"Scabbers!"
Ron let out a terrified screech the exact moment he stepped off the bottom stair. His face drained of all color, and he practically threw himself across the living room. "Do not eat him!"
Tin landed on the floorboards with flawless, silent grace. Halting right in front of Ron's boots, the undead cat gently opened its jaws, dropping the paralyzed, trembling rat completely unharmed.
"Calm down, Ron," Maurise's voice drifted casually from the sofa. "Your rat is not on Tin's dietary menu."
Ron scrambled to his knees, frantically scooping the shivering, traumatized Scabbers into his cupped hands.
He shot the tiny black cat a deeply suspicious, highly paranoid glare before turning to Maurise. "Since when does a cat refuse to eat a rat?"
"My cat technically doesn't require physical sustenance of any kind," Maurise shrugged. "However, it does occasionally enjoy sampling high-end pastries and Fizzing Whizzbees."
"Ha!" Fred barked a loud, highly amused laugh. "Well, that dietary preference certainly matches its owner."
Maurise offered a polite, knowing smile.
While Tin was entirely an undead construct, it occasionally exhibited bizarre, lingering biological habits, like eating sweets. The truly baffling part, however, was that the cat never produced any subsequent waste.
'Magic is truly a bizarre phenomenon,' Maurise mused.
Despite Maurise's reassurances, Ron remained utterly unconvinced.
"I don't trust it for a second," Ron muttered darkly, pressing Scabbers securely against his chest. "A cat is a cat. Even if it doesn't want to eat him right this minute, what happens if it suddenly decides it fancies a change of pace tomorrow? I am taking Scabbers back upstairs. It is vastly safer up there."
Ron stomped heavily up the wooden stairs, vanishing around the corner.
Tin, entirely unfazed by the dramatic exit, hopped lightly onto Maurise's lap, curled into a tight, comfortable ball, and let out a few soft, rhythmic meows.
"Are you implying that the rat isn't actually an ordinary rat?" Maurise translated idly, scratching behind the cat's ears.
Tin offered a single, firm nod.
"Is that so?" Maurise sounded completely uninterested. "Perhaps. It is a magical pet, after all. Who knows what bizarre crossbreeding it has undergone."
Honestly, even if Ron had been keeping a bright yellow, electricity-discharging rodent as a pet, Maurise wouldn't have batted an eyelash.
Sensing its master's profound lack of interest in the rat's true identity, Tin closed its eyes and went back to sleep.
"Lunch is ready, everyone!" Molly's cheerful voice echoed from the kitchen.
---
Following a hearty, chaotic lunch, the twins enthusiastically dragged Maurise outside to the garden to officially present their latest prototype inventions.
They showcased their significantly expanded line of Skiving Snackboxes, which now included several highly creative, deeply unpleasant new symptoms.
They also demonstrated their Fake Wands. They looked completely indistinguishable from standard Ollivander wands, but the exact instant the user attempted to cast a spell, the wand would abruptly transfigure into a rubber chicken or a brightly colored woolen sock.
However, the invention that genuinely captured Maurise's academic interest was a highly ambitious, incomplete project titled the "Portable Swamp."
According to the twins' grand vision, the Portable Swamp was intended to instantaneously deploy a massive, impassable tract of treacherous marshland, complete with croaking frogs, stinging nettles, and waist-deep muck.
Unfortunately, the current prototype was severely lacking. It merely generated a tiny, highly pathetic puddle of sticky, suspiciously colored mud that evaporated completely after a few dismal seconds.
Maurise examined the runic schematics and offered a highly practical, devastatingly effective suggestion: simply pack the core matrix with a compressed cluster of Dungbombs to maximize the area of effect and psychological damage.
The twins accepted the brilliant advice with absolute, shining enthusiasm.
---
Mid-afternoon, Arthur Weasley returned home via the Floo Network. He had been forced to make a brief trip to the Ministry to tackle the massive mountain of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts reports that had accumulated during his Egyptian holiday.
When he stepped out of the fireplace, his expression was incredibly grave. He immediately located Maurise and quietly led him out to the back garden, away from Molly and the children.
"Is something the matter, Mr. Weasley?" Maurise asked, noticing the man's intense, anxious demeanor.
Arthur looked around carefully before leaning in. "Maurise, I just received highly classified intelligence at the Ministry. Is Harry Potter currently residing at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"He is," Maurise confirmed.
"Then why on earth did you bring him here? Don't misunderstand me, you are both always welcome at the Burrow, but this is an incredibly sensitive, highly dangerous period." Arthur lowered his voice to a frantic whisper. "Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban for one singular purpose. He is actively hunting Harry!"
"I was not aware of that specific detail," Maurise noted calmly.
However, applying basic logic, it made perfect sense.
Sirius Black was allegedly Voldemort's most fanatical, high-ranking lieutenant. Harry Potter was the legendary boy who had single-handedly destroyed the Dark Lord.
Breaking out of the most secure, heavily guarded magical prison on earth strictly to exact vengeance on his fallen master's vanquisher... it was a highly logical, deeply poetic motivation.
'If that is truly the case, Sirius Black is an incredibly loyal, highly commendable subordinate,' Maurise thought. 'If I were Voldemort, I would be deeply moved by such unwavering devotion.'
"We must escort Harry back to the Leaky Cauldron immediately. It is the absolute only location where he is under the direct, constant surveillance and protection of Ministry Aurors," Arthur stated, his tone brooking no argument.
"Leave it to me, Mr. Weasley. Please, put your mind at ease," Maurise replied with total serenity. "My vessel is practically a flying fortress. Unless Sirius Black has somehow mastered the art of unassisted human flight, he has absolutely no chance of intercepting us in the upper atmosphere."
Arthur nodded slowly, though his eyes remained tight with worry. "You must inform Harry of this immediately. He needs to fully comprehend the severe, immediate danger he is currently facing."
---
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, purple shadows across the Burrow, Maurise and Harry boarded the Ship in a Bottle and silently ascended into the evening sky.
Maurise stood near the railing of the main deck, gazing up at the emerging tapestry of stars. He let the cool, high-altitude winds whip freely through his increasingly unruly, unkempt dark hair.
"Maurise, I have a logistical question," Harry spoke up suddenly from beside him. "If this entire vessel is completely enclosed within a solid glass bottle, how exactly are we feeling the wind on our faces?"
"An excellent question, Harry."
Maurise leaned comfortably against the polished wooden railing. "In reality, the interior of this bottle is a completely sealed, airtight vacuum. The physical sensation of the wind, as well as the breathable oxygen we are currently inhaling, are actively and continuously being siphoned from the exterior atmosphere and magically transferred inside via a highly complex array of spatial runic matrices."
"Transferred?"
Harry's confusion only deepened.
Maurise nodded. "Precisely."
He paused, glancing over at Harry. "Would you like me to provide a comprehensive, step-by-step breakdown of the underlying arithmancy? It involves a significant amount of advanced theoretical physics and highly complex spatial geometry."
Harry violently shook his head. "Er... no thank you. I am perfectly fine not knowing."
Maurise's academic lectures were notoriously dense, profoundly dry, and nearly impossible for an ordinary wizard to follow. Harry had absolutely zero desire to subject himself to a two-hour dissertation on runic physics.
Even though he didn't fully grasp the mechanics, he knew it had to be a staggeringly complex, highly advanced piece of magic.
"Where exactly are we heading now?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject.
"We are returning to the deserted island," Maurise replied. "Despite the advanced concealment wards etched into the glass, I cannot simply parallel park a colossal floating bottle in the middle of a crowded London street."
He desperately wanted to develop a highly stable, advanced Shrinking Charm specifically for the Ship in a Bottle. If he could successfully compress the vessel down to the size of an actual glass bottle, he could simply carry his secret base in his pocket.
Unfortunately, applying spatial compression magic to an object already heavily subjected to interior spatial expansion magic was incredibly volatile. He hadn't managed to solve the arithmancy yet.
During the remainder of the flight, Harry remained highly unusually quiet, opening his mouth several times before abruptly shutting it.
Noticing the obvious anxiety, Maurise addressed the elephant in the room. "Are you genuinely terrified of Sirius Black?"
Harry remained silent for several long seconds before answering in a low, tight voice. "I suppose I am."
He had already been fully briefed by Mr. Weasley regarding the mass murderer's specific vendetta against him.
"Well, you can rest assured that you are entirely safe while aboard my vessel," Maurise stated calmly, his voice completely devoid of bravado. "Even if Black somehow managed to launch an assault, I possess more than enough magical capability to entirely neutralize the threat and protect you."
He spoke with such absolute, unwavering certainty that it sounded exactly like a dry statement of scientific fact.
'What an incredibly terrifying, endlessly confident person,' Harry thought.
Looking into Maurise's piercing, utterly unfazed silver-grey eyes, Harry felt a massive wave of his anxiety naturally recede.
He honestly wondered if he would ever be able to attain that level of absolute, unshakable self-assurance.
Soon after, the Ship in a Bottle touched down flawlessly on the rocky shores of the deserted island.
After disembarking and sealing the vessel, Maurise securely grabbed Harry's arm and executed a flawless Apparition, instantly returning them to the bustling, cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.
The magical shopping district was still teeming with life under the glow of the gas lamps.
Harry stumbled slightly as they reintegrated into the physical space, his stomach still rebelling against the harsh, squeezing sensation of Apparition.
"This way," Maurise instructed smoothly, steering Harry through the dense crowd toward the familiar, welcoming brick facade of the Leaky Cauldron.
Tin practically glided through the forest of walking legs, completely unnoticed by the distracted shoppers.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door of the pub, Harry finally let out a massive, shuddering sigh of relief.