Fawkes vanished in a burst of brilliant golden flames, taking Maurise along for the ride.
When his boots finally hit solid ground again, the scenery had drastically changed. He was back inside the Chamber of Secrets.
Maurise found himself standing directly at the base of the colossal Salazar Slytherin statue. The damp, stagnant air was still thick with the pungent, metallic stench of Basilisk blood.
Fawkes fluttered down gracefully, landing on a collapsed stone pillar.
Right beside the phoenix, Albus Dumbledore was sitting casually on a dust-covered slab of rubble. He was holding the charred, ruined husk of Tom Riddle's diary in his hands, examining it with deep fascination. Hearing the crack of arriving flames, the Headmaster slowly looked up.
"Ah, Maurise. You have arrived."
Maurise walked over, his curiosity piqued. "How exactly did you get inside, Professor?"
"Through the main entrance, naturally," Dumbledore replied lightly, closing the ruined diary. "Although I possess the ability to comprehend Parseltongue, actually speaking it took quite a bit of vocal effort on my part."
The Headmaster cleared his throat, adjusted his half-moon spectacles, and let out a string of low, guttural hisses that echoed bizarrely through the cavernous hall.
Hiss... sssss...
Maurise was genuinely surprised. The greatest white wizard of the age hissing like a deflating tire was certainly not a sight one witnessed every day.
However, it made perfect logical sense. The password to the Chamber of Secrets was painfully simple. Translated into human speech, it was literally just the word "Open." Deducing the phonetic pronunciation was not entirely impossible for a wizard of Dumbledore's intellect.
"Speaking of which, Professor," Maurise suddenly remembered his own failed attempt. "Could you listen to my pronunciation and tell me what I am doing wrong?"
Hiss... sssss...
A nearly identical string of hisses slipped from Maurise's lips.
Dumbledore listened intently and offered an approving nod. "Flawless pronunciation, my boy. I cannot detect a single phonetic error."
Maurise was even more baffled now. "I did exactly that yesterday, but the sink refused to budge."
"That is hardly surprising, Maurise," Dumbledore explained with a warm, patient smile. "Parseltongue is not merely a spoken language. It is a highly specific manifestation of magic. Every wizard has fields they naturally excel in, and areas where they struggle. Practice a few more times, and I am certain you will grasp the underlying concept."
'A manifestation of magic?'
The realization hit Maurise like a rogue Bludger.
Unlike ordinary wizards, Maurise possessed an incredibly profound, microscopic level of control over his own magical core. When he had practiced hissing the day before, he had merely been mimicking the physical sounds. He hadn't actively channeled a single drop of his magical intent into the vocalization.
That was undoubtedly the missing key. He would just have to try again later.
Setting the linguistics lesson aside, Maurise looked at Dumbledore with a serious expression. "Professor, why exactly did you send Fawkes to fetch me at this hour?"
Dumbledore stood up from the rubble, his gaze shifting to the pulverized, mangled corpse of the Basilisk resting nearby. "Considering you are the one who single-handedly defeated this magnificent beast, I felt it was only proper that you be present when I came to process it."
Maurise sighed inwardly.
It seemed his grand plans for a skeletal serpent were officially ruined. Technically speaking, a monster found underneath the school was rightfully the property of Hogwarts.
Sensing the fleeting look of disappointment cross Maurise's face, Dumbledore smiled softly and added, "Do not worry yourself, Maurise. I only intend to take a single venomous fang. I require it as undeniable physical evidence to clear Hagrid's name and bring him home from Azkaban. As for the rest of the Basilisk corpse... considering you were the one who neutralized the threat, it rightfully belongs to you."
"Pardon?" Maurise blinked in genuine surprise.
That was a completely unexpected turn of events.
"I fully trust that you will find an excellent, highly academic use for it," Dumbledore winked, his blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles.
"I certainly will," Maurise nodded firmly.
Perhaps he had misjudged Dumbledore's intentions. The Headmaster truly had absolutely no interest in hoarding the priceless Basilisk corpse for the school's coffers.
---
With the true Heir of Slytherin permanently neutralized, the suffocating tension gripping the castle finally began to dissipate.
Later that same afternoon, Maurise returned to the second-floor girls' lavatory.
Standing before the central copper tap, he actively channeled his magical energy up through his vocal cords while perfectly mimicking the hissing pronunciation Tom had taught him.
The heavy stone sink groaned and slid open flawlessly.
His theory had been spot on.
For the remainder of the Easter holidays, Maurise practically lived down in the Chamber of Secrets. He spent every waking hour attempting to physically repair and reconstruct the horribly mutilated Basilisk corpse.
It was a monumental, headache-inducing project.
For a necromancer of his caliber, the actual ritual of converting the beast into an undead summon was the easy part. The real challenge lay in the physical reconstruction. His bone dragon had pulverized the Basilisk's skull and upper spine into a chunky, unrecognizable paste. Piecing the colossal serpent back together was like trying to solve a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle where half the pieces had been run over by a steamroller.
Despite the agonizingly slow progress, the sheer complexity of the task perfectly stimulated Maurise's obsessive, stubborn Ravenclaw nature. He found the grueling work incredibly enjoyable.
---
Days turned into weeks.
During a late April Charms lesson, Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared in the classroom doorway.
"My apologies for the interruption, Filius," she nodded to the tiny professor standing on his stack of books. "I require Mr. Black for a highly urgent matter."
Professor Flitwick naturally had no objections. He stood on his tiptoes and waved cheerfully toward the back of the room. "Maurise! Professor McGonagall needs you. Off you go!"
Maurise had been entirely engrossed in a highly advanced textbook detailing the intricate mechanics of the Patronus Charm. The actual Charms lesson was covering material he had mastered months ago, so he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention.
Hearing his name called, he looked up and blinked. "Oh. Right."
He calmly snapped his book shut, packed his bag, and navigated through the rows of desks. Offering a polite nod to Professor Flitwick on his way out, he stepped into the corridor.
"What happened?" Maurise asked his Head of House.
"I am not entirely certain," Professor McGonagall replied, her strict expression completely unreadable. "The Headmaster requested your presence down at Hagrid's hut."
"Oh? Has Hagrid finally returned from Azkaban?"
"He was escorted back to the grounds early this morning," she confirmed.
The two walked in comfortable silence, exiting the main castle doors and heading down the sloping lawns toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The late April weather had finally warmed up, and the bright morning sun bathed Maurise in a very pleasant, comforting heat.
Maurise couldn't quite figure out the purpose of this meeting. Was Hagrid simply eager to personally thank him for clearing his name? If that were the case, pulling him out of a scheduled class seemed a bit excessive.
Upon reaching the edge of the pumpkin patch, Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and immediately turned back toward the castle to resume her duties.
Maurise pushed open the heavy wooden door of Hagrid's cabin.
He immediately noticed that the small, cluttered hut was rather crowded. Aside from Hagrid and Dumbledore, two other wizards were present.
One was Lucius Malfoy. Draco's father was currently observing Maurise with a faint, highly condescending smirk playing on his pale lips.
The other was a short, portly wizard sporting a pinstriped suit and a lime-green travel cloak. He wore a highly jovial, welcoming smile. It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Maurise instantly recognized him from his numerous photographs in the Daily Prophet.
The atmosphere inside the cramped cabin felt incredibly bizarre.
Hagrid was standing awkwardly by his massive stone fireplace, shifting his weight nervously. Dumbledore was seated calmly on a highly unstable-looking wooden chair, sipping from a massive mug of tea.
"Ah, Mr. Black has arrived!" Fudge bounded forward, clapping Maurise enthusiastically on the shoulder. "We were just discussing your incredible achievements. Simply brilliant, my boy! Absolutely brilliant! Resolving a crisis that has paralyzed Hogwarts for months, and at such a remarkably young age!"
"Thank you, Minister," Maurise replied with flawless politeness.
'What exactly is the play here?'
He shot a questioning glance toward Dumbledore. The Headmaster had dropped his usual serious facade and was watching Maurise with a very distinct, twinkling smile.
"Cornelius insisted on meeting you personally, Maurise," Dumbledore explained smoothly. "I simply informed the Minister that you were the instrumental figure behind neutralizing the Heir's terrifying plot."
"I see," Maurise nodded slowly.
He certainly didn't mind receiving a bit of official recognition from the Ministry.
However, his gaze drifted back to Lucius Malfoy standing quietly in the corner.
'What on earth is this arrogant peacock doing here?'