The Dementor hesitated.
Ravenous hunger radiated from the creature, but it was physically incapable of disobeying Maurise's command.
Slowly, it lowered its rotting hands and drifted back to hover obediently at his side.
Another meal ruined.
Maurise wasted no time. He activated his containment matrix. With a flash of dark light, the creature vanished into his spatial inventory.
The four Slytherins remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed with terror.
Draco lay sprawled awkwardly across the muddy ground, gasping for air. His face was utterly bloodless, so pale it looked almost translucent.
For one horrifying moment, he had genuinely believed his soul was about to be ripped from his body.
The other three boys stood frozen.
Maurise strolled over, looking down at Draco's pitiful state with equal parts amusement and bewilderment.
"What exactly were you trying to accomplish out here?"
Draco's head jerked up at the calm voice.
His wide eyes darted frantically around the clearing.
"The... the Dementor?! Where did it go?!"
"I neutralized the threat," Maurise replied flatly.
"How?" Flint blurted, his voice trembling.
He had been standing furthest from the attack, leaving him slightly less traumatized than the others. As a result, he had clearly seen the towering monster disappear the instant Maurise raised his hand.
A real Dementor.
Could a student casually dispose of such a creature?
Flint rubbed his eyes, wondering if terror had made him hallucinate.
"Where did it go?" he repeated hoarsely.
Maurise gave him a dismissive glance.
"That is none of your concern. The only fact that matters is that the Dementor is gone. You are safe."
Flint opened his mouth to ask another question.
The moment he met Maurise's cold, analytical gaze, the words died in his throat.
Draco struggled to his feet.
His legs shook so violently that he had to lean against Goyle just to remain standing.
Oddly enough, the calmest members of the group were Crabbe and Goyle.
It was entirely possible their limited cognitive abilities hadn't fully processed what had just happened.
Draco stared at Maurise with a conflicted expression.
"Why did you save us?"
Maurise raised an eyebrow.
'So they've misunderstood my motives.'
He had no interest in correcting them.
"Assume I was feeling generous," Maurise replied with a casual shrug.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the four bewildered Slytherins alone in the clearing.
Silence lingered for several long seconds.
Finally, Goyle spoke in a cautious whisper.
"Are we... still going through with the rehearsal?"
Flint stared at him as though he were a complete idiot.
"Have you lost your mind? You still want to impersonate that thing?"
Goyle immediately closed his mouth.
Draco clenched his teeth.
A vindictive expression twisted his pale face.
"I'm writing to my father the moment I get back. I was attacked by a Dementor. That filthy creature nearly stole my soul."
After such a close brush with death, he had completely lost interest in pranking Harry Potter.
Right now, all he wanted was to return to the Slytherin common room, collapse onto a sofa, and eat an unreasonable amount of chocolate.
---
The weekend Quidditch match ended in defeat for Ravenclaw.
Objectively speaking, both teams were evenly matched.
The decisive difference lay in one position.
The Seeker.
Harry Potter possessed superior flying ability and, more importantly, superior equipment.
The Firebolt's performance was flawless.
It could accelerate to one hundred and fifty miles per hour in just ten seconds.
Although Harry clearly lacked the experience to fully exploit the broom's incredible capabilities, what he could utilize was already enough to outfly Cho Chang.
Watching from the stands, Maurise found himself becoming increasingly fascinated by the Firebolt's runic construction and underlying magical engineering.
---
Early the following morning, Maurise finally received a reply from Frick.
The letter was brief and characteristically businesslike.
The procurement order for the Firebolt has been finalized. Delivery is scheduled for next month. I was forced to spend an additional fifty Galleons to expedite shipping. I assume this minor inconvenience is irrelevant, as you will reimburse me in full. Correct?
Furthermore, for the record, stop treating me like your personal errand boy. I am not your exclusive procurement agent. In the future, I strongly recommend including the words "please" and "thank you." Otherwise, I will personally dye your expensive Firebolt the most offensive shade of neon green imaginable.
Reading the final paragraph, the corner of Maurise's mouth lifted into a faint smile.
Frick remained as dependable and easily irritated as ever.
In an excellent mood, Maurise took another bite of toast while absentmindedly tossing a few breadcrumbs to the waiting delivery owl.
His attention shifted to the Gryffindor table.
A chaotic crowd of students had gathered around it.
Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws were all mixed together in a noisy mass.
Just as Maurise was calculating the likelihood of a fight breaking out, Kyle shoved his way through the crowd and sprinted over.
His face was filled with panic.
"Maurise," Kyle whispered urgently, lowering his voice. "There's been a catastrophic security breach."
Maurise lowered his toast.
"What happened?"
Kyle's expression turned grave.
"Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower early this morning. He got into the third-year boys' dormitory. Ron Weasley says Black was carrying a huge knife."
Maurise stopped chewing.
That was unexpected.
His gaze sharpened.
"Were there any casualties?"
"No."
Kyle shook his head, though the fear remained on his face.
"Weasley said Black slashed his bed curtains to pieces. Everyone thinks he entered the wrong bed by mistake. Harry Potter was probably the real target."
"And after destroying the curtains?" Maurise asked.
"He ran away."
Maurise fell silent.
The story didn't make sense.
Was Ron Weasley's account even accurate?
Sirius Black, a dangerous mass murderer, infiltrated Gryffindor Tower with a knife...
...only to shred a set of curtains before fleeing?
It was completely illogical.
'The only explanation I can think of is that Azkaban's Dementors have severely damaged Black's mind.'
Even so, one fact remained undeniable.
This erratic, possibly brain-damaged fugitive had managed to evade capture for months while operating around Hogwarts.
'What exactly is Sirius Black?'
'Even Dumbledore hasn't managed to catch him.'
Maurise dismissed the thought with a slight shake of his head and resumed eating.
The matter had nothing to do with his own objectives.
Just then, Neville Longbottom shuffled past the Ravenclaw table.
He looked utterly devastated.
Like a ghost.
Maurise noticed students all over the Great Hall staring sympathetically at him.
Kyle was no exception.
Their expressions ranged from sympathy to outright pity.
"What happened to Neville?" Maurise asked.
Kyle glanced discreetly at the passing Gryffindor before lowering his voice.
"The whole security breach was Longbottom's fault. Because of his terrible memory, he wrote down the week's passwords on a piece of parchment..."
"...and then lost it."
"It's confirmed Sirius Black used that list to get past the Fat Lady."
Maurise paused for the briefest moment.
'Ah.'
'That explains the security breach.'
One had to admit, the disaster fit Neville's behavioural pattern perfectly.
His memory truly was terrible.
---
News of Sirius Black's intrusion spread rapidly throughout Hogwarts, plunging the castle into another wave of panic.
Maurise couldn't help wondering whether yearly life-threatening incidents were simply considered normal at Hogwarts.
'Wizarding education is certainly colourful.'
The incident triggered sweeping security measures.
For the next several days, professors patrolled the corridors.
Argus Filch stalked the castle alongside his cat.
Even the resident ghosts were enlisted to assist with the search.
Still, they had failed to locate Sirius Black after his previous intrusion.
Statistically speaking, Maurise saw no reason why this search would produce different results.
He wasn't surprised when nothing came of it.
On Friday afternoon, Maurise spotted Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, making his way through the tense corridors.
It was obvious he had come personally to deal with the security failure.
'He's probably arguing with Dumbledore about whether the Dementors should remain stationed around Hogwarts.'
At least one positive development emerged from the chaos.
Near the end of February, Maurise finally received the functional Firebolt Frick had procured for him.