Maverick spent the rest of the day combing through the mountains of lost items that had been stashed away in the Room of Hidden Things—though "room" was a generous word for something that stretched endlessly in all directions. Judging by the dust and disarray, the collection had been building up for a century, if not centuries. Even after hours of searching, he had barely scratched the surface.
But that wasn't a bad thing at all. In fact, it was rather exciting. Even in the small fraction he managed to sift through, he found more than a few treasures buried among the rubbish.
There were old textbooks with handwritten notes in the margins—some clearly belonging to students, others to long-retired professors. He found several worn Prefect badges, one even dating all the way back to the 1800s, and an old enchanted chessboard whose pieces, though dusty and confused, still twitched under the influence of long-forgotten spells.
And then there were the broomsticks. Dozens of them, tossed aside like broken toys. Most were in pieces, but one in particular caught his eye—not because of its elegance, but because of how utterly awful it looked. At first glance, he thought it was just an old cleaning broom, and not a very good one at that. It was stubby, crooked, and fraying at the tail.
But when he leaned in for a closer look, he noticed an inscription burned into the handle: Spudmore's First Flight – 14th Century.
His eyebrows rose.
Spudmore—one of the earliest broom-makers, and an alchemist of questionable brilliance—had been infamous for putting theory above practicality. A brief scan of the enchantments told Maverick everything he needed to know. The broom had no stabilisation charms, no braking mechanisms, and no enchantments for wind resistance. Riding it must have felt like strapping yourself to a stick and leaping off a roof. It would have been a miracle if anyone managed to walk away from a single game without broken bones or worse.
Maverick grinned and turned the broom in his hands. To most, it was junk. But to a collector, or a Quidditch enthusiast—it would be a treasure among treasures. He tucked it away in his expanded storage space, along with a few other choice finds, then glanced at his watch.
It was well past dinner.
"No sense in overdoing it," he muttered, stretching his arms and letting out a quiet sigh. The room's not going anywhere.
He planned to return again, of course. Perhaps at a slower pace, picking through the forgotten artefacts little by little until the year's end. For now, though, it was time to head back.
---
The days that followed passed without much excitement. Classes carried on as usual, but Maverick noticed a steady stream of students seeking him out—not only for help with his own subject, but with questions from Charms, Transfiguration, and even Potions.
He suspected they were taking advantage of his easygoing nature, slipping in extra help where they could. Still, he didn't outright turn them away.
For those bringing work from other professors, he offered guidance where he could, but always added a gentle reminder to speak with their actual teachers next time. Even so, word seemed to spread, and more kept coming. He didn't mind, really. If anything, he found it rather interesting.
By the second weekend of the term, the excitement returned. Quidditch tryouts had begun—and this year, the buzz around the Hogwarts All-Stars was louder than ever.
Thanks to the experience from the previous year, Maverick and Coach Steven managed to run the selection process smoothly, finishing all trials within two days. As expected, most of the starting players from last year held onto their positions. A few members of the bench team weren't so lucky, and with several spots left vacant, the final line-up saw quite a few new faces.
The 1992-1993 Hogwarts All-Stars team featured a strong roster:
Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood as captains—Flint playing Seeker and Wood guarding the hoops as Keeper.
The Chasers: Cedric Diggory, Roger Davies, and Adrian Pucey, each of them sharp, confident, and fast.
As Beaters, Michael McManus and Maxine O'Flaherty earned their spots with sheer power and precision.
Harry Potter, unsurprisingly, secured the role of reserve Seeker. Some argued he was better suited for the main team already, but Steven stood firm in his decision.
The Weasley twins made it in too—Fred and George, grinning from ear to ear, joined as reserve Beaters. Their natural talent on a broom was undeniable, even if their sense of discipline left something to be desired. Steven promised they'd see playtime during the tournament.
There was, however, one drawback to being selected. Players chosen for the All-Stars were not allowed to take part in the regular inter-house Quidditch competition. The decision came from Coach Steven himself, to avoid injuries and exhaustion, and while some grumbled, they all respected his authority. Still, if Hogwarts were to be eliminated early, the All-Stars would be allowed to return to house matches.
---
Beyond the Quidditch buzz, another matter was beginning to stir among the students.
It had to do with Professor Lockhart.
At first, the novelty of being taught by a celebrity wizard hadn't worn off. He swept into lessons with dazzling smiles and tales of his exploits, often acting out dramatic re-enactments of his books using props and the occasional volunteer.
But as the weeks dragged on, students began to notice a pattern—he wasn't actually teaching them anything. A lesson on defensive spells would turn into a reading of Holidays with Hags. A session on counter-curses would veer off into a monologue about his award for Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile.
And then came the accidents.
When Lockhart attempted to show his class how to vanish a stack of quills, he made the table disappear instead—along with half of someone's homework. During a lesson on handling a Doxy infestation, he confidently swung open a covered cage—only to reveal it was full of Bundimuns, which promptly melted through two desks before anyone could react. After a while, even his most devoted fans started to whisper doubts.
Yet, curiously, nothing official was said. No changes were made. It was as though the school had decided to turn a blind eye.
Maverick had not brought the matter up either—not yet. First, he needed proper evidence to prove the man was a fraud. It was better to wait until after the first round of the inter-school tournament. When the time came, he would speak to Professor McGonagall.
Not Dumbledore.
He liked the Headmaster well enough, but when it came to getting things done, there was only one witch at Hogwarts who didn't mince words.
---
September faded into October, and with it came the crisp breath of autumn. The skies above Hogwarts turned colder, swept with grey clouds and the occasional flicker of golden sunlight that lit the lake like glass.
On one such quiet Thursday evening, Maverick returned to his office after another long expedition through the Room of Hidden Things. And today as well—he had uncovered more than a few interesting finds, but right now, he was ready to rest his mind.
The corridors outside were just beginning to stir again as students returned from dinner. Maverick had only just leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes when he heard a knock at the door.
"Right… I nearly forgot," he muttered under his breath. His Magical-Sense had already told him who was waiting. With a sigh, he flicked his fingers, and the door creaked open.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped inside. They found their professor leaning back at a rather dangerous angle in his chair, eyes closed, as if asleep.
The three of them hesitated by the door.
"P-Professor?" Harry said after a pause. "Should we come back later?"
"No need," Maverick said, waving a hand dismissively as he sat upright with a quiet groan. "I did ask you to come tonight..."
With another flick of his fingers, three chairs appeared across from his desk. "Come... have a seat," he added, nodding toward them.
The trio stepped in, closed the door behind them, and sat down—curious and eager to hear what came next.
"Right, then," Maverick said, glancing at Harry. "How much have you told them—about our practice sessions, I mean."
Harry nodded. "Everything, Professor. From the first day, the exercises, and... well, all the books you gave me to go through..."
Maverick hummed thoughtfully, then turned to Ron and Hermione. "So, you two understand this won't be the kind of practice where I start handing out flashy spells right away?"
They nodded at once, their faces more serious than he had expected. He raised an eyebrow at their determination, then turned back to Harry again.
"You told them everything? The long hours, the dull exercises, all of it?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. "I didn't leave anything out."
Ron and Hermione nodded again.
Maverick leaned back in his chair, eyeing the three of them thoughtfully. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he let out a slow breath and finally began to explain the training plan for the trio.
Basically, Ron and Hermione would join Harry for a few hours of practice each weekend. However, Maverick would not be supervising every session. He planned to oversee their training personally only once or twice a month. The rest of the time, Harry—who had already begun working with him—would take the lead and guide them.
He kept it simple on purpose. They had enough on their plates already with school. And Harry, especially, couldn't afford to burn out—not with the extra work he was putting in alongside Steven and the Hogwarts Quidditch team.
Still, Maverick couldn't ignore the obvious: this arrangement was bound to raise eyebrows. Personally mentoring three students was blatant favouritism. But then again, who had asked him to become Harry Potter's mentor in the first place? He brushed the thought aside. If anyone had an issue, they could take it up with Dumbledore.
Taking the trio under his wing had been a carefully considered decision. Maverick intended for them to play key roles in the future leadership of the magical world, once the Statute of Secrecy eventually fell. It was better to start early with the chess pieces—then, when the time came, everything would fall into place.
When he was done explaining, he didn't keep them any longer.
"Tomorrow morning," he said, standing up. "After breakfast, seventh floor."
He paused, then added, "Early. I expect you there before seven."
The three of them looked confused, but none of them asked. The seventh floor?
Maverick waved a hand. "Just follow instructions. You'll find out soon enough."
They nodded, still puzzled.
"You can head back," he said. "Get to bed early, eat something solid in the morning, and be on time. You're going to need the energy."
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