After bidding a somewhat one sided farewell to Draco, Maurise made his way alone to the Great Hall.
It was getting late. The four long house tables were largely deserted, with only a sporadic scattering of students still finishing their meals.
Maurise stopped at the Ravenclaw table and selected a sandwich that looked reasonably appetizing. He took a bite, but his brow furrowed immediately.
It tasted distinctively of soap. It was no wonder the platter was untouched.
With a look of utter distaste, he tossed the sandwich back onto the plate and sauntered over to the Gryffindor table.
Harry was huddled together with the Weasley twins, muttering in low, urgent tones. The atmosphere around them was thick with gloom.
Maurise took a seat next to George and asked casually, "What are we conspiring about, then?"
Harry looked up and sighed heavily. "Quidditch."
"Judging by your faces, it's not good news."
"It's not just bad news," Harry lowered his voice, his tone dripping with frustration. "It's a catastrophe. Snape is refereeing the next match."
Fred chimed in, "We're worried Snape is going to be biased toward Slytherin."
"Your worry is entirely superfluous," Maurise chuckled. "Snape is one hundred percent going to be unfair. There is no 'might' about it."
Who were they dealing with, after all? Severus Snape.
In Potions class, a Slytherin student could probably sneeze into their cauldron and Snape would find a reason to award them points for "excellent respiratory projection." Maurise was certain Snape would favor the Slytherin team with every breath he took.
George slumped forward, banging his forehead against the table in defeat. "Then what's the point in playing? We might as well polish the trophy right now and hand it over to Slytherin gift wrapped."
Suddenly, Fred's eyes lit up. He slammed his hand on the table. "I've got an idea! What if we send Snape to the Hospital Wing before the match? Maurise, do you want in on this?"
"Hm?"
Maurise tilted his head, looking at them with a mixture of amusement and concern.
'Lads, you are treading on dangerous ground.'
He had no desire to be expelled just yet, so he decided to pass on this particular suicide mission.
Fred continued eagerly, "Don't you have some Draught of Living Death? Lend us a bit. We'll slip it into Snape's drink before the match."
"I would be happy to lend it to you," Maurise shrugged, "but Snape knows I can brew the Draught of Living Death. It would take him all of five seconds to trace it back to me."
He paused, then added, "Furthermore, while the Draught is odorless to most, given Snape's familiarity with potions, he would likely detect something was wrong before the cup even touched his lips."
Hearing this, Fred clicked his tongue in disappointment. "What a shame."
Regardless of their desperation, they could not put Maurise in the line of fire. The "Operation Sleeping Snape" plan had to be shelved.
Harry looked at Maurise, confused. "Maurise, doesn't it bother you that Snape is refereeing? I recall there's a match coming up between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, isn't there?"
"I'm not on the team," Maurise replied simply. "Besides, since Snape being the referee is already set in stone, my caring about it will not change a thing."
Harry and the Weasley twins sighed in unison.
Having exhausted the topic of Quidditch, Maurise moved on to his own agenda. "Fred, George, do you know of any secluded, spacious rooms in the castle?"
"Spacious and secluded?"
"Precisely," Maurise nodded. "I need a place where I will not be disturbed to conduct some magical experiments."
His Gap Energy Crystals were finally ready. He had enough materials for the advancement ritual for Cinder and Tin. The urgent task now was finding a location suitable for setting up the magic circle.
The last time he performed a ritual in the clearing near the Forbidden Forest, the magical disturbance was too great and he had nearly been caught by Albus Dumbledore. Obviously, that location was no longer viable.
"What about that empty classroom on the fifth floor?" George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There's nothing in there. Fred and I hid two large crates of Dungbombs in there last term and no one has found them yet."
Maurise sighed, a look of pity crossing his face. "So those Dungbombs were yours. Allow me to offer a friendly notification… just two nights ago, I personally witnessed Filch dragging them away."
"!!"
Fred and George's faces went pale simultaneously. They sprang from their chairs as if the seats were on fire.
Shouting "We need to check Filch's office!" over their shoulders, they sprinted out of the Great Hall in a panic.
Maurise shrugged and turned back to Harry. "So, are you going to eat that cake?"
Harry, distracted and miserable, pushed the slice of cake toward Maurise. He was too busy worrying about how to deal with a biased referee to have an appetite.
Maurise happily began eating the cake, offering words of comfort between bites. "Relax, Harry. Look on the bright side. Snape is just the referee, not a player. It's not like he can physically grab the Quaffle and throw it into your goal himself."
Harry forced a bitter smile.
To be honest, Harry felt that was exactly something Snape might do.
Moreover, that was not even his biggest fear. During the last match, Snape had already cursed his broomstick, nearly throwing him to his death. The next match promised terrors far worse than a few lost points.
After finishing the cake, Maurise left the Great Hall.
Taking advantage of the free time in the afternoon, he decided to try his luck exploring the castle for a suitable room. If he could not find one, he would have to pick a time to sneak into the Forbidden Forest again, risks be damned.
And so, Maurise began to wander aimlessly through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts.
Even though he had lived at Hogwarts for some time now, the castle felt infinite, as if it could never be fully explored.
He walked slowly down a seldom used corridor, checking rooms as he passed.
Most were either filled with broken furniture or were simply broom closets too small to stand in, let alone perform magic. None met his requirements.
Just as he was about to give up and turn toward the next hallway, the sight inside the final room stopped him in his tracks.
Curled up beside a pile of worn out mops and buckets, a strange little creature was fast asleep.
It stood about a meter high, skeletal and thin, with large bat like ears and skin that looked like wrinkled parchment. It was wrapped in a crude toga made from a tea towel covered in a loud floral print.
A House elf.
Maurise recognized it immediately. Although he knew many House elves lived and worked at Hogwarts, this was the first time he had actually seen one in the flesh.
He observed the sleeping creature with interest before speaking up. "Oi. Wake up."
The elf's body jerked. It opened its large, tennis ball eyes slowly, looking around in confusion.
When its gaze finally focused on Maurise, it let out a sharp, piercing shriek.
"Bad Bobo! Lazy, shameful Bobo! Sleeping during work hours! Seen by a noble wizard sir! Bobo does not deserve to live! Bobo should stuff himself down the toilet and flush it!"
The House elf named Bobo immediately began banging his head rhythmically against the floorboards. Thump. Thump. Thump.
"…."
Maurise stood in silence for two seconds, then decisively turned around and began to walk away.
Although he had read about the neurotic nature of House elves in books, he really only had one thought.
Mental. Truly mental.
The best way to deal with this situation was to pretend it never happened.
However, just as Maurise was about to step out the door, he felt a sudden weight on his leg.
He looked down to see that Bobo had scrambled across the floor and was now kneeling at his feet, hugging his thigh tightly.