"Professor Flitwick, would you mind helping me test them?" Maurise asked, pointing at the remaining skeleton with a look of anticipation. "Feel free to use any spell you like. Preferably something with a bit of a kick. I really want to see where their upper limits lie."
"Not a problem at all."
Professor Flitwick was always delighted to participate in his students' magical experiments. He drew his wand and adjusted his stance, ensuring the trajectory of his spell would not accidentally ricochet into the crowd of onlookers.
With the testing officially underway, Flitwick gave his wand a sharp, decisive flick.
"Reducto!"
A concentrated beam of fierce red light shot across the room and struck the skeleton dead in the center of its ribcage. The magical kinetic energy detonated instantly at the point of impact.
The skeleton, which had just flawlessly tanked dozens of Roger's Severing Charms, instantly developed a network of deep cracks spreading rapidly outward from its chest. In less than half a second, the entire construct completely shattered, collapsing into a pile of jagged, mismatched bone fragments.
"Oh dear. Perhaps I should have used something a tad less destructive," Flitwick mused.
At that moment, Maurise snapped his fingers. The pile of shattered bones immediately began to vibrate. Like a film playing in reverse, the fragments floated into the air and began flying back toward a central point to seamlessly reassemble themselves.
The students watched with their mouths hanging open.
However, right as the reconstruction reached the halfway point and the skeleton's general outline became visible, the process abruptly halted without any warning. The fragments clattered back onto the floor in a heap. Starting from the edges, the bones turned entirely transparent and silently dissolved into thin air, leaving not a single speck of dust behind.
Flitwick looked at Maurise with a raised eyebrow. "Did it run out of magical reserves?"
"Spot on, Professor," Maurise nodded. While the skeletons possessed an auto-repair function, this was only meant to be a quick parlor trick. He had not infused the constructs with a massive amount of magic. The rapid depletion was entirely expected.
Suddenly, applause broke out across the common room. The students were rightfully impressed by Flitwick's brilliantly executed Blasting Curse. Maurise happily joined in the clapping.
Looking slightly flustered but deeply pleased, Flitwick raised his hands to quiet the room.
"Thank you, thank you all," Flitwick cleared his throat, beaming brightly. "That was a truly spectacular piece of magic, Maurise."
"It is all thanks to your excellent teaching, Professor," Maurise replied with a smooth smile.
Flitwick was perfectly aware this was pure flattery. Conjuring auto-repairing skeletons was definitively not part of the standard Charms curriculum. Still, what professor did not enjoy hearing such praise from one of their own students? The smile on Flitwick's face grew even more radiant.
Maurise turned back to the remaining students. "Does anyone else want to give it a go? There is still one skeleton left. The prize is still on the table. A chocolate cake and the Galleons."
"Oh!" Flitwick exclaimed in surprise. "There are prizes? Why did no one tell me?" He blinked at the table, his eyes locking onto the rich dessert. "May I claim the cake?"
"Of course you may, sir."
---
Ever since the skeleton incident, Maurise noticed a distinct shift in his reputation within Ravenclaw. He was no longer just another face in the crowd. When he walked down the corridors, his housemates frequently went out of their way to greet him or offer a respectful nod.
It was not a bad feeling at all. While Maurise valued his peace and quiet, he was not a complete recluse.
Naturally, his newfound popularity came with a few minor annoyances. This was Ravenclaw, after all. The house was practically built on an insatiable foundation of academic curiosity.
"Black, how exactly did you build that skeleton?"
"What specific incantation did you use?"
"Did you dig that spell out of the Restricted Section?"
Questions like these bombarded him daily. Maurise typically offered the exact same polite response to every inquiry.
"I am terribly sorry, but that is a trade secret."
This only served to amplify his mysterious aura. Fortunately, while the young eagles of Ravenclaw were desperate for knowledge, they also heavily respected personal academic boundaries and rarely pushed the issue.
---
One gloomy afternoon in late October.
Maurise stood on the rocky shores of the Black Lake, practicing his spellwork. The sky was the color of bruised iron, occasionally spitting cold, stinging droplets of rain. Thanks to the miserable weather, the lakefront was completely deserted, making it the perfect spot for uninterrupted magical training.
The Room of Requirement was always an excellent alternative, but since Maurise was not practicing anything inherently dark or illegal today, there was no need to hide.
Incendio.
This was the spell he had been obsessively analyzing for the past few days. Maurise had quickly realized that the Fire-Making Spell possessed a destructive potential far beyond what most people imagined. Even the most basic magical fire could easily reach temperatures exceeding 1000°C. To any wizard on the receiving end, that level of thermal energy was undeniably lethal.
"Incendio! Incendio! Incendio!"
With each incantation, bursts of flame erupted from the tip of his wand, taking on various forms. Dancing fireballs, twisting serpents of flame, spinning rings of fire. Yet, no matter how intricately Maurise manipulated the shape of the flames, the core essence and raw power of the spell remained stubbornly unchanged.
As he tweaked his casting method, he constantly felt a faint, annoying sense of disharmony within his magical core. He was still quite a distance away from the flawless, frictionless resonance he had achieved with the Wand-Lighting Charm and the Patronus Charm.
It was going to take a lot more trial and error. But then again, magical breakthroughs often happened in a single, unpredictable flash of insight.
Meanwhile, a fair distance behind Maurise, two figures were stealthily approaching through the damp grass.
They wore the green-trimmed robes of Slytherin. The smaller, paler figure was Draco Malfoy. Walking beside him was the hulking, thuggish Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Marcus Flint.
Flint grumbled under his breath, his thick eyebrows knitting together in heavy annoyance. "Making me bully a second-year student. A Mudblood, no less. You really are something else, Malfoy."
A flash of intense irritation crossed Draco's pointed face. "Flint, this is about defending Slytherin's honor. Do you not remember what happened on the Quidditch pitch? Black was clearly siding with the Gryffindors. Besides, I am not asking you to curse him into oblivion. Just scare him a bit."
Flint clapped a heavy, reluctant hand on Draco's back. "Fine. But I am only doing this because you are on my team."
Draco sneered inwardly. Because I am on the team? What a joke. He knew exactly why Flint was agreeing to this. The trollish captain only cared about the seven Nimbus 2001 broomsticks Draco's father had donated. He certainly had not drafted Draco for his Seeker skills.
Regardless of Flint's true motives, Draco was thrilled. Maurise Black, the infuriatingly calm Ravenclaw who constantly undermined him, was finally going to suffer.
Just imagining the look of absolute, pathetic terror on the usually composed boy's face made the corners of Draco's mouth twitch upward into a vicious smirk.
He had finally found the perfect opportunity. So what if he was using an older student to do his dirty work? He, Draco Malfoy, knew how to leverage the power of those around him to achieve his goals. It was the very definition of Slytherin cunning.
As they closed the distance, the two Slytherins stopped hiding their approach. Their heavy boots crunched loudly against the wet grass, deliberately announcing their presence to the solitary figure standing by the lake.