Despite the fact that he had properly ingested the Wolfsbane Potion, the lingering physiological aftermath of the werewolf transformation was severe.
Lupin was left alarmingly weak.
The physical toll was so immense that he was forced to lean heavily against the damp stone walls of the secret tunnel just to remain upright as they slowly made their way back toward the castle.
"Professor Lupin, what exactly does it feel like when you undergo the biological transformation into a werewolf?"
Maurise trailed a few steps behind Lupin, his voice echoing crisply within the narrow confines of the subterranean passage.
"It is... difficult to describe accurately," Lupin remained silent for a long moment before finally answering, his voice raspy and exhausted. "It feels exactly as if a completely different entity has suddenly taken up residence within your physical body. A violent, feral stranger utterly consumed by blind rage, insatiable hunger, and a singular desire to tear everything around it to shreds. And you are completely powerless. You are merely trapped, cowering in a dark corner of your own mind, forced to watch helplessly as the monster hijacks your physical form and slaughters indiscriminately."
"That undeniably sounds like a thoroughly miserable psychological experience," Maurise rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How large is the registered werewolf demographic within the wizarding community? Hypothetically speaking, if I were to successfully engineer a permanent cure for lycanthropy, do you believe the resulting potion would secure a lucrative market share?"
Lupin paused mid-step, letting out a dry, exhausted chuckle.
"Your ambitions are entirely too grand, Maurise," Lupin shook his head weakly. "I feel obligated to remind you of a harsh economic reality. The vast majority of the werewolf demographic lives in absolute, crushing poverty. Most are completely incapable of affording even a single vial of the Wolfsbane Potion, let alone a permanent, advanced cure."
Maurise nodded in logical agreement. "The raw ingredients required to brew the Wolfsbane Potion are exorbitant."
He had personally brewed the concoction just the other day; he was intimately familiar with the exact market value of the materials.
If a werewolf were required to brew a fresh cauldron every single month for the rest of their natural life, the cumulative financial burden would utterly bankrupt an ordinary wizard.
Maurise escorted Lupin all the way back to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. Before departing, he casually left several vials of his concentrated, customized stamina-replenishing potions on Lupin's desk—a small token of compensation for subjecting the man to a night of profound psychological terror.
Lupin didn't bother offering a polite refusal. He accepted the potions immediately.
He desperately, desperately needed them.
---
The following day was Halloween.
Because the holiday conveniently fell on a Sunday this year, the Ravenclaw common room was incredibly lively.
Possessing a rare surplus of free time, the students eagerly occupied themselves by adorning the circular room with a massive variety of elaborate, festive magical decorations.
By mid-afternoon, the common room had been completely transformed.
Dozens of glowing, carved pumpkins bobbed gently near the ceiling, accompanied by massive flocks of realistic, illusory bats and hundreds of floating, flickering candles.
Maurise naturally contributed his own unique, creative flair to the festivities.
The exact moment students stepped through the entrance, they were greeted by a realistic, moss-covered tombstone situated prominently against the left wall. Whenever an individual approached within a three-foot radius, an animated skeleton would abruptly burst from the soil and strike a series of bizarre, suggestive poses.
To be entirely fair, the morbid prank successfully terrified quite a few unsuspecting lower-years.
However, the macabre aesthetic of an animated skeleton was so blatantly, unapologetically Maurise that practically every single Ravenclaw instantly identified him as the culprit.
It lacked a certain degree of mysterious subtlety.
As evening approached, the students began to gradually filter out of the common room, eagerly heading down to the Great Hall to attend the anticipated Halloween Feast.
Sitting comfortably at the Ravenclaw table, Maurise couldn't shake a distinct, lingering premonition that something significant was bound to occur tonight.
Based entirely on the empirical data gathered over the past two years, Halloween night at Hogwarts historically served as a major catalyst for dramatic, life-threatening plot developments.
He wondered if the tradition would hold true for a third consecutive year.
However, the grand feast proceeded flawlessly.
Everyone enjoyed the magnificent spread of delicious food, chatted cheerfully with their peers, and the evening passed without a single incident.
Following the feast, Maurise strolled leisurely back up to the Ravenclaw common room, fully intending to tinker with his animated tombstone and perhaps implement a few practical upgrades.
Suddenly, Professor Flitwick burst through the entrance. The diminutive Charms Master's expression was unusually grim and severe.
The lively chatter in the common room instantly died. Every single student paused what they were doing and turned to look at him.
"Every single student is to return to the Great Hall immediately!" Professor Flitwick announced, his squeaky voice amplified to cut through the silence. "Right this instant! Move!"
Several students immediately stepped forward, looking alarmed. "Professor, has something happened?"
Flitwick shook his head tightly. "The Headmaster will explain the situation shortly. Where are the Prefects? Prefects, line everyone up!"
Maurise let out a long, heavy sigh in his mind.
'Ah. Three consecutive years of absolute chaos on Halloween night.'
He was beginning to firmly believe that the Defense Against the Dark Arts post wasn't the only thing cursed at this school. Halloween was undeniably cursed as well.
'The statistical probability of this occurring naturally is virtually zero.'
Ten minutes later, the entire student body was herded back into the Great Hall.
Aside from the Gryffindors, the students from the other three Houses looked entirely bewildered, having absolutely no idea what emergency had prompted the sudden evacuation.
Dumbledore stood before the staff table, his expression grave. "The faculty will be conducting a thorough, comprehensive search of the entire castle. For your absolute safety, I am afraid you will all have to sleep here in the Great Hall tonight."
He did not offer any specific explanation. He merely waved his wand, conjuring hundreds of thick purple sleeping bags across the polished floorboards, before swiftly turning and sweeping out of the Hall.
Maurise quickly located Harry amidst the chaotic crowd and obtained a full debriefing regarding the incident.
Just a short while ago, the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower had been viciously slashed and destroyed.
According to Peeves the Poltergeist, the culprit had been positively identified as Sirius Black.
"He... he actually broke into the castle looking for me, didn't he?" Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly, his face pale.
Maurise nodded calmly. "That is the most logical conclusion."
In all honesty, the ability to completely bypass the Dementors, silently infiltrate the heavily warded castle, and launch an attack without being detected by a single faculty member... Sirius Black's magical prowess was formidable.
However, it ultimately had nothing to do with him.
Of course, if Sirius Black happened to stumble directly into his path, Maurise certainly wouldn't object to eliminating a public menace.
He did occasionally experience fleeting impulses to dispense vigilante justice.
Harry looked absolutely miserable. The knowledge that a competent mass murderer was actively hunting him within the very walls of his school was more than enough to shatter anyone's composure.
"Lights out!" Percy Weasley, the newly appointed Head Boy, shouted authoritatively. "Everyone into your sleeping bags! Cease all conversation immediately!"
The Great Hall gradually quieted down as the students obediently crawled into their conjured sleeping bags.
Maurise slid into his own bag, staring up at the enchanted starry ceiling. He suddenly spoke in a hushed whisper. "Consider this tactical suggestion, Harry. You could deliberately position yourself as bait to lure Black out of hiding, allowing the Aurors to capture him and resolve this entire situation permanently."
Harry immediately turned his head.
"That is an incredibly reckless and dangerous plan!" Hermione hissed aggressively from the adjacent sleeping bag. "Have you completely lost your mind?! You want to offer Harry up as bait to a deranged mass murderer who slaughtered thirteen people?!"
"Twelve people," Ron corrected in a small, unhelpful whisper.
"Actually... I think it might be a highly effective strategy," Harry's voice slowly grew firmer, gaining a sliver of desperate determination. "If Sirius Black spots me wandering the corridors entirely alone, he will undoubtedly seize the opportunity to strike. And if I am secretly surrounded by Aurors and professors, I should be perfectly safe."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue further, but Harry had already decisively scrambled out of his sleeping bag and climbed to his feet.
"I am going to do it," Harry stated, quickly scanning the dimly lit Hall. His eyes landed on Professor McGonagall, who was currently patrolling the far perimeter. "I am going to propose the plan to Professor McGonagall right now."
Harry hurried off.
Exactly two minutes later, Harry trudged back, looking deeply dejected, and crawled back into his sleeping bag.
"What happened?" Ron whispered.
"Professor McGonagall entirely rejected the proposal. She deemed the tactical maneuver far too risky," Harry muttered miserably. He looked at Maurise. "Maurise, what on earth am I supposed to do now?"
'What are you supposed to do?'
Maurise casually rolled over, turning his back to the Gryffindor trio, and closed his eyes.
"At this specific juncture, the most logical course of action is to go to sleep."
He was completely incapable of assisting with this particular logistical issue.
---
The following morning, the grim reality set in: Sirius Black had completely eluded capture.
The expressions on the professors' faces were significantly more tense and severe than the previous evening, and the anxious whispering among the student body intensified drastically.
However, academic progression could not be halted. Classes resumed exactly as scheduled.
Notably, because Professor Lupin was still physically incapacitated and barely able to walk, Professor Snape had temporarily assumed all teaching duties for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Observing this, Maurise couldn't help but marvel at the sheer magnitude of Snape's physical and mental stamina. The man operated with the relentless efficiency of a machine.
The faculty roster at Hogwarts was limited, resulting in an incredibly packed, demanding teaching schedule for every single professor.
By assuming Lupin's entire workload, Snape had effectively doubled his daily teaching hours.
Maurise began to suspect that Snape, much like Hermione, possessed a classified Ministry Time-Turner just to manage the impossible schedule.
...
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