Unfortunately, Maurise possessed absolutely no reliable method to uncover the identity of the emaciated old man he had seen in the crystal ball.
The only viable option was to casually ask around.
During the lunch hour, he approached nearly every single professor he could find.
It was entirely fruitless.
Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout... absolutely none of them recognized the haunting face.
'He must not be a particularly prominent historical figure, then.'
Finding no immediate answers, Maurise temporarily shelved the matter, intending to investigate further at a later date.
The first day of classes concluded rapidly.
Following a satisfying dinner, Maurise strolled leisurely down a dark, quiet corridor on the fifth floor, heading toward a highly specific, unused classroom located at the very end of the hall.
The inaugural meeting of "The Explorers" for the new academic term was officially scheduled to take place here.
Thinking about it, Maurise distinctly remembered this particular room. The twins had once attempted to stash an entire crate of highly volatile Dungbombs inside, only to be immediately caught red-handed by Argus Filch and dragged away by their ears.
He honestly wondered if they had ever managed to retrieve their confiscated contraband.
Maurise pushed the heavy oak door open, and the bizarre scene unfolding inside made him pause in his tracks.
The other three members of the organization had already arrived.
Standing in the absolute center of the room, Neville was gripping his wand tightly, panting heavily. The twins were standing directly behind him, offering a barrage of highly conflicting, unsolicited advice.
"What exactly are you all doing... er, what on earth is that?"
As Maurise stepped further into the room, he finally noticed the object of their attention. Standing directly in front of Neville was a life-sized, wooden training dummy draped in tattered wizard's robes.
Fred turned around to explain. "George and I recently discovered this highly useful piece of equipment abandoned in a basement storage closet. We assume it was designed specifically for target practice and spellcasting drills."
"Brilliant, isn't it?" George grinned widely, casually patting the wooden dummy's shoulder. "It is heavily enchanted. Even if you completely sever its arm with a cutting curse, the wood will naturally regrow and repair itself within minutes."
Maurise stared at the dummy in absolute, deafening silence for two long seconds. "I comprehend the fundamental concept of a training dummy. But... why exactly does it possess my face?"
The wooden features were carved with alarming precision: the sharp, aristocratic jawline, the perfectly straight nose, the slightly pursed lips, and even a mop of transfigured black hair on top.
It was a perfect, life-sized replica of Maurise.
It was incredibly unsettling.
"Well, you see," Fred scratched the back of his neck, his tone suddenly very awkward. "We were attempting to teach Neville some new offensive spells, but he was incredibly anxious. He mentioned that he only truly feels confident and relaxed when you are around. So, I transfigured the dummy's face to resemble yours."
"And did this highly questionable psychological tactic yield any positive results?" Maurise asked dryly.
Fred cast a highly disappointed glance at Neville and shook his head. "Based entirely on the empirical evidence... no. It was completely ineffective."
"I am so sorry," Neville mumbled, lowering his head, his face burning a vibrant crimson. His voice grew incredibly small. "I am just completely useless."
Maurise casually drew his wand and gave it a sharp, deliberate flick.
A few seconds later, the wooden face twisted and warped, transforming entirely.
"Who is that supposed to be?" George asked, his curiosity instantly piqued.
"Do not concern yourself with it," Maurise replied casually, stowing his wand.
The dummy now bore the exact likeness of the emaciated, hollow-eyed old man he had seen in Trelawney's crystal ball.
He wasn't entirely sure why he had instinctively chosen that specific face. It simply sprang to mind.
"He certainly doesn't look like a pleasant fellow," George noted, scrutinizing the gaunt wooden features. "If you ask me, we ought to transfigure it into Professor Snape's face. That would provide some genuine motivation."
Neville's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror.
The mere thought of firing a Blasting Curse at anything resembling Severus Snape was enough to give him a panic attack! He absolutely did not possess that level of Gryffindor courage!
"I strongly advise against that," Maurise turned to Neville, saving the boy from a heart attack. "Moving on. What specific spell were you attempting to master?"
"The Blasting Curse," Fred answered smoothly. "It is undeniably dangerous, but highly practical in a duel. Neville was just attempting to execute the wand movement, but as you can plainly see, he is entirely too anxious. His hands shake violently whenever he recites the incantation."
"I actually managed to cast it once successfully over the summer," Neville whispered defensively.
Although the resulting "explosion" had possessed less concussive force than a Muggle firecracker, he had technically succeeded, hadn't he?
Maurise offered an approving nod.
He had personally taught Neville the underlying theory of the Blasting Curse late last year. At the time, the boy had been completely incapable of even producing a spark.
'He is demonstrating genuine, measurable progress.'
At that moment, George suddenly seemed to remember why they were gathered. "Ah, right! Speaking of which, Maurise, what is the official agenda for tonight's assembly?"
"There is absolutely no agenda," Maurise stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I merely intended to gather the organization together for a casual conversation. Our original meeting location was meant to be the parlor aboard the Ship in a Bottle. I had already prepared a massive spread of high-end pastries and freshly brewed tea."
Fred and George were entirely speechless.
They had genuinely anticipated some form of thrilling, highly secretive, rule-breaking operation tonight.
However... it didn't really matter.
They had joined Maurise's organization without any specific, tangible goals in mind anyway. Simply gathering together as a group was highly enjoyable in its own right.
"What exactly is the Ship in a Bottle?" Neville asked, his curiosity overriding his anxiety.
This was the very first time he had heard the term.
"It is the official, mobile headquarters of The Explorers," Fred announced proudly, puffing out his chest. "It is a massive, flying wooden galleon."
"A... a flying ship?!" Neville's eyes widened to comical proportions.
"Precisely," George chimed in eagerly. "And the entire vessel is magically sealed inside a colossal glass bottle! The interior has been heavily expanded using spatial magic. It possesses numerous rooms, a massive parlor, and more than enough space to accommodate any of our organizational activities."
Neville completely failed to mentally process the sheer scale and absurdity of the description. He merely nodded numbly. "That sounds incredibly brilliant."
Maurise smiled warmly. "Once I successfully navigate the vessel into the airspace above Hogwarts next month, you shall have the opportunity to witness it firsthand."
Though, before he actually did that, he fully intended to submit a formal logistical notification to Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore.
Suddenly dropping a massive flying ship onto the school grounds without warning would likely cause a massive panic.
Fred clapped his hands together loudly, snapping everyone's attention back to the present. "Alright, then! Since our esteemed leader has no grand schemes planned for this evening, let us resume our combat drills! We are not wasting this valuable training time. Neville, step up and attempt the curse again."
Neville instinctively cast a highly nervous glance at Maurise.
Maurise offered a calm, encouraging nod. "You can do this."
Receiving that silent validation, Neville seemed to find a sudden reserve of courage. He took a deep, shuddering breath, squared his shoulders, and firmly leveled his wand at the creepy wooden dummy.
This time, his wand hand was significantly steadier.
"Confringo!"
A bright streak of orange light erupted from the tip of his wand, striking the dummy squarely in the center of its chest. A loud crack echoed through the room, blowing a fist-sized crater straight through the solid wood.
Before Neville could even process his own success, Fred slammed a heavy hand onto his back, nearly knocking him over. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant work, mate!"
"Did I... did I actually do it?" Neville stared at his wand in utter disbelief.
"You most certainly did!" Fred declared enthusiastically. "I dare say your raw offensive output is already on par with George's!"
"I highly resent that comparison," George raised a defensive eyebrow, immediately pivoting toward Maurise. "So, Maurise, how proficient are you with the Blasting Curse?"
Neville and Fred instantly turned their heads, fixing Maurise with highly curious, eager stares.
Clearly, they were desperate to witness the true ceiling of their leader's offensive capabilities.
Maurise smiled faintly. He didn't bother drawing his wand. He merely raised his right hand, pointing two fingers casually toward the damaged dummy.
"Confringo."
BOOM!
A deafening, concussive shockwave rocked the classroom, accompanied by a blinding flash of volatile crimson light. The heavily enchanted wooden dummy was instantly and violently obliterated. Splinters, wooden limbs, and chunks of charred debris rained down across every corner of the room.
The three Gryffindors were completely stunned into silence.
They hadn't even perceived the trajectory of the spell. It was simply an instantaneous, devastating explosion.
"Alright, you win," Fred muttered in profound awe, breaking the heavy silence. "Seriously, mate, how exactly do you train your magical output to reach that terrifying level?"
Maurise casually waved a hand, wordlessly casting a Repairing Charm. The scattered debris instantly flew back together, seamlessly reconstructing the wooden dummy in the center of the room.
The corner of Maurise's mouth curled upward. "Do you genuinely wish to know? There is a highly specific, rigorous methodology behind it."
All three boys nodded with frantic, overwhelming enthusiasm. Even Neville temporarily forgot his crippling anxiety, staring at Maurise without blinking.
The room was so quiet they could clearly hear the hooting of the owls out by the Owlery.
"One moment."
Maurise reached into the inner pocket of his robes and withdrew a thick, leather-bound tome.
Neville's eyes immediately dropped to the cover.
Embossed across the leather in elegant gold lettering was the title:
Wizard's Meditation.