The night's excursion had been a resounding success.
Maurise had successfully mapped out his route, and the twins had finally satisfied their burning curiosity regarding the secrets of the third-floor corridor. Most importantly, the Weasley duo had extended a formal invitation for Maurise to join their "Night-Walkers' Union," an offer he politely declined. Maurise preferred the solitude of his own shadow. Besides, he wasn't sneaking through the corridors for the mere thrill of rule-breaking; he was after the forbidden fruit of knowledge tucked away in the Restricted Section.
The twins, however, seemed remarkably uninterested in dusty old tomes. They much preferred the high-stakes sport of tormenting Filch, the long-suffering caretaker.
Time slipped by until the arrival of October 31: Halloween. This was the day for the real operation.
Hogwarts went all out for the occasion. When Maurise stepped into the Great Hall for the evening feast, the space had been transformed into a festive masterpiece. Thousands of live bats fluttered against the enchanted ceiling while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner.
The tables groaned under the weight of golden-brown pumpkin pasties, mountains of treacle tart, and enough candies to keep Madam Pomfrey busy for a semester. The air was a thick, delicious fog of cinnamon, burnt sugar, and roasting meats. Even the ghosts were more spirited than usual, diving through the platters and performing mid-air acrobatics.
Maurise took his seat at the Ravenclaw table and helped himself to a generous portion of butterscotch pudding. He had always found it slightly ironic that wizards celebrated Halloween with such gusto. In a world where skeletons and poltergeists were part of the Tuesday morning commute, a holiday dedicated to the macabre felt a bit like a busman's holiday. 'Perhaps', he mused, 'it was simply a convenient excuse to eat until one's robes felt two sizes too small.'
He didn't mind. The pudding was obscenely sweet, exactly how he liked it.
After polishing off a few biscuits, Maurise glanced toward the Gryffindor table. The Weasley twins, who had been there three minutes ago, had vanished. Meanwhile, at the High Table, Professor Snape was methodically working his way through a steak, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else.
It was time.
Maurise swallowed the last bite of pudding, dabbed his mouth with a silk napkin, and stood up. He walked toward the side exit with an air of casual indifference. The rest of the student body was far too busy competing for the last chicken leg to notice one Ravenclaw slipping away.
Once safely in the corridor, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. He didn't want to leave anything to chance, and blending into the stone walls like a human chameleon was far safer than relying on luck.
As he descended the stairs toward the dungeons, a foul stench suddenly slapped him in the face. It was a rank, wet smell that reminded him of a gym bag left in a damp cellar for three years.
"Who on earth set off a Dungbomb down here?" Maurise muttered under his breath, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
The smell was nearly enough to make him regret the pudding. Fortunately, as he neared the Potions classroom, the odor began to dissipate, replaced by the familiar scent of cold stone and vinegar.
Reaching the classroom door, Maurise cancelled the charm. Almost instantly, two shock-headed redheads peeled themselves away from the shadows of a nearby alcove.
"You took your sweet time," Fred whispered, sounding mildly peeved.
"My apologies," Maurise replied smoothly. "The butterscotch pudding made a very compelling argument for me to stay. I couldn't be rude."
"Weak," George remarked, though he was grinning. "Truly weak."
The banter died down as they moved with practiced silence into the classroom and toward Snape's private office.
The office was exactly as Maurise had envisioned it: cold, clinical, and oppressive. Rows of glass jars lined the shelves, filled with preserved bits of things that definitely shouldn't have been in jars. Stacks of parchment sat on the desk, waiting for the Professor's unforgiving red ink.
"Hey, Fred!" George hissed, pointing at the stack of homework. "I see yours. He gave you a 'Dreadful.' Want me to turn that 'D' into an 'O' for you?"
"Leave it be," Fred said, his voice dropping an octave in warning. "Let's move. I don't want to stay in this bat-cave any longer than necessary."
Maurise, meanwhile, was drifting toward the shelves. He didn't touch anything, but he observed the labels on the specimen jars. Each one was meticulously dated and categorized, likely for some ongoing experiment. Even with his advanced studies, the complexity of Snape's personal research was currently beyond him.
"We're in, Maurise," Fred called out softly.
Maurise turned to see Fred holding a heavy, rusted iron key. The trio stepped back out of the office and headed for the nearby ingredients store. Fred pressed the key into Maurise's hand.
"Listen," Fred whispered, "be quick. Once you've got the goods, put everything back exactly as you found it. If Snape decides to cut his dinner short, George and I will cause a massive distraction down the hall. Just make sure you get out the back way."
Maurise looked at the key, then at the twins. They were taking a significant risk for him. In the hierarchy of Hogwarts trouble, stealing from Snape's private stores was near the top of the list.
"Thank you both. I won't forget this," Maurise said earnestly.
"Just don't get caught," George winked. "It would ruin our perfect record."
The lock turned with a satisfying click. Maurise slipped inside, and the door closed behind him with a soft thud.
The air inside the store cupboard was thick with a thousand competing scents: some floral, some pungent, and some that smelled like old copper. It was an alchemist's dream.
"Lumos," Maurise whispered.
A steady white light ignited at the tip of his wand, illuminating rows of wooden bins and glass vials. The organization was impeccable.
"Powdered root of asphodel... valerian sprigs... Sopophorous beans..."
He moved with surgical precision. Because he was only taking small amounts, the containers still looked full to the casual observer. He carefully measured out what he needed for the Draught of Living Death and tucked the vials into his inner pockets.
The operation took less than five minutes.
He slipped out of the room, relocked the door, and met the twins at the corner. He handed the key back to Fred, who tucked it away.
"Everything go all right?" Fred asked.
Maurise nodded, feeling the rewarding weight of the vials against his chest. "Perfectly. Let's get out of here."
As they hurried back toward the main floor, George paused, tilting his head. "Did you hear that? Just after you went in, there was a massive crash from upstairs. Sounded like a wall coming down. And then... some kind of bellowing."
Maurise had heard it too, a distant, muffled roar that vibrated through the floorboards.
"Probably just some Gryffindors celebrating a bit too hard," Maurise said, waving it off. "As long as it isn't Snape coming down those stairs, I don't care. Let's get back to the Hall. I think I'm ready for a second helping of that pudding."
"Spoken like a true Marauder," the twins said in unison, and the three of them vanished into the darkness of the ascending staircase.