Maurise was perfectly aware of the two malicious figures sneaking up behind him. However, he did not bother to turn around and confront them just yet.
His mastery of the Fire-Making Spell was only a single step away from perfection. The sensation of magical alignment was incredibly clear, yet he knew it could vanish in a fleeting second if he broke his concentration.
"Incendio!" Maurise slashed his wand through the damp air.
The instant the incantation left his lips, that deeply familiar, exhilarating sensation of absolute magical resonance washed over him.
Success!
He could tangibly feel his magic singing as it surged wildly down his arm and into his wand. However, the raw magical energy did not immediately erupt into flames. It lingered at the tip, condensing and brewing, waiting for his explicit command.
"That should be about right," Maurise smiled faintly. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the spell backward over his shoulder.
In a fraction of a second, a towering, roaring wall of fire erupted from the muddy ground, violently cutting off the path between Maurise and the two Slytherins.
The sheer, terrifying heat of the inferno instantly warped the air, causing the surroundings to ripple like water. The cold drizzle evaporating before it even touched the flames created a deafening, continuous hiss.
Draco and Flint stumbled backward in absolute horror, the malicious smirks melting right off their faces, replaced instantly by stark terror.
But the nightmare was only just beginning.
They watched in paralyzing dread as the colossal wall of fire rapidly coiled and extended, moving with the speed of a striking viper.
"Run!" Flint bellowed, but his warning came too late.
Within the blink of an eye, the fiery serpent bit its own tail, enclosing the two Slytherins in a perfect, inescapable cage of roaring flames. An intensely suffocating wave of heat slammed into them, threatening to scorch their lungs with every panicked breath.
Draco's face drained of all color. "Use your magic, Flint! Think of something! Put it out!" he shrieked, his voice cracking hysterically.
Flint ignored the boy's pathetic screaming. He drew his own wand, leveled it at the churning wall of fire, and braced his footing. "Do not panic! Stand firm! Aguamenti!"
A thick, highly pressurized jet of water blasted from the tip of Flint's wand, crashing directly into the inferno. The intense collision of water and magical fire created a blinding cloud of steam, but slowly, a small gap hissed open in the wall.
"It is working!" Draco hollered hoarsely. "Keep going, Flint! More!"
"Shut up!" Flint roared back, gripping his wand tighter as more water cascaded into the flames.
The gap gradually widened, just barely large enough for two people to squeeze through side-by-side.
"Move!" Draco yelled, thinking their chance for survival had finally arrived. He lunged forward.
Standing safely outside the fiery prison, Maurise simply shook his head in mild amusement. He gave his wand a tiny, almost imperceptible flick toward the opening.
Whoosh!
As if an invisible barrel of highly explosive fuel had just been dumped onto the breach, the flames roared back to life, violently snapping the exit shut.
"What?!" Draco cried out, stumbling backward and falling onto his rear to avoid having his eyebrows singed off.
It did not stop there. Following Maurise's silent command, the entire fiery perimeter began to slowly, methodically contract inward.
"No! Stop! Make it stop!" Draco wailed, staring at the advancing wall of death with pure despair.
Flint's heart plummeted into his stomach. He desperately continued casting the Water-Making Spell, but his jets of water merely evaporated harmlessly against the overwhelming heat. The fiery cage continued its agonizingly slow, deliberate shrinkage, entirely unbothered by his efforts.
Standing back-to-back, the two Slytherins could clearly hear each other's frantic, terrified heartbeats.
"Black! We yield! We yield!" Draco sobbed loudly.
It was utterly useless. Just as Draco squeezed his eyes shut, fully convinced that Maurise was genuinely going to roast them both into carbonized ash.
Snap.
The deafening roar of the flames vanished instantly. Not a single spark or scorch mark remained on the damp grass. Only the lingering, unnatural warmth in the air served as proof that the inferno had ever existed.
Draco and Flint collapsed to their knees, gasping for cold air, overwhelmingly relieved to still be alive.
Before the joy of survival could fully settle in, the soft crunching of footsteps approached them.
They forced their heads up. Standing casually before them was Maurise Black, gently stroking a... well, an owl?
"Ah, gentlemen," Maurise blinked, his voice dripping with perfectly fabricated innocence and polite surprise. "Malfoy, and... my apologies, senior? What are you two doing all the way out here? I am so terribly sorry, I was completely absorbed in practicing my spellwork and entirely failed to notice anyone walking up behind me."
Practicing his spellwork? Failed to notice them?
Like hell he did!
Draco trembled with absolute, blinding fury. He opened his mouth to scream a string of curses, but Flint quickly stepped forward, using his massive bulk to subtly shield the younger boy.
Flint stared darkly at the Ravenclaw second-year, choosing his next words very carefully. He remained silent.
"It looks like the rain is picking up, gentlemen," Maurise noted with a helpful, cheerful smile. "I highly suggest you head back to the castle before you catch a cold."
"You... you absolute..." Draco stammered, shaking so violently he could not form a coherent sentence.
Suddenly, the sound of rapid, urgent footsteps approached from the direction of the castle courtyard.
"What in heaven's name is going on down here?! I saw a massive blaze from the windows!"
Professor McGonagall strode rapidly toward them, her emerald green robes billowing behind her. Small droplets of rain clung to the brim of her pointed hat. Her sharp, piercing gaze swept over the three students, and her lips thinned into a severe line of disapproval.
"Mr. Black. Care to explain this situation?" McGonagall demanded, her tone laced with deep suspicion.
"Of course, Professor," Maurise replied smoothly, offering a respectful nod. "I was simply down here practicing my Charms coursework. Specifically, the Fire-Making Spell."
"The Fire-Making Spell?" McGonagall's frown deepened considerably. "Out here in the open?"
"Yes, ma'am," Maurise stated, adopting the perfect tone of a deeply responsible student. "I deliberately chose the rocky shore of the Black Lake because it is entirely deserted in this weather. Furthermore, being right next to a massive body of water ensures that if a fire were to accidentally spread, I could extinguish it immediately. Safety first, Professor."
McGonagall considered this logic and offered a slow, approving nod. "A very cautious and mature line of reasoning, Mr. Black. However, I still strongly advise against practicing potentially dangerous elemental magic entirely unsupervised."
Hearing this entirely civil exchange, Draco completely lost his mind. He thrust an accusing finger at Maurise and shrieked at the top of his lungs. "He is lying! He deliberately attacked us with dark magic! He trapped us inside a massive ring of fire and actively tried to roast us alive!"
Flint suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to violently punch Draco Malfoy right in his pointed nose.
What an absolute idiot. Accusing another student of attempted murder using a highly advanced, massive fire spell was an incredibly severe charge. While Professor McGonagall was famously just and fair, anyone with half a brain could see the current situation heavily favored the Ravenclaw.
As expected, McGonagall's expression instantly shifted from stern to dangerously cold. "Please elaborate on this accusation, Mr. Malfoy."
Maurise stood quietly to the side, maintaining a perfectly composed, entirely unbothered expression.
Please. Continue your magnificent performance, Malfoy.
Believing he finally had the upper hand, Draco launched into a rapid, wildly exaggerated tale, adding copious amounts of dramatic flair to his suffering.
However, the moment Draco claimed Maurise had conjured a massive, perfectly controlled dome of fire to incinerate them, McGonagall cut him off sharply.
"That is quite enough, Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall snapped, her face etched with profound disappointment and anger. "Do you honestly take me for a fool? It is magically impossible for a second-year student to conjure and manipulate a firestorm of that magnitude. Furthermore, you do not possess a single scorch mark on your robes or your person."
"No! That is not true, Professor, he really did..." Draco stammered, his face turning an ugly, mottled red.
Flint closed his eyes in pure exasperation. Was playing Quidditch the only thing Draco Malfoy was actually good at? Did the boy lack even basic common sense?
Flint took a step forward, grinding his teeth. "Professor, we were simply on our way to the Quidditch pitch for practice. We were just passing by..."
Ultimately, the ridiculous farce concluded with Slytherin losing twenty House points. The official reasoning given by the Deputy Headmistress: blatantly slandering a fellow student and attempting to deceive a professor.