The clock chimed nine, echoing through the hollow silence of the library.
Harry was the first to depart, fueled by the relentless schedule of Quidditch practice. Ron followed shortly after, his head hitting the table once too often as he succumbed to his chronic condition of "boredom-induced narcolepsy" at the mere sight of a textbook. This left only Hermione, who remained hunched over a mountain of parchment, stubbornly flipping through a tome so thick it could have served as a specialized bludger. She paused only to rub her eyes, which were beginning to look suspiciously bloodshot.
"Care for some eye drops?" Maurise asked, his voice a calm ripple in the quiet room. He reached into his pocket and produced a small glass vial filled with a shimmering, emerald-green liquid. "I found a recipe in a dusty corner of the restricted section… well, near it, anyway. It's designed to alleviate ocular strain. I brewed a batch using some leftover ingredients from Potions."
Hermione reached for it instinctively, her academic curiosity warring with her exhaustion. "Thank you," she murmured.
"Just a fair warning," Maurise added with breezy honesty. "I haven't actually tested this specific batch yet. But, in theory, the magical properties are sound."
Hermione's hand froze mid-air. Her expression shifted from gratitude to deep, soul-searching skepticism. She slowly slid the vial back across the table toward him. "On second thought, I think I'll stick to regular blinking."
She clearly didn't have much faith in Maurise's brand of "theory." To her, the boy was a walking safety hazard wrapped in a Hogwarts robe.
"Your loss," Maurise said with a shrug. He uncorked the bottle and, without a second's hesitation, squeezed two drops into each eye.
An immediate, icy sensation surged through his sockets, as if he'd just washed his face in a frozen mountain spring. He blinked rapidly, and his vision sharpened to an almost unsettling degree.
"The effect is actually quite remarkable," Maurise noted, squinting at the fine print of his book. "I can see the ink fibers. It's like looking through a—"
"Maurise!" Hermione gasped, her voice jumping an octave in alarm. "Your eyes! They're green! And they're… they're pulsing!"
Maurise closed his book with a soft thud. "Don't panic, Hermione. A few side effects are to be expected when you tweak a recipe. It's well within my margin of error."
Hermione was momentarily speechless. He was the one with glowing neon eyes, yet she was the one having the heart attack. His pupils were currently flickering like a faulty Lumos charm, casting rhythmic flashes of emerald light across her face.
"You need to go to the hospital wing right now," she insisted, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the stone floor. "I'll walk you. We can tell Madam Pomfrey it was an accident."
"No need. The duration is quite short," Maurise said, waving her off with a relaxed grin.
True to his word, the green glow began to dim. Within seconds, the radioactive light faded, leaving behind his usual, calm silver-grey eyes.
"See? All better," he said.
Hermione sighed and sank back into her seat. To her, experimenting on one's own eyeballs was a form of temporary insanity. She couldn't fathom the logic. Did he not value his sight? Or did he simply find the prospect of blindness an interesting academic challenge?
If Maurise knew what she was thinking, he would have corrected her. He wasn't being reckless. Every modification he made to a potion was backed by hours of cross-referencing ancient texts. He wouldn't have offered her the drops if there was a real risk of her eyes melting. Mostly.
The two remained in the library until noon, eventually shifting from silent study to a quiet, earnest exchange of notes. As they discussed the spells they had mastered, Maurise found himself genuinely impressed. In less than half a term, Hermione had not only mastered the entire first-year curriculum but had also successfully cast several third-year charms, including the Engorgement and Shrinking Charms.
"Hogwarts is full of surprises," Maurise mused to himself. He realized he couldn't afford to be complacent. If he wanted to stay ahead, he would have to redouble his efforts.
Hermione, however, was having a much more internal crisis. She spent every waking hour studying. She practiced wand movements in her sleep. She had even memorized the table of contents for A History of Magic for fun. Yet, here was Maurise, who seemed to have a repertoire of spells that exceeded her own by a significant margin.
'Is he a genius?' she wondered, a spark of competitive fire igniting in her chest.
In that quiet corner of the library, a silent pact was formed. The two greatest overachievers of their year had officially begun an unspoken race to the top.
After lunch, Maurise returned to his dormitory. His afternoon was wide open.
He had no immediate desire to visit the "Gap World" today. He had explored the immediate vicinity of his accessible area, and more importantly, his supply of the Draught of Living Death was running dangerously low. He missed his "conversations" with the echo of Professor Snape that resided there, even if those conversations mostly involved him asking questions while the echo looked disappointed in him.
After thirty minutes of meditation to center his mind, Maurise decided it was time to consult the Grimoire of Magi.
As he flipped the heavy vellum pages, new text began to shimmer into existence, catching the light.
"The Ritual of Undead Advancement."
Maurise felt a jolt of excitement. He pushed all other thoughts aside to devour the instructions. This wasn't just a simple spell. It was a systematic upgrade for summoned entities. It shared a structural foundation with the basic Undead Transformation Circle, but with one massive catch. It required a staggering amount of raw magical energy.
He immediately thought of the "Gap Energy Crystals" he had been tinkering with, condensed magic he had harvested during his time in the other realm.
"I need space," he muttered, calculating the dimensions.
According to the book, the ritual circle required a diameter of roughly fifteen meters. His dormitory was many things, but "half the size of a Quidditch pitch" was not one of them. He needed somewhere secluded, somewhere large, and somewhere where the professors wouldn't ask why he was drawing occult symbols in the dirt.
He remembered a clearing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Half an hour later, Maurise arrived at his destination.
The spot was tucked behind a gentle slope just outside the forest's treeline. It was flat, hidden from the castle's high windows, and technically not inside the Forbidden Forest, meaning he wasn't breaking the "Decree of Instant Death via Acromantula" rule.
He didn't stay out of the forest because of the rules, of course. He stayed out because he didn't want to be interrupted by a grumpy Centaur. He still remembered his last encounter with the "horse-men" with a bit of a grudge. Maurise was many things, and "forgiving of people who shot arrows at him" was not on the list.
"Time to get to work," he whispered.
He emptied his rucksack. It was filled to the brim with glowing energy crystals. He wasn't sure exactly how much power the ritual would drain, so he had brought his entire hoard.
An hour of painstaking work later, the circle was complete.
Even for someone who dealt with the supernatural daily, the sight was breath-taking. The fifteen-meter wide array stretched across the clearing, its deep crimson lines thrumming with a faint, rhythmic pulse. It looked like a giant, bleeding clock face etched into the earth.
Maurise stood back, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked at the massive, glowing construction and then at his own pale hands.
"I really do look like a dark wizard doing something terrible, don't I?" he remarked to the empty air.
He shrugged. If the result was power, the optics didn't much matter. He just needed to finish this before a wandering Hagrid or a curious owl spotted the glowing evidence of his afternoon activities.