Mid-October, late at night.
A violent gale, heavily laden with freezing rain, lashed furiously against the castle's stained-glass windows, producing a relentless, deafening clatter. An occasional flash of lightning briefly illuminated the pitch-black sky.
Maurise, operating completely unhindered under the flawless concealment of a Disillusionment Charm, strolled casually out of the Hogwarts library.
Over the past few nights, he had been meticulously scouring the Restricted Section, desperately searching for any advanced literature regarding the biological or magical structure of Dementors.
Unfortunately, his exhaustive search yielded incredibly little of value.
The wizarding world's documented knowledge regarding these dark entities was pitifully scarce. The available texts merely regurgitated the same few superficial observations over and over:
'Dementors are among the foulest, most evil creatures to walk the earth. They possess absolutely zero capacity for human emotion or logical reasoning. They operate purely on basic instinct, relentlessly consuming joy and happiness.'
'They are entirely indestructible. No known magical or physical force is capable of truly inflicting harm upon them.'
That was essentially the absolute sum of their recorded knowledge.
There was absolutely zero historical documentation detailing their biological origins, their baseline intelligence, or their reproductive lifecycle.
It was highly peculiar and incredibly frustrating.
Reaching the top of the grand marble staircase, Maurise abruptly halted his steps. Someone was rapidly approaching from the opposite direction.
It was a male student he didn't recognize. Judging by the distinct scarlet trim on his robes, he was an upper-year Gryffindor.
Maurise didn't pay him much mind.
He was completely invisible under the Disillusionment Charm. The student couldn't see him. He merely needed to step slightly to the side to avoid a physical collision.
However, at that exact moment, the distinct sound of hurried, heavy footsteps echoed from the staircase below, accompanied by the low, hacking meow of a highly unpleasant cat.
It was undoubtedly Argus Filch and Mrs. Norris out on patrol.
The Gryffindor student clearly recognized the approaching threat as well. Maurise watched as the boy frantically reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, jagged piece of dark stone, clutching it tightly in his palm.
In the very next fraction of a second, the Gryffindor student simply melted into the surrounding shadows, vanishing completely without a trace.
'Ah. So it functions exactly as intended.'
Maurise offered a slow, highly satisfied nod, feeling entirely unsurprised by the outcome.
The terrified Gryffindor was utilizing one of the Shadow Stones he had specifically manufactured for retail.
Over the past few nights of his own nocturnal wanderings, Maurise had already spotted several invisible students lurking in the darkest corners of the corridors.
'It appears they are selling exceptionally well.'
Staring at the exact spot where the Gryffindor had vanished, the corner of Maurise's mouth curled upward into a highly lucrative smile.
'Another substantial influx of capital.'
He honestly had no idea exactly how many Shadow Stones Fred and George had managed to successfully distribute.
---
The following morning, the moment Maurise stepped into the Great Hall, he immediately spotted Fred and George standing near the end of the Gryffindor table, aggressively winking and signaling at him.
He strolled over and took a seat directly across from the twins.
The surrounding Gryffindors were already entirely accustomed to Maurise casually crashing their table to socialize with the twins, so no one batted an eye.
"Well?" Maurise asked smoothly, helping himself to a piece of toast. "How exactly are the sales figures looking for the Shadow Stones?"
Fred glanced quickly over both shoulders, ensuring no professors or prefects were paying them any attention. He reached deep into his robes and withdrew a heavily bulging, highly substantial leather pouch. He slid it discreetly across the wooden table until it rested directly in front of Maurise.
"Ninety-eight solid Galleons," Fred announced, his voice practically vibrating with barely contained triumph. "The entire first batch of inventory is completely sold out. We moved every single unit in exactly two and a half days."
Maurise raised a mildly impressed eyebrow.
The demand was even higher than his initial, highly optimistic projections.
"However," Fred leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If the consumer base continues to expand at this rapid rate, I strongly suspect the faculty will eventually catch on to the scheme. If too many students are utilizing the stones simultaneously, someone is bound to make a stupid mistake and expose the operation."
"Is that a logistical problem?" Maurise asked mildly.
Fred grinned wickedly, a look of pure, unadulterated mischief in his eyes.
"Absolutely not," he stated dismissively. "Technically speaking, we haven't actually violated any specific school regulations. We are merely operating a highly successful, independent retail enterprise selling novelty trinkets."
George, however, looked slightly more cautious. "But you cannot entirely rule out the highly probable scenario where the Headmaster officially classifies the Shadow Stones as prohibited contraband. Once that inevitably happens, our sales volume will undoubtedly plummet."
"Then the logical solution is to maximize our sales volume immediately while the market remains entirely unregulated," Maurise stated, completely unbothered.
Fred and George exchanged a highly synchronized look of shared brilliance.
"Maximize distribution?" George confirmed, his grin widening.
"Precisely," Maurise nodded firmly. "Before the faculty fully comprehends the magnitude of the situation, we sell as many units as physically possible."
Fred chuckled darkly. "The rate of successful, undetected curfew violations at Hogwarts is about to skyrocket exponentially."
"Just picture the absolute chaos," George added gleefully. "Every single student wandering the halls at night, armed with absolute invisibility. Poor old Filch is going to suffer a complete psychological breakdown."
Maurise's lips twitched upward.
It was undeniably a highly amusing mental image.
Unless they possessed the extraordinary magical perception of a wizard on Dumbledore's level, absolutely no one would be capable of detecting a student utilizing the Shadow Stone's concealment.
And was Dumbledore genuinely going to waste his valuable time personally patrolling the chilly corridors every single night just to catch a few insomniac students?
Obviously not.
---
Following breakfast, Maurise initially intended to visit Dumbledore's office to discuss the logistical placement of the Ship in a Bottle. However, he realized he didn't possess the current password for the gargoyle, forcing him to seek authorization from an alternative administrative source.
Knock, knock.
He rapped his knuckles lightly against the heavy wooden door of Professor McGonagall's office.
"Enter."
Pushing the door open, Maurise found Professor McGonagall sitting behind her meticulously organized desk, looking surprisingly relaxed.
She looked up, a flicker of mild surprise crossing her stern features when she recognized him.
"Mr. Black? Is there something I can assist you with?"
As Maurise stepped closer, he noticed she was leisurely reading a highly colorful Quidditch magazine. The cover featured a moving photograph of a Golden Snitch zipping erratically across the page.
It appeared he had interrupted her highly valuable, rare downtime.
Maurise immediately cut to the chase. "Professor McGonagall, I recently completed the construction of a small wooden boat. I was hoping to request official permission to temporarily dock the vessel on the surface of the Black Lake."
McGonagall blinked, completely caught off guard. "You built a what, exactly?"
"A boat," Maurise repeated clearly.
McGonagall stared at him in absolute silence for several long seconds, seemingly trying to determine if this was a highly elaborate, deadpan joke.
"Why on earth did you suddenly decide to construct a boat?" she asked, profoundly bewildered.
"I possessed a mild academic interest in naval architecture, so I decided to attempt a practical application," Maurise answered with absolute candor. "Please, do not concern yourself, Professor. It poses absolutely no danger to the student body or the environment. The vessel merely possesses basic mobility functions. It is entirely unarmed and lacks any form of offensive weaponry."
Professor McGonagall still found the entire situation utterly baffling, but she eventually relented.
"Very well. I shall grant your request," she said with a heavy sigh. "Hogwarts has always strived to foster a spirit of creativity and independent initiative among its students. As long as you can personally guarantee the absolute safety of the vessel, you have my permission to dock it on the Black Lake."
Maurise offered a polite nod. "Thank you very much, Professor."
"However," McGonagall raised a strict, authoritative finger. "I insist on personally inspecting this vessel of yours first. I will meet you at the edge of the Black Lake at exactly three o'clock this afternoon. Is that acceptable?"
"Perfectly acceptable."
Maurise mentally breathed a sigh of relief.
That resolved the logistical hurdle nicely.
In reality, he had already quietly navigated the fully recharged Ship in a Bottle back to Hogwarts a few days prior. He had simply left it hovering high above the cloud layer, completely concealed under an advanced Disillusionment Charm.
Now that he possessed official administrative clearance, he could proudly display his creation in broad daylight.
---
At exactly three o'clock, standing on the muddy banks of the Black Lake.
Professor McGonagall stood perfectly rigid, staring out at the colossal, floating glass bottle resting serenely on the surface of the dark water.
She remained trapped in a state of profound, absolute silence for a very long time.
Finally, she turned her head slowly, looking down at Maurise. "This... this is what you consider a 'small wooden boat'?"
"Indeed it is," Maurise replied, looking completely unfazed. "According to standard Muggle maritime classifications, a vessel of this exact tonnage falls squarely into the small-to-medium category. Perhaps the fact that it is currently encased within a massive glass bottle creates a slight optical illusion regarding its true scale... but regardless, that is merely a trivial detail."
McGonagall fell silent once again, rubbing her temples as if fighting off an impending headache.
"Black," she began, her voice strained. "Did you genuinely construct this massive, impossible structure entirely by yourself?"
Maurise nodded firmly. "I did."
McGonagall's expression became incredibly complex. "That is... truly astounding."
In all honesty, it had entirely surpassed "astounding" and crossed directly into the realm of "terrifying."
Who in their right mind would ever assume a student's casual mention of a "small wooden boat" actually referred to a colossal, twenty-meter-long galleon magically sealed inside a massive glass bottle?
"I shall leave the vessel anchored here for the remainder of the term, then," Maurise announced cheerfully, looking highly satisfied. "I will relocate it when the holidays arrive. Rest assured, Professor, the vessel is fully capable of sustained flight."
"Very well," McGonagall let out a long, highly exasperated sigh. "As long as the Headmaster ultimately approves of its presence, it may remain. But honestly, Black... how on earth did you manage to construct something of this staggering magnitude right under the noses of the entire faculty?"
Maurise merely offered a brilliant, highly secretive smile. "That is a classified trade secret."
McGonagall shook her head helplessly.
Whatever.
After all, she had already personally witnessed the boy command a colossal, reanimated dragon skeleton. At this point, a flying ship in a bottle barely registered as a shock.