For the next few days, Maurise practically lived in Diagon Alley. He scoured every nook and cranny, from the high-end boutiques to the dusty corners where even the spiders looked like they were waiting for a sale.
His most frequent haunts were the Second-Hand Shop and Flourish and Blotts. In the latter, Maurise managed to bleed twenty-odd Galleons from his pouch on books that caught his eye. The heaviest blow to his wallet was a flashy volume titled Wanderings with Werewolves. The shop assistant had practically shoved it into his hands, claiming it was a masterpiece.
It detailed the daring exploits of one Gilderoy Lockhart, who apparently spent his weekends saving villages from lycanthropic doom. Maurise finished it in one sitting and immediately felt a pang of buyer's regret. The story was thrilling, sure, but five Galleons? That was highway robbery. Still, he couldn't help but admire the man's teeth. According to the clerk, Lockhart had a whole series of these autobiographies, each priced at a crisp five Galleons.
"Gilderoy Lockhart," Maurise muttered to himself, "must be a wizard of immense power. And more importantly, he must be loaded."
In the Second-Hand Shop, his findings were more… temperamental. He'd picked up a dusty Sneakoscope, a glass spinning-top meant to detect dark influences. He figured it would be a handy early-warning system for his occasional drifts toward Knockturn Alley.
The plan backfired spectacularly. The moment he stepped near the Dark Arts district, the thing started whistling and spinning so violently it nearly vibrated out of his pocket. It did not stop until he was back in the sunlight of Diagon Alley. Since "always alarming" is effectively the same as "never alarming," the Sneakoscope was officially retired from active duty and handed over to his skeletal hound as a chew toy.
Christmas morning was a quiet affair. Maurise caught the Knight Bus back to the orphanage, letting his owl, Cinder, haul his mountain of Diagon Alley loot and the skeletal dog back to Hogwarts. He'd hoped to brew a few experimental potions during the break, but his favorite cauldron was still tucked away in the dungeon dorms.
Instead, he spent the day curled up by a small fire, buried in his new books. That evening, Harold arrived to pick him up for a proper Christmas dinner. It was just Harold and his daughter, and the man seemed genuinely grateful for the company.
"The house is a bit too quiet with just the two of us," Harold said, piling more turkey onto Maurise's plate. Maurise did not mind at all; a quiet, well-fed Christmas was a luxury he was not about to question.
By the next morning, the itch for the wizarding world returned. He caught the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron, but this time, he was not staying in London.
"The hearth is right there, Mr. Black," Old Tom said, sliding a small pouch across the bar. "Don't panic when you use the Floo powder. Just a pinch will do, and for Merlin's sake, speak clearly."
Maurise peered into the bag at the shimmering silver powder. Floo travel was the bread and butter of wizarding transportation: fast, efficient, and at two Sickles a scoop, incredibly cheap. He stepped into the cavernous fireplace, took a breath, and threw the powder at his feet.
"The Three Broomsticks!"
Emerald flames roared upward, swallowing him whole. The world dissolved into a dizzying blur of spinning grates and flickering living rooms. He felt like he'd been shoved into a high-speed tumble dryer.
A few seconds later, he tumbled out onto a stone hearth. He scrambled to his feet, coughing out a lungful of soot.
"Well," Maurise wheezed, "at least it's better than Apparition."
He dusted off his robes and looked around. The Three Broomsticks was a far cry from the cramped, gloomy atmosphere of the Leaky Cauldron. It was warm, bright, and vibrated with the low hum of cheerful conversation and the clinking of glasses. The air smelled heavenly: a mix of spices, woodsmoke, and the sugary scent of mulled mead.
The fireplace behind him flared green again. Maurise stepped aside just in time as a witch stumbled out, nearly bowling him over. She did not even look back, heading straight for the bar.
"Rosmerta, a Butterbeer, and make it a large one!" she called out.
"Coming right up, Bathsheda!" the landlady replied with a bright smile.
Maurise followed suit and ordered a pint. The Butterbeer here looked far more appetizing than the London swill, topped with a thick, frothy foam. It was also twice the price, which Maurise noted with a sigh.
He scanned the room for a seat. The prime spots near the fire were taken by locals, but he spotted a small table in a corner shadowed by a heavy wooden pillar. Two familiar shocks of ginger hair were huddled together there, whispering intensely.
Maurise wandered over and set his drink down. "Is this seat taken, or are you two plotting a coup?"
One of the twins looked up, startled. "Table's full, mate… wait, Maurise!"
"In the flesh," Maurise said, sliding into the chair beside them. "Fred? George? I thought you two were supposed to be stuck at the castle for the holidays."
"Shh!" Fred hissed, glancing around nervously while pressing a finger to his lips. "We're not 'stuck' anywhere. We're currently on an unauthorized field trip via a very secret, very dusty tunnel."
"The castle was getting a bit claustrophobic," George added, leaning in. "Fred decided we needed a change of scenery. We're heading to Zonko's Joke Shop in a bit. Care to join the expedition?"
"Why not?" Maurise grinned. He hadn't explored Hogsmeade properly yet, and there were no better guides for mischief than the Weasleys.
"Good man!" Fred laughed. "Oh, by the way, did you get our Christmas parcel? Picked those up at Zonko's last term."
"The Hiccough Sweets? Hard to miss," Maurise replied. "I spent twenty minutes barking like a seal after the first one. They're actually quite delicious, once the spasms stop."
Fred beamed, then remembered something. He pulled a small glass vial from his pocket. "We got those eye drops you sent. Brilliant bit of magic, that. The way they make your pupils glow like lanterns is creepy as anything. Have you thought about selling them?"
Maurise looked at the vial, confused. "Selling them? They're just a byproduct of a failed vision-enhancement potion. The glow is a side effect. It's completely useless."
"Useless?" George looked scandalized, his inner businessman waking up. "Maurise, half the fun of being a wizard is looking slightly terrifying. If the price is right… say, a Sickle a bottle?"
Maurise shook his head, amused. "The ingredients alone cost more than that. I'd be paying people to take them. Let me see if I can find a cheaper way to make your eyes turn neon, then we'll talk business."
"A tragic loss for the market," Fred sighed dramatically.
The trio spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through Hogsmeade. They hit Zonko's, where the twins spent their meager savings on Stink Pellets and Frog Spawn Soap, and Maurise picked up a few "research materials."
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the snowy rooftops in shades of violet, the twins bid him a hasty farewell. They had to sneak back through the One-Eyed Witch hump before the evening feast.
Maurise returned to the Three Broomsticks, planning to ask Madam Rosmerta about a room for the night. However, as he stepped into the main hall, his heart skipped a beat. Sitting at a large table near the center of the room, laughing over a round of drinks, were several members of the Hogwarts faculty.