"Professor McGonagall was entirely correct regarding her assessment of you," Lupin stated warmly, completely ignoring Snape's malicious comment. "You are indeed an exceptionally talented young man, Mr. Black."
"Thank you, Professor," Maurise offered a perfectly measured, polite smile.
Snape's dark eyes slid slowly from Maurise to Lupin. "Do you genuinely believe you possess the necessary competence to instruct a student of his caliber, Lupin?" he asked, his tone soft, silken, and dangerously dark.
He didn't raise his voice, yet the sheer malice dripping from the words ensured they echoed clearly through the silent staffroom.
The atmosphere instantly froze.
The students collectively held their breath, their wide, anxious eyes darting frantically between the two professors.
Lupin's warm, ragged expression did not alter in the slightest.
"That is not for you to decide, Severus," Lupin replied calmly, his voice perfectly even. "Furthermore, I strongly believe it would be best if you did not remain to observe my lesson. I certainly would not presume to intrude upon one of your Potions lectures uninvited."
The polite, soft-spoken dismissal carried a very distinct, unmistakable edge of warning.
The underlying hostility and mutual disdain between the two men were now glaringly, violently obvious to everyone in the room.
The students were absolutely terrified, too scared to even breathe too loudly.
This unfolding psychological warfare was infinitely more thrilling and terrifying than confronting a pathetic Boggart!
Maurise silently took half a step backward, casually adjusting his position to secure a superior viewing angle of the impending confrontation.
'Yes, excellent. Let them duel! Fight!'
The dark, mocking smirk completely vanished from Snape's pale face. A highly dangerous, predatory gleam flared in his dark eyes.
"Certainly," Snape hissed softly. "I shall take my leave immediately."
He pushed himself off the worn sofa and stalked toward the heavy oak door. As he swept past Maurise, he paused for a fraction of a second, delivering a parting, highly venomous shot.
"I sincerely hope you actually manage to teach these students something of value, Lupin... rather than attempting to twist them into something entirely unnatural. Do be careful, Black. It would be a profound tragedy if you were to suffer a sudden, 'accidental' injury."
For the very first time, Lupin's calm expression finally cracked. A brief flash of deep, profound pain and anger rippled across his scarred face.
However, before Lupin could formulate a response, Snape had already swept out of the room, his black robes billowing dramatically behind him as the door clicked shut.
Maurise looked thoughtfully at Lupin.
'As expected. When it comes to psychological warfare and delivering devastating verbal strikes, my Potions Professor is vastly superior.'
Lupin stared at the closed wooden door for several long seconds. He took a deep, steadying breath, and when he finally turned back to face the class, the warm, reassuring smile had returned to his face.
"Alright then. Let us resume the lesson. It appears our uninvited guest has departed," Lupin clapped his hands cheerfully, successfully drawing the students' attention back to the rattling wardrobe. "Now, as I was saying. The defensive magic Mr. Black just demonstrated is incredibly advanced and entirely unsuitable for standard curriculum. Fortunately, I possess a vastly simpler, far more appropriate incantation for neutralizing a Boggart. The charm is Riddikulus. Let us begin the practical drills, shall we?"
For the remainder of the period, the students formed a line, taking turns stepping up to face the Boggart under Lupin's patient guidance.
The poor, wretched creature was subjected to a relentless barrage of humiliating transformations, rapidly devolving into nothing more than a pathetic, confused training prop.
The absolute highlight of the lesson occurred during Neville's turn. Stepping out of the wardrobe, the Boggart instantly transformed into a highly terrifying, sneering replica of Severus Snape. The sudden appearance caused several students to genuinely shriek in terror.
Gripping his wand with trembling hands, Neville squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, "Riddikulus!"
In the very next second, the terrifying apparition of Professor Snape was violently forced into a hideous, moth-eaten, lace-trimmed dress, topped with a towering, vulture-adorned hat and swinging a massive red handbag.
The entire class erupted into hysterical, tear-inducing laughter.
Maurise honestly felt a profound twinge of regret that the real Professor Snape hadn't lingered just a few minutes longer to witness the spectacular transformation.
'That would have been absolutely magnificent.'
Professor Lupin's inaugural Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture received universal, overwhelming acclaim from the student body.
Naturally, this glowing reception was likely heavily influenced by the sheer, unmitigated disasters that were the previous two Defense professors.
Regardless of the man's undeniable teaching competency, Maurise couldn't shake a lingering, cynical premonition. Given the ironclad curse attached to the position, it was only a matter of time before something went catastrophically wrong with Lupin.
He would simply have to wait and see.
---
The first week of term flew by in a blur of academic chaos.
Late Saturday evening, Maurise securely locked his dormitory door and descended into his magically expanded suitcase.
Under the relentless, unyielding suppression of the raven Patronuses, the captured Dementor had finally been broken into total submission.
It was currently curled into a tight, pathetic ball in the far corner of the room, remaining completely motionless, resembling an actual, rotting corpse.
Several glowing silver ravens continued to circle its position lazily, radiating a constant, suffocating aura of positive energy.
However, Maurise was fully aware that the Dementor was still very much "alive." The exact moment it was exposed to a sufficient quantity of positive human emotion, it would instantly regenerate its strength and resume its hostile behavior.
It appeared the Ministry of Magic had either completely failed to notice a missing Dementor, or they simply lacked any magical methodology to track it down.
Regardless, the absolute last place they would ever suspect to find their missing Azkaban guard was locked inside a third-year student's luggage, serving as a biological research subject.
"Let us begin the experiment..."
Maurise stepped forward, firmly grabbed the hem of the creature's rotting, slimy black cloak, and callously dragged the entity directly into the center of a massive, highly complex runic matrix he had painstakingly painted onto the floorboards.
It was the Necromantic Conversion Array.
While he wasn't entirely certain if the conversion process would actually function on a highly specialized, non-corporeal entity like a Dementor, he possessed a live test subject. Why not attempt it?
If the experiment failed and the creature was destroyed, it was of absolutely no consequence to him.
The Dementor lay completely paralyzed in the center of the crimson runes.
"The realm of the living has yet to forget you. The slumber of death is not your final chapter."
Maurise began chanting the dark incantation. The crimson runes flared to life, emitting a pulsating, sinister glow.
Sensing the invasive necromantic energy, the Dementor suddenly began thrashing violently, desperately attempting to flee the confines of the circle.
"Do not be difficult."
Maurise casually flicked his wand. A blinding flash of silver light erupted, immediately summoning an entire legion of raven Patronuses.
They swarmed from all directions, instantly forming a tight, inescapable dome of searing positive energy around the struggling creature.
The Dementor hurled itself against the perimeter, but the exact second its rotting flesh brushed against the silver wing of a raven, it shrieked and recoiled violently, as if physically burned.
It attempted several more desperate charges, but every single attempt ended in agonizing failure.
Finally, realizing escape was entirely impossible, the Dementor ceased struggling. It turned its gaping, faceless hood directly toward Maurise, as if attempting to convey a message.
Maurise stared down at the pathetic creature, pondering for a moment before speaking. "Cease your resistance immediately. Unless, of course, you genuinely desire to remain trapped within this confined space for the rest of eternity."
The Dementor visibly shuddered.
'Hmm?'
'It appears the entity is fully capable of comprehending human speech.'
Maurise narrowed his eyes, continuing his casual psychological torture. "If you continue to resist, I will ensure my Patronuses torment you relentlessly until the end of time."
Hearing that horrifying threat, the Dementor immediately slumped back into the exact center of the conversion array, offering absolutely zero further resistance.
Maurise raised an impressed eyebrow.
'Absolutely zero spine whatsoever.'
He had genuinely anticipated needing to utilize vastly more aggressive forms of magical coercion, but the foul creature had simply surrendered to its fate almost immediately.
"Excellent," Maurise nodded approvingly. "Maintain that exact posture. Do not move a muscle."
The Dementor curled into a tight ball, completely obedient.
A few minutes later, the blinding crimson light faded. The Necromantic Conversion was officially complete.
The Dementor slowly levitated off the floorboards, drifting obediently toward Maurise. It now radiated an incredibly bizarre, highly unnatural aura of absolute, subservient docility.
Maurise stared up at the towering, cloaked figure.
'It actually worked?'
He had to admit, he was genuinely surprised by the success of the experiment.
Just as he opened his mouth to issue his first command, the Dementor seemed to expend the absolute last of its remaining energy. It plummeted out of the air, hitting the floorboards with a heavy, wet thud.
Simultaneously, a hoarse, rattling, incredibly raspy voice echoed directly inside Maurise's mind.
'Food... starving...'
Maurise stared down at the pathetic heap of rotting black cloth, his mouth twitching violently.
Was this genuinely the ultimate result of his highly advanced necromantic conversion?
A Dementor that audibly complained about being hungry?!
He had absolutely no immediate method of acquiring "food" for the creature.
And as for voluntarily offering up his own positive emotions to feed the foul beast...
'Absolutely not. Not a chance in hell.'
"Endure it," Maurise stated with absolute, cold indifference.
'Hungry... starving... so hungry...'
The Dementor's intelligence was evidently not particularly high.
---
Maurise dedicated a significant portion of his free time over the following weeks to thoroughly analyzing his newly converted undead Dementor.
He quickly discovered a massive, fundamental flaw. Following the necromantic conversion, the Dementor was no longer entirely immune to standard offensive magic. Shockingly, even purely physical, concussive attacks were now capable of inflicting tangible damage upon its physical form.
To put it simply, the entity had been forcibly downgraded from an immortal, conceptual "non-being" into a highly standard, highly vulnerable undead construct.
Structurally speaking, it possessed absolutely no fundamental difference from his skeletal dog or his bone dragon.
Truthfully, stripping the Dementor of its absolute physical invulnerability severely crippled its overall combat effectiveness.
Fortunately, it fully retained its innate magical abilities to drain positive emotions and execute the lethal Dementor's Kiss.
Furthermore, as a direct result of the necromantic conversion, the Dementor's natural vulnerability to the Patronus Charm had been drastically mitigated.
While it still instinctively feared and avoided the intense positive energy, it was no longer instantly paralyzed or violently repelled by it.