Since it was a rest day, Maurise decided to indulge in the fine art of doing absolutely nothing. After safely stowing away his earnings, a satisfyingly heavy bag of Galleons, he collapsed onto his dormitory bed, intending to spend the day browsing through a fortress of books he had raided from the library.
Reading, after all, was the most reliable way to find peace.
With a thought, he summoned the interface in his mind.
The Book of the Magi.
The spectral image of the tome materialized in his consciousness, flipping open slowly. He turned his mental gaze to the last page and sat up straight. There was new content.
Maurise's spirits lifted instantly as he skimmed through the fresh text.
This time, the Book of the Magi was not offering a simple incantation or a singular ritual. It was an entirely new discipline.
Runes.
That was the title of the chapter.
The content detailed a vast array of magical symbols. They bore a passing resemblance to the Ancient Runes taught at Hogwarts, yet they were fundamentally different. These were not just an alphabet for translation. They were functional magical circuits.
Each rune represented a specific concept. When infused with mana, they produced tangible magical effects.
There were over a dozen pages dedicated to these symbols. Maurise did a quick headcount and estimated there were between two and three hundred of them.
To utilize the power of a rune, one had to "engrave" it correctly and stably onto a medium and then inject magic. However, this engraving was not done with a chisel or a quill. It required using mental focus to shape raw magic into a carving tool, etching the symbol directly into the object's essence.
Theory was fine, but Maurise preferred results.
He selected one of the most basic runes, Fire, and decided to test it on his water cup.
What would happen? Would he get a self heating coffee mug? Or perhaps a flamethrower in ceramic form?
Thirty minutes later, Maurise stared at the cup. It sat there, cold, lifeless, and mocking him. He rubbed his temples in frustration.
Turning magic into a physical carving tool sounded poetic, but in practice it was headache inducing labor. Although his long sessions of meditation had given him excellent perception of his own magic, precise control was a different beast entirely.
And so, Maurise added a new task to his daily schedule: Rune Engraving Practice.
It was a skill that demanded patience.
First Friday of February. Morning.
The new term was already a month old.
After countless failures and enough wasted mana to power a small village, Maurise finally succeeded. He managed to engrave his first functional rune onto his water cup: Levitate.
The success was, however, short lived.
The moment he injected mana, the cup did not just float. It launched itself across the dormitory like a frightened bird, erratic and uncontrollable, before smashing into the stone wall with a tragic crash.
Survival time: approximately ten seconds.
Maurise looked at the shattered remains of his cup and shook his head. The road to becoming a Rune Master was clearly going to be paved with broken crockery.
He stretched his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall. The little hand was pointing at ten.
He blinked. He had been so absorbed in his research that he had not noticed the time. The morning classes were already half over.
What class was it this morning?
Ah. Transfiguration.
'Well', he thought, settling back onto his pillows, 'Professor McGonagall had probably already marked him absent. No point rushing now.'
He decided to commit to the delinquency and continued studying his runes.
At noon, Maurise strolled out of Professor McGonagall's office.
Despite his honest explanation that he had lost track of time due to "deep magical research," the Deputy Headmistress was less than impressed. He was lighter by ten House points and heavier by one stern lecture on punctuality.
He sighed. After spending so much time at Hogwarts, he had the professors figured out.
If it had been Flitwick, the little Charms master probably would have asked to see the research. Even Snape might have let it slide if the resulting magic was interesting enough, though he would have sneered while doing it. But McGonagall had zero tolerance for truancy.
Walking down the corridor, Maurise pulled a small wooden block from his pocket. As he walked, he practiced the Levitate rune again.
After a morning of intense practice, his confidence was high.
With a final mental stroke, the wood block glowed faintly. A delicate, silver grey symbol settled into the grain.
Perfect. First try.
Maurise nodded with satisfaction and injected a sliver of magic.
Unlike the suicidal tea cup, the wooden block did not rocket away. It simply hovered about a foot above his palm, bobbing gently like a boat on a calm lake.
Maurise observed it thoughtfully. He was beginning to understand.
Although the core rune was Levitate, the slightest variation in the carving, a millimetre difference in the curve, a variance in depth, changed the aerodynamic properties completely. Theoretically, there were infinite variations of Levitate. Finding the specific variant one needed was a massive engineering project in itself.
Furthermore, the material mattered. Wood reacted differently than ceramic.
'Fascinating', he thought. 'This magic offered infinite possibilities. It was far more engaging than waving a wand and reciting a fixed incantation.'
He let the block settle back into his palm.
Now then, he mused, let's try a combination. What should I add?
He mentally flipped through the Book of the Magi.
Explosion? That sounded festive.
He immediately began layering the Explosion rune onto the same block of wood.
What happens when you combine Levitate and Explosion? A floating mine? A self destructing drone?
Once you get the knack of it, the engraving process becomes rhythmic. Maurise finished the second rune in one smooth mental motion.
This time, the rune glowed a dark, ominous red.
Maurise looked at the block pulsating with crimson light in his hand. He hesitated for a second.
Is this dangerous?
'Nah', he reasoned. 'It is a tiny block of wood. Even if it explodes, what is the worst it can do? Pop like a Christmas cracker?'
To be safe, he walked to a secluded corner of the corridor before injecting the activation mana.
Whoosh!
He lost his grip immediately. The block did not hover. It shot forward like a misguided firework, leaving a trail of dark red smoke. It zipped through the air, banked sharply around the stone corner, and flew straight toward a student who had just stepped out from the adjacent hallway.
It is a well known fact that when a seeker sees a small, fast moving object flying toward them, their instinct is to catch it.
Draco Malfoy was no exception.
"What is th...?"
Draco's hand closed reflexively around the object. He looked down, just in time to see the red light expand to fill his vision.
BANG!
A sharp, loud explosion echoed through the stone corridor.
"Argh!"
The force of the blast knocked Draco backward. He stumbled, his feet got tangled, and he landed heavily on his backside.
Draco sat there, dazed. His hand stung furiously. There was a bowl sized hole blown right through the chest of his expensive school robes. His sleek, platinum blonde hair was now standing up in erratic spikes, and his pale, pointed face was covered in a layer of black soot. He looked like a chimney sweep who had had a very bad day.
From the corner, Maurise observed the damage.
'Hmm. Not a huge blast radius. Slightly stronger than a Weasley firework', he noted clinically.
Then, realizing the identity of his victim, Maurise decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Before Draco could shake off the ringing in his ears, Maurise slipped away into the shadows, moving as silently as a ghost.
"WHO DID THAT?!"
Draco Malfoy's voice, shrill with indignation, echoed down the empty corridor behind him.
Maurise kept walking, his expression calm and innocent.
He really did not know why Malfoy had to walk into that specific secluded corridor at that specific moment. It was practically asking for trouble.
'Yes', Maurise decided. It was not his fault at all.
It was just Malfoy having terrible luck.
He certainly did not do it on purpose.
Definitely not.