Sure enough, during dinner that evening, Harry and his two friends tracked down Maurise with incredibly grim expressions on their faces.
"We are certain of it now. Snape is going to make his move on the Sorcerer's Stone tonight," Harry declared in a hushed whisper. "We have to get down there and grab it before he does."
Maurise took a large bite out of his steak and kidney pie. "Did you figure out a way to get past the three-headed dog?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Harry confirmed with a firm nod. "All you have to do is play it a little bit of music. It is actually quite simple."
So, the grand heist is happening tonight, Maurise thought, chewing slowly. Things are finally about to get interesting.
"I will come with you," he offered immediately.
However, upon hearing his words, Harry firmly shook his head. "I cannot let you take that kind of risk, Maurise. Besides, we desperately need someone to keep an eye on Snape for us up here."
Hermione leaned in to elaborate. "Harry told us your Disillusionment Charm is absolutely brilliant. All we need you to do is cause a little bit of trouble for Snape when he leaves his office tonight. Make some loud noises, knock over a suit of armor... anything. Even if you only delay him for a few minutes, it could make all the difference."
"But your top priority is making sure you do not get caught," she added earnestly. "If you get caught out of bed tonight, Ravenclaw will lose any chance of winning the House Cup. You guys are tied neck and neck with Slytherin for points, right?"
Ron puffed out his chest bravely. "Leave the truly dangerous stuff to us, Maurise." His tone carried a dramatic, almost tragic weight.
And so, Maurise graciously accepted the critical mission of stalling Severus Snape.
But in his heart, he knew perfectly well he didn't have to lift a single finger. Because the person trying to steal the Stone wasn't Snape at all. It was Quirrell.
At eleven o'clock that night, judging that the timing was right, Maurise cast a flawless Disillusionment Charm over himself and slipped out of the Ravenclaw common room.
He didn't bother following Harry's plan to stake out Snape's office and cause a distraction. Instead, he moved silently and swiftly straight toward the forbidden third-floor corridor.
Stopping in front of the door that housed the three-headed dog, Maurise noticed it was slightly ajar. Without a moment's hesitation, he activated his Shadow Stealth and slipped silently inside.
The massive three-headed beast was still fast asleep in the room, a wooden harp resting by its colossal paws. Furthermore, the wooden trapdoor in the center of the floor was thrown wide open. Clearly, Harry and his friends hadn't developed the good habit of closing doors behind them.
Riding the shadows, Maurise dropped down the chute, expertly navigated past the deadly Devil's Snare, and arrived in the brightly lit chamber filled with fluttering, winged keys.
The puzzle in this room had clearly already been solved, as the heavy wooden door leading to the next challenge stood wide open.
Harry and his crew are making good time, Maurise mused, continuing his pursuit.
In the giant chessboard chamber, his magical senses picked up Ron's unconscious form sprawled across the stone floor. Slipping out of the shadows, Maurise quickly approached Ron and gave him a quick once-over. The boy was simply knocked out cold.
The cause was likely a blunt force trauma to the head, courtesy of a giant stone chess piece. Interestingly, the force of the blow had been calculated perfectly, just enough to knock Ron unconscious for a while, but not nearly enough to cause any permanent brain damage.
Next was the troll's chamber.
The monstrous mountain troll lay motionless on the floor, entirely devoid of life. It was definitely dead, most likely killed by a vicious dark curse. Undoubtedly Quirrell's handiwork.
Just as he was examining the troll's massive corpse, the frantic sound of approaching footsteps echoed loudly through the chamber.
Maurise instantly reapplied his Disillusionment Charm and pressed himself against the wall.
A moment later, Hermione sprinted out of the next doorway, brushing right past him in her panic. She was muttering under her breath like a broken record, "Dumbledore, Dumbledore, I need to find Dumbledore..."
It seemed she was rushing back to get help.
Maurise stood quietly by the doorway, waiting patiently until the sound of Hermione's footsteps faded completely into the distance before stepping into the next room.
However, his progress abruptly halted right there.
A roaring wall of purple fire had sprung up in front of him, completely blocking the path forward.
Maurise stood in front of the flames, deep in thought. He hadn't brought the necessary potion to walk through safely. Charging straight through the magical fire was obviously suicide, and his Shadow Stealth couldn't bypass solid magical barriers like this.
What now? he wondered, tapping his chin.
---
Meanwhile, in the final chamber, Harry was locked in a terrifying standoff with Quirrell.
The situation was unimaginably grim.
Although the Sorcerer's Stone had miraculously materialized inside his pants pocket and was currently pressing heavily against his thigh, Quirrell had already realized something was wrong.
No, it wasn't Quirrell anymore. Because Quirrell was currently having a conversation with him using the back of his own head.
Embedded into the back of Quirrell's skull was a ghastly, chalk-white face. It looked as if it had been carved from melting wax, with glaring red eyes and two thin slits for nostrils, resembling a deadly serpent. It was an incredibly grotesque sight.
Voldemort.
The lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead was burning with an agonizing intensity, the sheer pain making his knees buckle.
"SEIZE HIM!" Voldemort shrieked furiously.
Quirrell lunged forward like a wild animal, tackling Harry to the stone floor. He straddled the boy, his hands clamping down viciously around Harry's throat. Quirrell's entire demeanor was completely devoid of a wizard's usual reliance on magic; he fought like a rabid beast.
Just as Harry felt the air rushing from his lungs and thought he was going to die of asphyxiation, Quirrell suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. He violently ripped his hands away from Harry's neck and stumbled backward in agony.
Harry seized the opportunity to scramble backward on his hands and knees, gasping desperately for air. He stared at Quirrell in utter bewilderment.
The palms of Quirrell's hands were rapidly blistering and swelling, glowing an angry, raw red.
"Use your Killing Curse, you fool!" Voldemort roared. "I taught you better than this!"
Harry's mind raced frantically through the haze of pain. If this turned into a magical duel, he, a first-year student, had zero chance of survival.
What do I do!?
Driven by sheer desperation, Harry let out a feral roar and threw himself back at Quirrell. He had realized something crucial. He didn't understand the magic behind it, but whenever his bare skin touched Quirrell, it caused the man excruciating pain. This was his one and only chance at victory.
Quirrell had just drawn his wand, but before he could utter a single incantation, Harry latched onto his arm like a vice.
For a moment, the two of them were locked in a desperate, tangled grapple on the floor.
"Aargh!" Quirrell shrieked in agony, thrashing wildly to shake the boy off. But Harry clung to him like a determined octopus, refusing to let go.
Simultaneously, the pain radiating from Harry's scar amplified to an unbearable degree, threatening to rip his consciousness apart completely.
Hold on! Just hold on! Harry chanted mentally, fighting through the blinding agony.
However, utilizing his significant size and strength advantage, Quirrell quickly gained the upper hand, pinning Harry back down to the floor. Harry could do nothing but claw desperately at the man's neck and arms.
Right at that critical moment.
BANG!
A sickening, heavy impact echoed through the chamber. Immediately, the crushing weight holding Harry down vanished completely.
Quirrell was violently slammed from the side by an unseen force, sent flying through the air before crashing heavily into the stone wall several meters away. He slid to the floor and didn't move a muscle.
Using the very last ounce of his strength, Harry weakly lifted his head.
And then, he witnessed a sight that defied all logic and sent a profound chill straight to his bones.
Standing quietly just a short distance away, bathed in the dim light of the chamber, was a towering knight entirely encased in menacing, bone-white armor. The knight was mounted atop a grotesque, skeletal horse.
Harry opened his mouth, trying to force out a question, but his body began to tremble uncontrollably as darkness rapidly consumed the edges of his vision.
"Uh..."
With a soft groan, he finally succumbed to the pain and completely passed out.