Maurise breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
It was merely an invitation to a gathering. He had been startlingly close to assuming he had made an enemy.
The invitation was signed by Robert Hilliard, the Ravenclaw prefect. Maurise had indeed heard whispers that certain Hogwarts students held private, unofficial study groups to discuss advanced topics that were never covered in standard lessons, or to share highly useful, borderline-restricted magical knowledge.
This was his very first time being formally invited to one. Naturally, he had absolutely no intention of refusing.
But that raised another question. Why on earth did Robert use one of Lockhart's ridiculous dwarf cupids to deliver the message?
***
After dinner, Maurise arrived precisely on time in front of the portrait of the weeping noblewoman on the third floor.
The painted lady was currently burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders trembled slightly as she let out a continuous, mournful sobbing that echoed eerily through the empty, dimly lit corridor. If this were the Muggle world, the scene would have been genuinely terrifying.
The heavy wooden door immediately to the right of the portrait was shut, but a thin sliver of warm light spilled from underneath.
Clearly, this was the designated meeting spot.
Maurise knocked politely.
The door was opened by Robert Hilliard himself. The prefect had a lollipop resting lazily in the corner of his mouth and was holding a thick, open textbook in his free hand.
"Black. You made it. Come on in." He stepped aside to let Maurise pass.
Maurise stepped into the room. It was furnished to look like a miniature, highly comfortable common room. Several plush sofas and armchairs were arranged haphazardly, and the air carried a faint, pleasant scent reminiscent of peppermint.
"Take a seat anywhere." Robert tossed his heavy textbook onto a small coffee table and sank into a nearby armchair. "Welcome to our little study group, Maurise."
Maurise scanned the room. There weren't many people present. Including himself and Robert, there were exactly five students in total. Every single one of them was an upper-year Ravenclaw.
They all offered him friendly, acknowledging nods.
"This is an exclusive study group strictly for Ravenclaw students," Robert smiled easily. "We just gather here occasionally to bounce ideas off each other."
'I see.' Maurise nodded thoughtfully. He actually didn't mind this sort of gathering at all. It was an incredibly Ravenclaw thing to do.
Curious, Maurise asked, "Does this study group have a specific, overarching theme? What exactly do you usually discuss?"
A boy with wildly messy hair sitting nearby pushed his slipping glasses up his nose. He leaned forward and spoke in a highly serious, dramatic tone. "Dark Magic, kid."
"Wicked." Maurise did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. "Count me in."
A secret society exclusively dedicated to discussing the Dark Arts? That sounded incredibly entertaining.
Robert's lips twitched upward into a broad grin. "Excellent. Well then, let us officially welcome Maurise Black to the group!"
A round of polite, scattered applause filled the room.
"Of course," Robert winked conspiratorially at Maurise. "Hogwarts officially prohibits any and all discussion of the Dark Arts. Therefore, this is merely a perfectly normal, entirely innocent academic exchange."
'Officially prohibited, so we do it in the shadows.' Maurise understood completely.
The messy-haired boy chimed back in. "I was only joking. The most we actually do is research slightly dangerous, borderline-restricted spells. Oh, right, I'm Algernon Barlow. Just call me Algernon."
"Nice to meet you."
Shortly after, Maurise was briefly introduced to the remaining two members, Grayson and Thorne. They were all sixth or seventh-year Ravenclaws.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Maurise turned back to Robert. "I have to admit, I am slightly curious. Why exactly did you invite me to join this group?"
He asked the question with complete candor. He and Robert weren't exactly close friends.
Hearing the question, Robert simply snapped his fingers. "Algernon."
Understanding the signal immediately, Algernon reached into his robes, pulled out a photograph, and handed it directly to Maurise.
Maurise took the photo. He recognized it instantly. It was the exact same moving picture that had been published in the 'Daily Prophet'—the one showing him riding his bone dragon high over the snowy rooftops of Hogsmeade.
"This is..."
Algernon pointed directly at the armored figure sitting atop the skeletal beast. "That is you, isn't it?"
"How on earth did you recognize me?"
"Because I saw you with my own two eyes," Robert stated matter-of-factly. "During the Christmas holidays. Oh, and I also saw those two Gryffindors you took for a ride. They looked like they were seconds away from freezing to death."
'Ah, so that is how.' Maurise nodded in understanding. The two Gryffindors he mentioned were undoubtedly the Weasley twins. He hadn't exactly gone out of his way to hide the bone dragon during those flights, so it was perfectly logical that someone had spotted him.
Maurise handed the photograph back. "Most people wouldn't pay attention to such an obscure section of the 'Daily Prophet'."
"Our group only recruits the most exceptional minds in Ravenclaw," Robert explained. "Even though you are only a second-year, Maurise, you are more than qualified to sit with us. By the way, Algernon is the one who actually took that photograph for the Prophet."
Maurise turned to look at Algernon again, genuinely surprised. "How exactly did you manage to capture that?"
He had been flying at incredibly high speeds and had completely failed to detect anyone sneaking around to take a picture. The angle was so unbelievably perfect that most people probably assumed the photo had been staged.
A mischievous glint flashed in Algernon's eyes. "That is my little trade secret. If you want to secure a job at the Daily Prophet, you need to have some real skills. I am currently an intern there."
"Impressive," Maurise said sincerely. The boy was definitely talented.
"Anyway, everyone in this room has their own unique area of expertise." Robert cast a glance around the circle. "Grayson and Thorne are exceptional with Charms. Algernon excels at information gathering and reconnaissance. And I have conducted extensive independent research into Alchemy."
"We mostly gather here to seek inspiration and help each other overcome academic roadblocks," Algernon added.
"Pooling your collective intellects," Maurise noted without hesitation. "A very wise strategy. Oh, right. My primary area of expertise is Potions."
Robert asked casually, "Exactly how skilled are you?"
The older students all leaned in, looking openly skeptical but curious. Ultimately, Maurise was still just a second-year student. He had been taking Potions classes for less than two full years. How skilled could he possibly be?
Maurise flashed a confident smile. "I guarantee you I am significantly better than the vast majority of graduating seventh-years."
The statement sounded like an absurdly arrogant boast, but Robert actually believed him.
He clapped his hands together happily. "Well, that is absolutely brilliant! We were just saying we needed a Potions expert. Algernon, weren't you just complaining about running into a massive roadblock in that area?"
"I highly doubt he can actually help with this," Algernon muttered under his breath. He clearly did not believe a twelve-year-old could solve his problem.
"Tell me about it first," Maurise said, turning his attention to the older boy. "What exactly do you need help with?"
Algernon hesitated for a moment before finally speaking slowly. "It is regarding the Draught of Living Death. I am in desperate need of this specific potion. But as I am sure you are aware..." He shrugged helplessly. "It is incredibly difficult to purchase legally, and it is near impossible to brew perfectly on your own."
The Draught of Living Death?
'Oh?'
Maurise perked up instantly. Talk about a massive coincidence.
He could confidently swear on his own magic that the number of people in the entire world who understood the Draught of Living Death better than he did could be counted on a single hand.
"How much do you need?" Maurise asked, his smile widening into a businesslike grin. "I happen to have a massive stockpile right now. I can sell it to you at a heavy discount."
Algernon instantly sat bolt upright in his chair. "How much do you have?"
"Fifty or sixty vials, roughly."
"Ah... WHAT?!"