"Malfoy?!"
Hearing this name, everyone present was severely startled.
"What does Malfoy have to do with this?" Ron asked immediately, the matter of his dress robes entirely forgotten.
Maurise explained frankly, "Malfoy burned Kyle's tent down. Ah, right, the older Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy."
"I knew it!" Hearing Maurise's answer, Ron's face flushed bright red. "The Malfoy family was involved in this too. I have to tell Dad. Maybe he can..."
"Don't cause trouble, Ron," Fred interrupted, his tone much more serious than usual. "We do not have any concrete evidence. It will only bite us back. You know exactly what kind of connections the Malfoys have within the Ministry of Magic."
Ron opened his mouth to argue but ultimately said nothing. Thinking about it carefully, Fred was right.
"By the way, Maurise," George leaned in closer and asked, "How did you teach Lucius a lesson? Hurry up and tell us."
Everyone's eyes focused squarely on Maurise.
"Just a little spell to make someone sick," Maurise smiled.
"Make someone sick?" George pressed. "What kind of sickness?"
"The very painful kind. It will last for a while." Maurise did not go into further detail.
Fred suddenly wore an expression of deep regret and sighed. "You should have burned off his obnoxious hair."
"Excellent idea," George immediately chimed in. "And burn off Draco Malfoy's while you are at it."
The group burst into laughter, the air filling with a cheerful atmosphere.
Right at that moment, Fred suddenly stopped laughing.
"Look," he whispered, jerking his chin in a certain direction.
Maurise followed his gaze and spotted Draco Malfoy. The boy was the same as always, wearing a thoroughly arrogant expression. Flanked by his two large lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, he was making his way toward the Hogwarts Express.
Maurise debated whether he should go over and ask about Lucius Malfoy's condition. He was actually quite curious to know if his specialized curse had been broken yet.
The problem was, how would he even ask? 'Hey Draco, how is your dad doing?'
Yikes. That would definitely sound like he was intentionally picking a fight. However, since Draco was here at the station instead of at St. Mungo's or a funeral, it meant Lucius was at least still alive.
At that moment, the train's loud whistle blew.
"Time to board!" Ron yelled frantically.
The Weasley children hurriedly said their final goodbyes to their parents.
---
After boarding the train, Maurise settled into a compartment with Fred and George, just as he usually did.
Lee Jordan was there as well. He had been the first to arrive and was currently leaning back in his seat, fast asleep. His snores sputtered intermittently, and an open book rested on his lap.
Fred leaned over to take a peek and read the title of the page out loud. "Flirting with Potions! Twelve Recipes for Love Potions!"
"Whoa." George's eyes lit up upon hearing this, looking as if he had just discovered a brand new continent.
Maurise felt a surge of profound sentimentality. 'The kids are growing up.'
About five minutes after the train departed, Lee Jordan woke up. He opened his eyes to find Fred and George staring at him, sporting identical, utterly creepy smiles.
A second later, as if realizing what had happened, he frantically shoved the book on his lap behind his back.
"We already saw it, Jordan," Fred teased. "If you want to brew Amortentia, perhaps you should consult Maurise. His Potions skills are much better than ours. So tell us, which girl caught your eye?"
"You jerks!"
The boys immediately started roughhousing.
Seeing this, Maurise offered a faint smile.
Ah, to be young... Wait a minute, he probably wasn't at the age to be lamenting such things yet. Even though his combined age across two lifetimes was in his thirties, how could age be calculated like that? He was physically just a teenager right now.
As time passed, the compartment gradually quieted down. Lee Jordan went back to sleeping against his seat, his snores even louder than before.
Fred and George began tinkering with their inventions, spreading an assortment of gadgets all over the seats. There were Skiving Snackboxes, Portable Swamps, Fake Wands, and a type of miniature Dungbomb about the size of a marble.
Then, entirely unsurprisingly, the two of them accidentally set off the miniature Dungbomb.
Maurise had no choice but to seek refuge in the next compartment over, which happened to be occupied by Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Maurise, why are you here?" Hermione asked curiously. She scooped Crookshanks up onto her lap to clear half a seat for him.
Maurise sat down and let out a sigh. "Just taking a stroll."
He noticed Ron sitting opposite him, holding up an ancient looking set of dress robes and measuring them against himself. They were dark purple and adorned with moldy looking lace frills.
"Are those your dress robes?" Maurise asked.
"Yeah." Ron's mouth twitched twice. "Pretty ridiculous, aren't they?"
"I actually think they are alright," Maurise said earnestly. "A vintage aesthetic. Does that not fit the traditional wizarding style?"
Ron muttered under his breath, "I would like to see you try wearing them."
Maurise did not reply. Instead, he tugged lightly at his own collar.
The pale grey robes on his body began to shift in appearance. The fabric gradually morphed from light grey to a deep, dark purple, and a ring of frilly lace slowly sprouted around the collar and cuffs.
Within seconds, the robes he was wearing looked exactly identical to the ones in Ron's hands.
Ron fell completely silent.
He had to admit that while the robes themselves were inherently ridiculous, somehow, when worn by Maurise, they seemed quite acceptable.
'Does it really just come down to the character model? This world is so unfair!' he thought indignantly.
"It looks good on you," Hermione commented.
Harry nodded in full agreement.
"Alright, you win." Ron threw the robes in his hands down, tossing them right over Pigwidgeon's cage. "Maurise, could you help me alter mine? You just used Transfiguration, right? At least help me get rid of all this lace."
Maurise gave him a look. "You could try doing it yourself. It is quite simple. You learned Transfiguration in your first year."
"If I could do it, I wouldn't be bothering you," Ron grumbled, turning to Hermione. "What about you, Hermione? Can you do it?"
"Perhaps," Hermione said, sounding a bit uncertain. "But I definitely couldn't do it as seamlessly as that."
"Do your best, Ron," Maurise said.
"Yes, do your best, Ron," Harry echoed, his tone light and breezy.
"Transfiguration..." Ron muttered. "That is way too hard."
He took out his wand and gave the robes a few experimental flicks, but the lace frills only became even more pronounced. Eventually, he put his wand down and stared blankly at the scenery zooming past the window.
"Don't give up so quickly," Hermione scolded, her voice laced with the frustration of seeing unfulfilled potential.
Ron waved his hand dismissively. "It is fine. It is not like I have to wear them right now anyway." 'Why rush things?'
"Why do we even need dress robes this term, anyway?" Harry suddenly asked.
"There is probably going to be some sort of event, like a ball or something," Maurise said as he stood up. "I am heading back now. See you at Hogwarts."
The smell of the Dungbomb should have mostly dissipated by now.