Maurise observed that while the bone dragon could not achieve true flight just yet, its half-baked levitation skills made its massive skeletal frame remarkably light. This newfound buoyancy allowed the undead beast to sprint across the grounds at terrifying speeds.
The only problem was that it looked absolutely ridiculous.
"Don't you guys think," Fred murmured, rubbing his chin as he scrutinized the creature, "that the way it runs looks exactly like..."
"...a giant, overgrown rooster?" George finished seamlessly.
Maurise took a closer look. They were completely right. "Do normal dragons usually walk like that?"
"Who knows?" Fred shrugged his shoulders. "In the bestiaries Professor Kettleburn showed us, they are always either soaring through the sky or passed out asleep. You rarely ever see illustrations of them just going for a casual stroll."
The bone dragon seemingly overheard their critique. It aggressively flapped its skeletal wings and took another clumsy, high-speed lap around the snow-covered courtyard. As it skidded to a halt in front of Maurise, he simply flicked the hem of his robes and neatly recalled the beast back into his summoning circle.
The snowfall was growing heavier. It was definitely time to wrap up the field test.
Watching such a colossal skeleton vanish into thin air caused Fred and George to let out a synchronized sound of awe.
Fred blinked rapidly. "That is utterly wicked, Maurise. Where exactly do you keep that thing?"
Maurise politely ignored the question and offered a mild smile. "We can play with it another day. Right now, I just want to get back to the common room and thaw out by the fire."
At the end of the day, his current bone dragon was essentially just a gigantic, terrifying free-range chicken. Maurise silently resolved to initiate the advancement ritual as soon as possible.
But first, he had to survive Christmas.
---
The Hogwarts Christmas feast was just as lavish and magnificent as ever. Though the number of students staying behind for the holidays was unusually small, the festive spirit remained completely undiminished.
The Great Hall was draped in elaborate festoons of holly and mistletoe. A dozen towering Christmas trees lined the walls, sparkling with magical ornaments and hundreds of real, flickering candles. Enchanted snow drifted gently down from the ceiling, dissolving into a warm, pleasant mist the second it touched the stone floor.
Maurise sat by himself at the Ravenclaw table, methodically eating his way through a rich, syrup-drenched pudding. The only other Ravenclaws who had stayed behind were two sixth-year boys, but they had scarfed down their dinners and hurried off to Merlin-knows-where. Their sudden departure left Maurise with the entire long table to himself.
"Merry Christmas, Maurise!" Professor Flitwick chirped cheerfully as he waddled over.
"Merry Christmas, Professor," Maurise replied, politely setting his fork down. He suspected the Head of House had only approached because he looked so solitary. Flitwick had always been an incredibly perceptive and empathetic man.
With a surprisingly agile hop, the tiny Charms master hoisted himself onto the bench opposite Maurise, straining to sit a bit taller.
"I am simply delighted that we can still gather here for a proper feast," Flitwick sighed wistfully. "Especially after all those dreadful incidents lately. Oh, dear, I really shouldn't be bringing that up during dinner."
Maurise calmly sliced off another small bite of pudding. "Have they found any clues regarding the attacker, Professor?"
Flitwick's jovial expression instantly hardened into one of utmost seriousness. "Do not worry yourself, my boy. Professor Dumbledore is investigating the matter with everything he has. The castle's wards have been heavily reinforced. Mr. Filch is patrolling the corridors three times a night, and the staff are taking turns standing guard."
"All you need to focus on is enjoying your holiday."
Maurise gave a compliant nod and returned to his pudding. Translated from teacher-speak, that meant they still had absolutely no idea who the culprit was. He wouldn't be surprised if the casualty list grew longer before the holidays were over.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione stealthily slipping out of the Great Hall.
Christmas was officially over.
---
First thing the next morning, Harry and Ron came charging into the Great Hall and made a beeline straight for Maurise.
"What happened?" Maurise asked, lowering his goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Total disaster. We will explain on the way," Harry panted, looking thoroughly stressed. "We need to get to the hospital wing."
Curious, Maurise abandoned his breakfast and followed the two Gryffindors out of the Hall. They navigated the empty, echoing corridors at a brisk pace.
"So, last night, Hermione finally finished brewing the Polyjuice Potion," Harry explained in a hushed whisper as they walked. "Ron and I drank it, disguised ourselves, and managed to interrogate Malfoy. We confirmed he isn't the Heir of Slytherin."
"Exactly as expected," Maurise noted dryly.
"But something went horribly wrong with Hermione," Ron chimed in, looking a bit green. "She accidentally added a cat hair to her flask instead of human hair. She turned into... well, a cat-person. She is usually so brilliant, I genuinely have no idea how she botched it that badly."
A cat-person?
Maurise felt a sudden spark of academic intrigue. Now that was something he needed to study closely.
The trio power-walked into the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was mercifully absent from her office.
"She is in the very back," Harry whispered, pointing toward the far end of the ward. "The bed with the privacy curtains drawn."
They approached the bed, and Ron nervously reached out to pull the fabric aside.
Hermione was propped up against her pillows. A thick layer of coarse, patchy black-and-yellow fur covered her entire face. Her ears had migrated to the top of her head and sharpened into pointed, feline shapes that twitched anxiously at their arrival.
The most unsettling detail, however, was her eyes. They had shifted into predatory, yellow vertical slits that practically glowed in the dim lighting of the hospital wing.
"Maurise!" Hermione shrieked in horror, violently yanking her bedsheets up over her head.
"It is alright, Hermione," Harry quickly pleaded, trying to soothe her. "Maurise isn't going to make fun of you."
Only then did she hesitantly lower the blanket, exposing her whiskered face once more.
Maurise observed her with unapologetic curiosity. Truthfully, the reality of the situation fell vastly short of his expectations. The cat-girls he had read about in illustrated Muggle fiction were always cute and charming. Hermione, on the other hand, just looked like a terrifyingly botched Transfiguration experiment. Her fur was wiry and chaotic, and her reptilian eyes were incredibly unnerving.
"Those Muggle comic books were a complete lie," Maurise muttered under his breath, shaking his head in mild disappointment.
"What was that?" Harry asked, straining to catch his words.
"Nothing of importance."
Hermione looked at Maurise with desperate, glowing eyes. "Maurise, do you know of any way to fix this quickly? Madam Pomfrey says I am going to be stuck in here until at least February. I cannot miss that many classes!"
Maurise rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I could try formulating a localized antidote, but I would need samples of your blood and that fur."
"Anything you need," she agreed instantly.
"Also," Maurise added casually, "I am going to need to see your tail. Assuming you grew one, of course."
Hermione froze. Slowly, she produced a long, bushy, black-and-yellow tail from beneath the covers. She looked at him with profound suspicion. "How exactly does looking at this help you brew an antidote?"
"Oh, it doesn't help at all," Maurise replied with a perfectly straight face. "I am just incredibly nosy. What does having a tail actually feel like? Can you control it?"
"I mean... yes," Hermione admitted, her cheeks flushing beneath the fur. "But I am not very coordinated with it yet."
To prove her point, she concentrated, and the bushy appendage gave two awkward, jerky swishes in the air.
"You look like you are actually enjoying this," Ron muttered in disbelief.
Hermione shot him a vicious, predatory glare. "You are more than welcome to try turning into a feline, Ronald. I am sure you would find it highly entertaining."
Ron wisely snapped his mouth shut.
Maurise stared intently at the swishing tail, a sudden urge overtaking his common sense. "Can I pet it?"
"Don't even think about it!" Hermione hissed, snatching the tail back under the safety of her blankets. She glared at him with the fierce, protective instinct of a highly territorial alley cat.