Two days later, it was time for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"V-v-very well, t-t-today we... we will be s-s-studying chapter th-three..."
Professor Quirrell's teaching had gone from bad to worse lately. Initially, it was just a severe stutter, but now he could barely string a complete sentence together. Sitting in his class felt like attending a lecture inside a submarine rapidly running out of oxygen. Just listening to him made Maurise feel like he was suffocating. Plus, the oppressive stench of garlic permeating the classroom seemed even more pungent than usual.
"I can't take this anymore," muttered Kyle, sitting next to Maurise and pinching his nose. "Maurise, I've noticed you never pay attention. How far ahead have you self-studied in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Maurise lightly waved the fifth-year textbook resting by his hand. "Fifth year. Just skimming, really."
Kyle fell silent.
Figures, he thought. There is just no competing with Maurise. When they had first started at Hogwarts, Kyle had been a bit salty about losing to Maurise in Transfiguration, writing it off as beginner's luck. Now, he realized it was just the natural order of things. Academically speaking, Maurise was the Ravenclaw among Ravenclaws.
Truth be told, Maurise found the lower-year Defense textbooks rather useless. They were basically glorified survival pamphlets listing ways to fend off vampires and werewolves. Only in the upper-year books did one occasionally stumble across a genuinely practical spell. But according to the older students, Quirrell's advanced classes were no better. He just read from the book and didn't teach a single practical jinx. Getting paid a handsome professor's salary to slack off every day... honestly, it was an enviable gig.
The bell finally rang, providing a merciful release. Maurise packed his things and made a swift exit.
"Oh, were you waiting for me?"
He spotted his undead cat crouching by the classroom door. Maurise knelt and rubbed the top of its cold head. Tin gave a soft meow, leaped onto Maurise's shoulder, and wrapped its tail around his neck like a freezing scarf.
"A bit chilly," Maurise noted, placing the undead feline back on the floor. He had previously tried casting a Warming Charm on Tin to simulate a normal cat's body temperature, but the resulting sensation of being simultaneously hot and dead-cold was too bizarre to describe. He had quickly abandoned that experiment.
Just then, Professor Quirrell scurried out of the classroom. Tin seemed particularly fascinated by the purple turban wrapped around the man's head. The cat leaped up and batted playfully at the fabric with a paw.
"Hey, don't touch that!" Maurise tried to stop his pet, but he was too late.
Quirrell leaped out of his skin. The stack of books in his arms crashed to the floor. He swayed violently, his face draining of all color, and collapsed onto the stone floor.
Maurise stared in disbelief. Talk about an overreaction.
"Professor!" a few lingering students cried out in shock.
Knowing it had caused trouble, Tin immediately darted behind Maurise's robes to hide.
"I-it's f-f-fine, n-no need to h-help me..." Quirrell stammered, scrambling to his feet. He gathered his books in a frantic, haphazard pile and fled the scene like a bat out of hell.
Maurise didn't even get a chance to apologize.
Glancing down, Maurise noticed a black notebook lying face down on the floor, clearly having slipped from Quirrell's clumsy pile. He had no intention of being a good Samaritan and figured he would just leave it for another student to pick up. But Tin suddenly snatched the notebook in its jaws and offered it to him.
"...Fine."
Maurise took the book. It was bound in fine, dark leather with no markings on the cover. He casually flipped it open to a random page.
"Precautions when casting... when using the Cruciatus Curse, it is best to maintain a cheerful disposition, rather than relying solely on anger..."
Wait. What in Merlin's name?
Maurise flipped through a few more pages. This wasn't a diary. It was a literal instruction manual for Dark Magic. The Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse... the whole Unforgivable trio was neatly detailed inside.
Maurise twitched. What was this? A one-way ticket to Azkaban?
Then again, considering who dropped it, Quirrell carrying something like this wasn't entirely surprising.
Maurise quietly tucked the book into his robes. The surrounding students were still staring in the direction of Quirrell's chaotic retreat, gossiping about the professor's bizarre behavior. No one noticed his little act of theft.
"Let's go, Tin," Maurise said, keeping his expression perfectly neutral as he headed toward Ravenclaw Tower. There was no way he was returning this to Quirrell now.
Back in the safety of his dormitory, Maurise took out the notebook for a closer inspection.
The handwriting was so perfectly uniform it looked as if it had been printed by a press, meaning it almost certainly wasn't Quirrell's original work. The notes covered far more than just the Unforgivables. It contained a plethora of other spells, nearly all of them falling firmly into the category of Dark Magic.
After half an hour of reading, Maurise set the book down and fell deep into thought.
Should he give Dark Magic a try?
The incantations themselves weren't overly complicated. The real trick was that they required the caster to channel specific, extreme emotions to work. It didn't take long for him to make up his mind. He was going to try it. After all, exploring Dark Magic was on his long-term agenda anyway. The schedule had just been moved up a bit. In his view, Dark Magic wasn't some uncontrollable beast. As long as he didn't drown himself in it or use it like everyday charms, it would be fine.
A moment later, Maurise returned to his desk with a small spider he had caught in a dusty corner of the stairwell. Setting the oblivious arachnid on his desk, he drew his wand. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself, and tried to muster the necessary murderous intent.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A pathetic, weak green light fizzled from his wand and accurately struck the spider.
And then... the spider scurried away as if absolutely nothing had happened.
"..."
Maurise sat in silence. Even though he had expected a learning curve, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Just as he thought, firing off a proper Killing Curse wasn't a walk in the park.
However, despite the lackluster result, he had definitely felt something strange when he cast it. How to describe it? It was as if a whispering voice in the back of his mind was demanding that he snuff out the tiny creature's life. But it was entirely manageable and well within his mental control.
Determined, Maurise scooped the spider back up and tried the curse a few more times. On the final attempt, the spider finally did him a solid favor. Upon being struck, all its tiny legs twitched, curled inward, and it died. Barely.
Maurise breathed a sigh of relief. His talent for Dark Arts was clearly quite poor.
But regardless of the spell's effectiveness, using Dark Magic always left a mark on the caster.
"Revelio Essentia!" Maurise cast the diagnostic spell Dumbledore had taught him earlier. A manifestation representing the current state of his soul and magic slowly shimmered into view. Unlike before, his magic now carried an impurity. It was an exceptionally tiny, grayish speck.
Maurise had no idea what kind of side effects this impurity might cause, but he reasoned that it wasn't permanent. After all, when Dumbledore had demonstrated the spell a few days ago, the Headmaster's magic had been completely flawless and pure.
This meant one of two things. Either Dumbledore knew a secret method to cleanse these dark impurities, or they faded away naturally over time.
As for the idea that Albus Dumbledore had never cast a Dark spell in his entire life? Maurise called absolute rubbish on that.