'A fair price?'
Maurise chuckled. He sat down on the sofa across from Krum, grabbed a can of cola from the table, cracked it open, and took a sip.
"Not possible at the moment," he said.
Krum's brow furrowed slightly. "Why?"
Maurise leaned back against the sofa, swirling the can in his hand, his tone lazy. "I am simply not in the mood to make any broomsticks right now. Do you have any idea how many orders I have? I spent several consecutive nights pulling all-nighters just to catch up on a batch. Just looking at a broomstick makes me feel nauseous right now."
Krum's expression turned peculiar. He hadn't expected a reason like that.
In truth, Maurise wasn't lying. He wasn't hurting for money anymore, which meant he was more than happy to dictate his actions based purely on his own mood. If he wanted to do something, he would do it. If he didn't, he wouldn't. That was the most comfortable state of being.
If Krum wanted a custom-built broomstick... he would just have to wait until Maurise's mood improved.
"Just give the broom in your hand a try," Maurise said, spreading his hands. "Truth be told, if you aren't satisfied with its speed, there is nothing more I can do for you."
Krum looked down at the broomstick in his hand. "Very well. What is the price?"
"Original retail price. But there is no rush to pay until you have properly tested it out," Maurise waved a hand dismissively.
Although this particular broomstick was blazingly fast, it was equally difficult to control—at least, he personally couldn't handle it. If Krum wasn't satisfied, he would just have to return it.
For the rest of their time together, Maurise and Krum simply chatted. Although Krum appeared gloomy and brooding on the outside, he was actually quite normal to converse with. Especially when the topic shifted to Quidditch, a distinct spark would light up in his eyes.
As noon approached, Krum departed from the Ship in a Bottle. Maurise even sent him off with a can of cola. Although Krum hadn't said anything, his expression indicated he was highly intrigued by the Muggle beverage.
---
Soon, evening arrived.
Hogwarts hosted its traditional Halloween Feast, but everyone in attendance seemed entirely distracted. Eyes constantly darted toward the Goblet of Fire, which had been relocated to the front of the staff table.
Aside from Maurise, practically no one was focusing on their food. After all, the champions from the three schools were about to be selected.
"Are you not nervous?" Kyle nudged Maurise's arm, looking slightly disappointed.
Although he had proudly announced his intention to enter, he hadn't even managed to breach the Age Line in the end.
"I am perfectly fine," Maurise said, spearing a piece of roasted pumpkin with his fork.
Kyle sighed heavily. He truly... wasn't willing to let this go.
Meanwhile, at the staff table, Dumbledore was conversing in low tones with Madame Maxime. Karkaroff's fingers drummed restlessly against the tabletop, his gaze never leaving the Goblet of Fire. Ludo Bagman was beaming at the students, while Bartemius Crouch sat with his eyes closed, as if resting.
Finally, the feast drew to a close.
The food vanished from the tables, and the lights in the Great Hall appropriately dimmed, making the blue-white flames within the Goblet of Fire appear even more striking.
Dumbledore stood up, and the Great Hall instantly plunged into absolute silence.
"Well then," his voice echoed throughout the room. "The Goblet of Fire is almost ready to make its decision. I imagine you are all waiting for this exact moment. When the champions' names are called, I ask that they please come up to the front, walk along the staff table, and proceed into the adjacent room."
He pointed to a side door. "The champions will receive their preliminary instructions there."
To everyone watching, the next few moments felt agonizingly long.
Finally, the blue-white flames within the Goblet of Fire abruptly turned a fierce crimson. Maurise could sense an incredibly intense surge of magical energy emanating from the cup.
A tongue of flame shot violently upward, carrying a charred piece of parchment into the air. Dumbledore caught it neatly, unfolded it, and read the name.
"The champion for Durmstrang is... Viktor Krum!"
Krum stood up and walked toward the staff table with a dark, sullen expression—which was just his normal face. As he passed the Ravenclaw table, his gaze briefly met Maurise's. Maurise gave a small nod, and the corner of Krum's mouth twitched upward in a barely perceptible smile as he strode past.
Immediately after, another slip of parchment was expelled.
"The champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour!"
Fleur tossed her hair back and walked toward the side door with her chin held high. As she passed the Ravenclaw table, she too shot Maurise a glance.
Maurise: "..."
Why did he feel an inexplicable sense of hostility coming from her? Had he offended her somehow?
Just as he was pondering this, the Hogwarts champion was spat fresh from the Goblet.
"The champion for Hogwarts—" Dumbledore announced, his voice booming at maximum volume, "—is Maurise Black!"
"Ah. Congratulations," Kyle said sourly.
However, Maurise didn't hear him, as the words were completely drowned out by the deafening cheers of the Hogwarts students. That was the advantage of having the home crowd.
Maurise stood up and walked down the aisle between the long tables, the thunderous applause and whistling ringing in his ears. The professors were all looking at him with gratifying smiles. Even Snape managed to bare his teeth in a semblance of a smile, though it looked incredibly forced and painful.
When he reached Dumbledore, the Headmaster patted him on the shoulder and whispered, "Go on, Maurise. You are representing Hogwarts now."
Maurise nodded, turned, and headed through the side door.
He found himself in a small chamber. Portraits of various wizards lined the walls on either side, and a cozy fire crackled in the fireplace.
Fleur and Krum were standing by the hearth, looking up as Maurise entered. Fleur wore an "I knew it" expression, clearly having predicted his selection. Krum, though visibly surprised, nodded to him and offered a small, genuine smile.
Maurise walked over to Krum and said, "It seems we are opponents now, Viktor. How is the broomstick?"
"I haven't had time to test it," Krum replied simply.
'Viktor?'
Fleur narrowed her eyes as she watched the two boys converse so casually, her gaze darting back and forth between them. When had they become so familiar with each other?
"Have you two met before?" Fleur asked tentatively.
Krum shook his head. "No."
Fleur didn't say anything else. She simply adjusted her long silver hair, a subtle, complicated look crossing her face. She suddenly felt as if she had been completely isolated from the group.
Just then, the door was pushed open once more.
The person who walked in was someone none of the three champions had expected.
Harry Potter.
The moment Maurise saw Harry, he instantly realized one thing: something unexpected had occurred.
"What is it?" Fleur asked. "Do they need us back in the Hall?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, looking deeply troubled. Clearly, that wasn't it.
At that moment, the chaotic sound of numerous footsteps echoed from outside the door.
Albus Dumbledore sprinted into the room with terrifying, explosive speed, his purple robes billowing. He practically tackled Harry against the wall, grabbing the boy's shoulders like iron vises and shaking him so violently his glasses nearly flew off.
"HARRY! DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE?!" Dumbledore asked calmly.
Watching from the fireplace, Maurise's mouth twitched. If this is him being calm, I would absolutely hate to see him angry, he thought.
"No, sir!" Harry gasped in panic.
"DID YOU ASK ONE OF THE OLDER STUDENTS TO DO IT FOR YOU?!" Dumbledore continued to calmly interrogate, practically spitting in the boy's face.
"No, sir!"
"Well, of course 'e is lying!" Madame Maxime declared, squeezing her massive frame through the doorway.
"The Goblet is an exceptionally powerful object," Moody growled, limping forward. "Only a powerful Confundus Charm could have hoodwinked it! Magic way beyond a fourth-year!"
Only Ludo Bagman was entirely different. The moment he walked through the door, he rushed forward, his face flushed with uncontainable excitement.
"It's absolutely extraordinary!" His level of enthusiasm was on par with his commentary during the Quidditch World Cup final. "Nothing like this has ever happened in the history of the Triwizard Tournament! Harry Potter has been chosen as the fourth champion!"
Hearing this, Maurise thought to himself: 'Just as I suspected. Things are getting interesting.'