that not it?"
Snape's brow furrowed. "Brewing it is certainly dangerous for a novice, but it is not a cri that requires such a dramatic performance of contrition."
"Then how did you know?" Maurise asked.
"The scent," Snape replied, his tone implying that Maurise was being particularly thick. "You sll like valerian roots and sopophorous beans. It is not a subtle aroma."
Maurise felt a wave of relief wash over him. Of course. He had been so focused on the technical success of the potion that he had not thought to clear the air around his robes. Snape was a Potions Master, he probably could identify a sneeze by its chemical composition.
"So, Professor, why am I here?" Maurise asked, his curiosity finally outweighing his fear.
Snape did not answer imdiately. He stared at Maurise, his dark eyes unblinking. Usually, a student would be trembling under such a gaze, but Maurise just waited. He found it more confusing than intimidating.
"Stay here. Do not touch anything," Snape commanded. He turned on his heel and swept out of the office, his cloak billowing behind him.
Maurise sat there, puzzled. Three minutes passed.
Suddenly, the door was slamd open. Snape marched back in, his face now several shades darker than usual, looking like he was ready to hex the entire castle. He was clutching a small linen bag that rattled with the sound of dried ingredients.
He had gone to the stores. And he had checked the inventory.
Snape dropped the bag onto the desk with a heavy thud. "I require an explanation, Mr. Black. Several key components for the Draught of Living Death are missing from my private stores. I find the timing of your recent olfactory profile to be suspicious."
Maurise felt his heart sink. He had been caught red handed. If he had just bought the ingredients elsewhere, he could have played the ambitious student card. But stealing from the Potions Master was a different level of trouble.
"I am sorry, Professor," Maurise said again, reverting to the only weapon he had left. "I was wrong. I will not do it again. I simply beca over invested in the challenge of the brew."
Snape looked at him, seemingly annoyed by Maurise's refusal to be properly terrified. He could not exactly expel a student who was this talented and this polite, even if they were a thief. There was a frustrating sense of stalemate in the room.
"Very well," Snape said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous silkiness. "You will prove that your investnt was not a total waste of my stolen property. You will brew the Draught of Living Death right here, in front of ."
He gestured to the bag of ingredients. "I have brought the materials. The quality of the result will determine your punishnt."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You have two attempts. I suggest you do not waste the first one."
Maurise nodded solemnly. He did not have much of a choice. At least he was not being thrown out of the school.
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