Quirrell must have realized he had lost that notebook.
During the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he seemed exceptionally restless.
His eyes constantly darted around the classroom. This was highly unusual. Normally, Quirrell would just bury his face in the textbook, stuttering through the material without ever paying attention to the students below.
Maurise, as usual, minded his own business, casually flipping through an advanced Potions book. He wasn't panicked in the slightest. The corridor had been packed with people yesterday. As long as he didn't give himself away, Quirrell had no reason to suspect him of taking the book.
A bizarre atmosphere shrouded the entire lesson. Quirrell had zero intention of actually teaching. He would abruptly stop reading every few sentences, leaving the class in an awkward silence.
Halfway through the period, Maurise suddenly noticed a shadow fall over his desk. He slowly looked up, meeting Quirrell's bloodshot eyes. However, Quirrell did nothing else. He simply walked back to the podium in silence and resumed the lesson.
Kyle leaned over from the next desk, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"What is wrong with Professor Quirrell? He just stopped in front of everyone's desk for a moment."
Maurise lowered his head again, letting his gaze fall back onto the Potions book.
"Don't worry about it," he replied casually. "Adults just have a few uncomfortable days every month."
He did notice that Quirrell looked terrible. Pale, weak, looking exactly like a patient who had been chronically ill for far too long. Maurise discreetly reached into his pocket and touched his Death Compass. At some unknown point, the needle had locked onto Quirrell once again.
At noon, Maurise ran into Quirrell again in the corridor. Surprisingly, the professor called out to him, his voice trembling.
"Mr. Black, these past few days... have you, by any chance, seen a... a notebook?"
"No, Professor Quirrell," Maurise answered with a perfectly neutral expression.
The conversation ended there. Quirrell made no further moves and quickly turned to leave. It seemed like just a routine inquiry.
Just then, a voice suddenly drifted from behind him.
"Black. What did Quirrell want with you?"
Maurise turned his head and saw Snape standing a short distance away. He immediately broke into a bright smile and jogged over.
"Hello, Professor Snape! What a coincidence. I actually have a few Potions questions I wanted to ask you..."
Snape cut him off coldly. "Answer my question first."
"Oh. Right." Maurise repeated Quirrell's question word for word, even throwing in a spot-on impression of the man's stuttering, pathetic tone.
Snape did not react to the comedic performance. He merely gave a slight nod.
Seizing the moment, Maurise instantly whipped a small notebook out of his pocket.
"About the Draught of Living Death, Professor. I recently came up with a few brilliant ideas..."
The Draught of Living Death again! Snape's face darkened with visible exasperation. Why was this student so fixated on the Draught of Living Death? For several consecutive weeks, Maurise had been pestering him about the intricacies of its formula. What kind of unholy fascination did this boy have with this specific potion?
"Professor? Professor? Are you listening?"
Snape took a deep breath, feeling a dull ache throbbing in his temples. He glanced at the small notebook in Maurise's hands. It was densely packed with formulas and scribbled annotations. It appeared the boy truly was pouring his soul into researching the subject. It also meant Snape was going to be relentlessly tormented by him for a while longer.
Half a month slipped by in the blink of an eye. The weather was gradually growing warmer.
During this time, Maurise completely halted his research into dark magic. He had hidden that mysterious notebook deep in the corner of his trunk. Moreover, thanks to his relentless efforts, he had finally made a breakthrough regarding the Draught of Living Death.
He discovered that if he pre-treated the Sopophorous bean using a very specific technique, he could halve the required amount of beans without diminishing the potion's potency in the slightest.
Oddly enough, when Maurise excitedly rushed to Snape to share this groundbreaking discovery, Snape angrily kicked him out of his office. Well, the professor was probably just in a foul mood lately. It surely had nothing to do with him.
In other good news, Maurise received a new order from Frick a few days prior. Several clients had pre-ordered his custom Skeleton Hounds. His little secret vault was replenished once again. This influx of gold instantly boosted his confidence. He could finally afford to order some of the more expensive magical ingredients from the shops in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley to research new potion formulas.
One Saturday morning, Maurise bumped into Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the library.
"We are preparing for our final exams, Maurise," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I advise you to start revising early as well. Otherwise, you will run out of time."
A towering stack of books was piled high in front of her.
Ron grumbled softly beside her. "The exams are two months away."
"Exactly. Only two months," Hermione corrected him sharply.
"Thanks for the heads-up," Maurise said smoothly. "But I don't need to revise."
Hermione curled her lip. "Are you really that confident you'll get top marks on the finals?"
"I never said that." At the very least, Maurise had zero confidence in History of Magic.
"It never hurts to be prepared early." Hermione turned her attention back to Ron. "I just saw your two brothers come into the library. You should learn a thing or two from them."
"Fred and George?" Ron rolled his eyes in disbelief. "I guarantee you they are not here to study."
Maurise located the Weasley twins in a secluded corner of the library and walked over. Several books were splayed open on the desk in front of them, and both boys were deeply engrossed in flipping through the pages.
"You two look busy," Maurise remarked.
"Oh, it's you, Maurise," George replied without even lifting his head. "We are designing a new type of candy."
Fred chimed in. "A candy to make you look like you're violently ill, so you can skip class. Hey George, copy down this paragraph. It looks brilliant." He handed his book over to his brother. George took it and immediately started scribbling down notes. Their teamwork was seamless.
Maurise leaned in closer. "Faking an illness? Why not just drink a potion? I know a great formula that causes your entire body to break out in red hives. The actual toxicity is incredibly low, and taking the antidote clears it up in half an hour."
Fred and George snapped their heads up simultaneously, their eyes shining as brightly as if they had just discovered a new continent.
Happy to help, Maurise shared his potion recipe with the twins.
Fred rubbed his hands together in absolute glee.
"We'll try to incorporate this into a sweet and add a bit of charm work. George, what do you think about a double-layered filling?"
"Brilliant!"
Maurise looked at them in confusion. "Why are you two so dead set on putting it into a candy? Wouldn't drinking the potion directly be far more convenient? You can brew a single bottle to use multiple times, and the effects are much easier to control."
"Because that wouldn't be fun at all, Maurise!" the twins chorused together.