"I see the problem has been resolved?" Dumbledore asked.
Maurise pocketed the energy crystal and gave a thumbs up. "Completely resolved!"
The curse had only been in his body for a few days, and the life force it had drained was miniscule, almost negligible. A good night's sleep would be enough to recover it.
Dumbledore nodded and then asked, "Well then, Maurise, can you tell me more about this 'Death' you encountered?"
Maurise had long anticipated this question. Any wizard would be curious about an entity claiming to be Death, and Dumbledore was no exception.
Maurise gave a brief recount of his encounter with Sclep. Naturally, he omitted the existence of the Gap World, referring to the location simply as "the middle of nowhere." In his telling, the man had simply taken a dislike to him and attacked without reason—which was, essentially, the truth.
"Sclep?" Dumbledore said thoughtfully after listening. "That sounds like an alias."
"Yes," Maurise agreed. "I thought the same."
It seemed even Dumbledore had never heard of the name. What exactly was this man's background?
---
After the healing was complete, Maurise returned to the Ship in a Bottle.
The first thing he did was study the newly formed Death Energy Crystal—that was the name he had given it. The Energy Convergence spell functioned exactly as its name implied; it only gathered ambient energy together without altering its nature. In other words, the bead did not contain pure magic, but rather a specialized form of power.
Maurise temporarily dubbed it "Death Energy." The question now was: what specific use did this thing have? This would likely become his primary research subject moving forward.
Days passed.
At noon on August 22nd, Maurise headed to Frick's shop for a free meal, just like he always did.
Watching Maurise mercilessly yank open his refrigerator and start pillaging, Frick leaned against the kitchen doorframe and sighed heavily. "You are the hottest broomstick designer right now!" he complained. "Why do you always come here to rob me of my food?"
Without looking back, Maurise pulled out a piece of smoked meat, half a block of cheese, and several tomatoes from the fridge. "The fridge at my place only has sweets," he said. Sometimes he just craved a proper meal.
(And for the record, calling it a "refrigerator" was a stretch. It was actually just a magical cabinet with a Preservation Charm cast on it. After all, everyone knows there are no electrical appliances in the wizarding world.)
"Speaking of which," Maurise said casually, munching on a tomato. "Where are the Grindylow fingers you used to keep in here?"
He distinctly remembered the preservation cabinet being stuffed with those incredibly unappetizing fingers, but they had vanished at some point.
Frick's eyes immediately bulged. "Don't even mention those!" he shouted, his voice filled with outrage. "That crooked merchant laced them with an addictive hallucinogen!"
Maurise was somewhat speechless. He knew there was no way such bizarre ingredients could have a legitimate market. Thankfully, his curiosity hadn't pushed him to try one.
Right at that moment, Maurise felt a faint vibration coming from his robe pocket. He reached in and pulled out a piece of parchment—it was the Quidditch World Cup ticket Ludo Bagman had given him.
Several lines of tiny, gleaming gold text had materialized at the bottom of the ticket:
[Reminder: Please arrive at the designated meeting point before 9:00 AM on August 23rd. The Portkey location nearest to you is...]
A long string of addresses was attached below.
Only then did Maurise remember that the Quidditch World Cup was happening tomorrow. He had been so entirely consumed with studying the Death Energy Crystal that the event had completely slipped his mind.
Frick walked over, took a glance, and said nostalgically, "Ah, Quidditch. I loved the sport in my youth. Back then, I was a reserve... for the reserve... for the reserve of the Chudley Cannons."
"You certainly had a colorful youth," Maurise remarked dryly, tucking the ticket back into his pocket.
Of course, he would be attending the World Cup. Perhaps it would even provide him with some fresh inspiration for designing broomsticks.
---
Maurise had initially planned to simply Apparate to the Quidditch World Cup, but he had no idea where exactly it was being held. Therefore, a Portkey was his only option.
The next morning, Maurise walked for a while before finding the Portkey bound for the World Cup campsite in a secluded alleyway. It was a filthy, battered tin bucket.
When he arrived, the Portkey was already being held by a stranger. The man was wearing a dark green traveling cloak, the hood pulled low so that only the lower half of his face was visible. Hearing footsteps, the man turned his head and spoke in a very friendly tone. "Good morning. Five minutes left until the Portkey activates."
Maurise nodded and stood a few paces away. The man didn't seem to harbor any ill intent; he just waited quietly, occasionally glancing up at the sky.
A few more people trickled in. There was a witch carrying a massive, bulging rucksack, a middle-aged man leading a child, and a young wizard who looked oddly familiar. Wasn't that Kyle?
Maurise was glad to run into an acquaintance here.
"Maurise!" Kyle spotted him as well, his face lighting up with pleasant surprise. He quickly walked over. "You're going to the World Cup too? What a coincidence!"
"Good morning," Maurise nodded. "Where is your family?"
"None of them care for Quidditch, so I came alone," Kyle explained.
While the two of them chatted, the five minutes passed by quickly.
"Time's up," the wizard in the green cloak announced, holding the tin bucket out.
Everyone placed a hand on it.
A few seconds later, Maurise felt his feet touch solid ground once more. He steadied himself and smoothly caught a stumbling Kyle. The transportation process of a Portkey was somehow even more unbearable than Apparition.
Maurise looked around and found that they had arrived in a desolate marshland. Standing in front of them were two wizards in Ministry of Magic robes, presumably there to receive the incoming guests.
After a brief registration process, one of the wizards gestured wearily. "Keep walking along this path, and over that hill, you'll see the campsite. The tent area has some open spots; just find a place to pitch your tent. And remember, no magic in front of the Muggles."
"Thank you, sir," Maurise said, nodding to the exhausted staff member. He and Kyle began walking in the direction indicated.
On the way, Kyle asked, "Did you book a tent?"
Maurise shook his head. He hadn't prepared anything.
"Then you are incredibly lucky you ran into me," Kyle said, puffing out his chest with a proud look as he patted his rucksack. "I've got a magical tent in here. I guarantee you've never seen anything like it."
The two of them crested the small hill and finally reached the campsite. Tents of all shapes, sizes, and colors blanketed the area, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Kyle gasped in awe. "This is insane. I heard there would be a hundred thousand wizards arriving here..."