Lockhart stared blankly at the bone whip in his hand.
"Give it a try, Professor Lockhart," Maurise prompted at exactly the right moment. "You can control it entirely with your thoughts."
Lockhart instantly snapped back to reality and cleared his throat. "Of course. One glance is all it takes for a wizard of my caliber to deduce how this little trinket operates."
He feigned a relaxed demeanor and gave his wrist a casual flick. The bone whip remained completely limp and lifeless.
A suffocatingly awkward silence filled the pink office.
"Perhaps it requires a bit more focus," Maurise suggested.
"Naturally," Lockhart muttered, awkwardly swapping the whip to his other hand.
This time, the tip of the bone whip finally reared up, swaying lazily in the air. Lockhart's eyes lit up as he gradually found the rhythm.
Maurise continued his pitch. "It also has extension capabilities. As long as you supply it with enough magic, it can lengthen indefinitely. However, there is a practical limit to how much length you can consciously control."
Following the instructions, Lockhart mentally willed the bone whip to coil around a fluffy pink quill on his desk and deposit it into his free hand. Feeling emboldened, he then used the whip to lift the entire heavy desk off the floor. It was a bit shaky, but it actually worked.
"Hah! Now that is more like it!" Lockhart beamed, flashing his perfect smile.
The bone whip spun nimbly in the air before its tip gave a polite little bow.
Seeing this, Maurise nodded inwardly. The hook was set. Now, what kind of exorbitant price should he extort from this gullible fool? It was practically a given that Lockhart would buy this peculiar wand. The fraud knew absolutely nothing except Memory Charms. A magical weapon that required zero incantations, zero precise wand movements, and relied solely on intent was undeniably irresistible to him.
In truth, what Lockhart valued at this exact moment was not the whip's actual combat utility. It was simply the intoxicating feeling of being able to cast a real, tangible spell effortlessly. He had not successfully performed anything other than an Obliviate in years.
"Are you interested in keeping it, Professor?" Maurise asked smoothly. "It was imported from abroad and is incredibly rare."
Lockhart, who was currently in high spirits, paused. The whip froze mid-air. He did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. "How much, Mr. Black? This will be an excellent tool for my teaching research. And, of course, a fine addition to my personal collection."
Maurise kept a perfectly straight face. "According to Mr. Frick's strict pricing, this item is exactly one thousand Galleons. He left me absolutely no room for negotiation. Furthermore, all sales are strictly final."
"That sly old fox," Lockhart chuckled fondly. Without skipping a beat, he yanked a ridiculously bulging coin pouch from his desk drawer. "I will take it."
Maurise instantly realized he had priced it far too low.
***
Maurise strolled out of the office, tossing the heavy bag of gold in his hand.
He honestly hadn't expected Lockhart to agree so readily. Frankly, the whip wand wasn't even a truly powerful magical artifact. It was little more than a highly intricate toy. One thousand Galleons? It wasn't worth a fraction of that.
Moreover, directly engraving his Bone Summoning spell model onto a physical object came with a strict time limit. Eventually, the magic would degrade and lose its effect completely. How long exactly would it last? He couldn't say for sure. However, it would definitely hold up until the end of the school term.
And by that time, Maurise fully intended to expose all of Lockhart's despicable crimes to the public. The fraud would be rotting away in Azkaban, leaving him in no position to complain about a defective product. Heh heh heh. There was even a solid chance the man wouldn't survive until the end of the term anyway. After all, absolutely no one who took the Defense Against the Dark Arts post ever met a happy end.
The reassuring weight of the heavy coin pouch brought Maurise an immense sense of fulfillment, prompting him to hum a cheerful little tune as he walked. Perhaps he should take all his leftover defective wands and convert them into similar disposable toys to scam other rich idiots.
By the time Maurise reached the Great Hall, the lunch period was drawing to a close. The crowd had thinned out, but the atmosphere remained incredibly boisterous.
He immediately spotted the Weasley twins completely surrounded by a mob of five or six harp-strumming, winged dwarfs. The two Gryffindors were being subjected to a horrendously off-key love song.
"Oh, Fred, your eyes sparkle like freshly tossed Dungbombs..."
Or lyrics to that effect. It was actually quite entertaining.
Fred and George did not look the least bit embarrassed. On the contrary, they were grinning ear to ear, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. Finally, the cupids finished their screeching and quickly dispersed. They looked exactly like exhausted corporate drones clocking out for the day.
They probably loathed dressing up as cherubs to deliver ridiculous messages to teenagers. But alas, the employer was paying them too well. Such was the tragic fate of the working class.
Maurise sauntered over to the twins. "So, who sent you that lovely musical message?"
Fred and George let out synchronized, heavy sighs. Clearly, they weren't quite as unaffected as they had pretended to be.
Fred rubbed his temples tiredly. "Well, we can assure you it wasn't from any of the girls."
"Oh?" Maurise raised an eyebrow.
George chimed in. "Every single one of them was completely anonymous. It is highly likely they are from people we have pranked recently. A coordinated revenge plot. How else could we possibly receive over a dozen singing telegrams in a single morning?"
Maurise chuckled lightly. "Well, you two certainly are popular."
To be perfectly honest, just watching those grumpy little dwarfs deliver their messages gave him goosebumps. He was incredibly thankful he hadn't received a single valentine or singing telegram. It made sense, of course. He was only a second-year student. Even though he was somewhat tall for his age, he still looked very much like a child. He considered himself immensely lucky.
***
That afternoon.
During Potions class, Snape was currently lecturing on the intricate details of processing Boomslang skin. The entire class was listening with bated breath, entirely focused on not provoking him.
"When slicing Boomslang skin, one must strictly follow the grain of the scales. Failure to do so will result in highly unpredictable consequences. Black, stand up and answer my..."
BANG.
The heavy wooden door of the dungeon classroom was thrown violently open, slamming loudly against the stone wall. The sudden noise cut Snape off mid-sentence and instantly drew the terrified gazes of every student in the room.
A single, surly-looking dwarf stood in the doorway.
"Oh no, not again," Maurise heard his desk-mate, Kevin, whisper with a heavy sigh.
The surrounding students exchanged looks of pure dread or morbid anticipation. The dwarfs Lockhart had hired had absolutely no sense of propriety. They would brazenly barge into classrooms directly in the middle of a lecture without an ounce of hesitation. Evidently, Lockhart had completely forgotten to include "do not interrupt classes" in their job description.
Maurise watched the dwarf, idly wondering who the poor victim was this time. Before the dwarf could even open its mouth to sing, a voice cut through the dungeon like a whip.
"Get out!" Snape snarled in a dangerously low voice, snapping his wand in a violent arc.
An invisible force instantly seized the bewildered dwarf and brutally yanked it out into the corridor. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind it with a deafening crack, the lock clicking securely into place.
A few agonizing seconds later, a small, pink greeting card was forcefully shoved under the gap in the door.
Snape stalked over with long, sweeping strides. He leaned down, snatched the card off the floor, and glanced at the recipient's name with a look of pure, venomous loathing. "Let us see who exactly thinks my classroom is an appropriate venue for this nonsense."
Maurise winced internally. Someone was about to suffer a terrible fate. Who could it be?
"Black," Snape called out sharply.
Maurise froze.
With an utterly expressionless face, Snape flicked his wrist, sending the pink card sailing through the air until it landed squarely on Maurise's desk.
As the lecture resumed, Maurise cautiously flipped the card open and scanned the contents. There was only a single, hastily scribbled line of text.
"Tonight at 6:00 PM. The door to the right of the Weeping Woman portrait on the third floor. I am hosting a small gathering. Attendance is not mandatory. Signed, Robert Hilliard."