"What on earth just happened to Professor Lockhart?" Hermione spun around, her eyes wide with confusion as she stared at Maurise.
She had just witnessed the man collapse in sheer agony, suddenly regain consciousness, and shamble out of the room looking entirely hollow and dead inside. He hadn't uttered a single word. It was as if someone had abruptly swapped his soul with an Inferius.
What was going on?
Maurise merely shook his head, his expression completely blank. "I suspect the Professor is currently off to confess his sins. Best not to disturb him."
'Confess his sins?'
Hermione was even more bewildered. Her insatiable Gryffindor curiosity flared to life. She grabbed Maurise's sleeve, refusing to let it go. "Maurise Black, do you know something about this?"
"Take a wild guess." Maurise offered a maddeningly cheerful smile and turned to leave.
"Hey!" Hermione quickly jogged after him, her bushy hair bouncing. "Do not speak in riddles! Tell me what you know!"
"Oh, do not worry yourself. I am quite certain you will find out very soon," Maurise replied cryptically.
Hermione stamped her foot in genuine frustration. Having her intense curiosity deliberately starved was absolute torture, especially for someone as academically driven as Hermione Granger.
The corners of Maurise's mouth curled higher. He had to admit, playing the role of the mysterious, all-knowing Riddler was incredibly satisfying.
Truthfully, Maurise had already deduced exactly what had triggered Lockhart's bizarre, catatonic break.
Legilimency was not merely a tool for viewing static memories like a magical cinema. At its deepest levels, it forced the caster—and the victim—to directly confront the raw, unfiltered emotions attached to those memories.
During his brief, violent intrusion moments ago, Maurise had distinctly felt a massive tidal wave of suffocating guilt, absolute terror, and profound self-loathing violently churning within Lockhart's mind. It was a torrential flood of negative emotion that threatened to drown the man completely.
And Lockhart had clearly been unable to withstand the pressure.
Maurise strongly suspected this catastrophic mental breakdown was a direct result of his relentless Legilimency training over the past few weeks. By repeatedly invading Lockhart's mind and tearing his natural psychic defenses to shreds, Maurise had inadvertently made the man hyper-sensitive to his own suppressed guilt and fear.
Simply put, he had completely broken the man's mind.
However, in the grand scheme of things, Lockhart had brought this entirely upon himself. Maurise felt he was responsible for, at most, ten percent of the outcome.
Actually, scratch that. Make it five percent.
---
Following that bizarre encounter, Gilderoy Lockhart was never seen within the halls of Hogwarts again.
The very next morning, the Daily Prophet published a massive, front-page exclusive.
"Internationally renowned author, Order of Merlin (Third Class) recipient, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, Gilderoy Lockhart, officially surrendered himself to the Ministry of Magic late yesterday evening. In a shocking confession, Mr. Lockhart admitted that the vast majority of the heroic exploits detailed in his bestselling novels were entirely plagiarized. He further confessed to repeatedly utilizing highly illegal Memory Charms against the true heroes to conceal his fraudulent activities..."
Sitting at the Ravenclaw table during breakfast, Maurise leisurely flipped through the newspaper while sipping a goblet of iced pumpkin juice.
'The Ministry acts incredibly fast when they want to,' he mused. 'He turned himself in last night, and it is already front-page news.'
Kyle, sitting directly beside him, was staring at the exact same article with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"I genuinely cannot believe it," Kyle muttered, utterly shocked. "I never would have guessed Professor Lockhart was capable of something like this."
"Yes, it is quite the scandal," Maurise nodded absentmindedly. "Though, I honestly cannot understand why the Prophet felt the need to emphasize his five Most-Charming-Smile Awards in the opening paragraph."
Was that award genuinely prestigious? Maurise idly wondered if he might ever have the opportunity to be nominated for it.
He instinctively reached up, tracing his jawline. He was fully aware that he was growing into a rather handsome young man. As he matured, his facial features had sharpened significantly, and his deep, silver-grey eyes possessed a highly distinctive, piercing charm. Furthermore, he had recently hit a growth spurt, already standing at a respectable one point seven meters, with no signs of stopping.
Kyle blinked, completely thrown off by Maurise's bizarre focus. "Is that really the most important takeaway from this article?"
Shaking his head, Kyle pushed the newspaper aside. "Well, everyone always says the Defense Against the Dark Arts post is cursed. No professor ever lasts more than a single year. It is a pity. I honestly thought Lockhart might be the one to break the jinx."
Maurise's academic curiosity flared. "Kyle, do you happen to know the specific fates of the previous Defense professors? Excluding Quirrell and Lockhart, naturally."
Kyle frowned, thinking hard. "Hmm... I don't know the exact details. Mostly just schoolyard rumors. I heard the professor right before Quirrell contracted some highly obscure, incurable magical disease and was forced into early retirement. Apparently, he passed away a few months later. Before him, there was a professor who became violently obsessed with researching Dark Magic and was dragged away by Ministry Aurors. Anything prior to that is completely beyond me."
At that moment, an older Ravenclaw girl, who had been listening intently to their conversation while packing her bag, eagerly leaned across the table.
"Are you boys discussing the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse?" Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of gossip.
Maurise recognized her as a seventh-year Ravenclaw notorious for hoarding castle rumors. He couldn't recall her name, but he knew she was a highly reliable information broker.
Over the next ten minutes, Maurise and Kyle were treated to a rapid-fire, highly morbid recounting of the tragic, often bizarre fates that had befallen the previous Defense professors.
It was a staggering, wildly diverse list of casualties that read like a magical version of
Final Destination.
There were professors who suffered catastrophic mental breakdowns, professors who mysteriously drowned in shallow puddles, professors who plummeted to their deaths from the Astronomy Tower, and even one highly unfortunate individual who was allegedly mauled to death by his own pet crup...
By the end of the recounting, Kyle swallowed hard, looking slightly green. "Hearing all of that... I suppose Professor Lockhart is actually incredibly lucky."
"Well, he is still breathing, at least," Maurise shrugged casually.
Desperate to change the morbid subject, Kyle shook his head forcefully. "Let us talk about something else. Maurise, what are your plans for the summer holidays?"
Seeing the conversation shift, the older Ravenclaw girl quietly slipped away.
"The summer?" Maurise stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I will likely dedicate the majority of my time to advanced magical research. I anticipate being exceedingly busy."
His grand vision for a mobile secret base was already taking shape in his mind. It needed to be fully mobile, capable of absolute magical concealment, possess a massive interior expansion charm, and, if at all possible, boast a highly intimidating aesthetic...
Ah. He was genuinely itching to begin construction.
Kyle let out a dramatic, highly exasperated sigh. "Maurise, you seriously need to learn the concept of a work-life balance. My parents are planning to take me to France for a proper holiday this year. I've heard the magical villages there are absolutely brilliant, especially the cuisine."
Maurise slowly, meticulously chewed and swallowed his final bite of toast. "Work-life balance? For me, unraveling the mysteries of magic is the ultimate form of relaxation."
Kyle sighed again. There was simply no reasoning with the boy. He knew Maurise's personality perfectly well by now. The boy was a fanatical, utterly relentless workaholic when it came to magic, blessed with a terrifying level of natural talent.
Perhaps that was the fundamental difference between a true genius and an ordinary wizard. It was a slightly depressing thought.
---
The Leaving Feast arrived right on schedule.
Every single year, the allocation of the House Cup was the absolute focal point of the evening.
However, Maurise was vastly more concerned with exactly when the food would appear.
"...And the winner of this year's House Cup is..."
Dumbledore's powerful voice echoed through the Great Hall. He paused deliberately, letting the suffocating tension build until the students were practically holding their breath. Finally, a warm smile spread across his face. "...Ravenclaw!"
Instantly, the grand, floating banners suspended from the ceiling shifted, transforming into vibrant, majestic swathes of Ravenclaw blue and bronze.
The Ravenclaw table erupted into deafening cheers and thunderous applause. Maurise politely clapped his hands together a few times.
In truth, this outcome was an absolute certainty. Maurise had single-handedly secured a massive, hundred-point lead for his house during his initial encounter with the diary. If they had still managed to lose after that, it would have been a genuine embarrassment.
"Let the feast begin!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully.
Instantly, the empty golden platters covering the long tables groaned under the weight of a massive, mouth-watering feast.
'Ah, the perfect distraction.'
Taking advantage of his housemates' excited cheering and frantic conversation, Maurise casually slid the most perfectly baked, golden-brown apple pie directly in front of his own plate.
The feast concluded in a highly festive, boisterous atmosphere. Bellies full and spirits high, the students began to filter out of the Great Hall, heading back to their respective common rooms to pack their trunks for the journey home.
Maurise lingered near the back of the crowd. Just as he was about to step through the massive oak doors, a calm, familiar voice called out from behind him.
"Maurise, a word, if you please. I would like you to stay behind for a moment."
Maurise paused, turning around to find Albus Dumbledore watching him with a serene, completely unreadable expression.