Following Dumbledore's sudden suspension, the position of Acting Headmistress naturally fell onto the shoulders of Professor McGonagall—she was the Deputy Headmistress, after all.
Surprisingly, this monumental shift in leadership caused absolutely no disruption to the daily operations of Hogwarts. Everyone attended their scheduled classes, and the holidays proceeded exactly as planned.
The only palpable difference was the sudden, suffocating wave of panic that once again permeated the castle walls.
Without Dumbledore's towering presence to anchor them, the students' sense of security plummeted drastically.
Amidst the fear, a highly questionable rumor suddenly began circulating among the student body: Severus Snape was poised to become the next permanent Headmaster. Merlin only knew who had started that particular piece of gossip.
During a highly advanced Potions consultation with the Head of House, Maurise casually brought it up. "Professor, are you actually going to replace Dumbledore as the Headmaster of Hogwarts?"
Snape's lips twitched into an almost imperceptible, mocking smile. "Focus on your brewing, Black, and kindly refrain from concerning yourself with such mindless drivel."
Maurise immediately declared his unwavering loyalty. If his Potions professor was genuinely planning a coup to seize the Headmaster's office, he would be the first to formally support the regime change.
Snape merely stared at him with a chilling, utterly unreadable smile.
***
The Easter holidays arrived amidst this incredibly tense and delicate atmosphere.
At Hogwarts, the Easter break was relatively generous, lasting nearly two full weeks.
On the second day of the holidays, while Maurise was casually grilling Tom Riddle on advanced magical theory, the diary once again demanded magical sustenance—specifically requesting it in the form of human blood.
Maurise, entirely unbothered, simply tossed another Gap Energy Crystal onto the pages.
He honestly had no idea if the crystal would be enough to appease the demanding entity this time. He strongly suspected that Tom's patience was wearing dangerously thin.
Unsurprisingly, following that incident, Tom's responses to his academic queries became noticeably brief and perfunctory. The previously manufactured, sickly-sweet affection was entirely gone.
Finally, late one evening near the end of the holidays, Tom proactively brought up the subject of the Chamber of Secrets.
"Mark, have you ever heard the legend of the Chamber of Secrets?"
Maurise smiled lazily. "Never heard of it, and I couldn't care less."
The notebook fell completely silent.
It took so incredibly long for a response that Maurise genuinely assumed Tom had given up for the night. Finally, new ink slowly bled onto the page.
"Do not lie to me, Mark. I am not entirely blind to the events occurring outside this diary. You are a Muggle-born wizard, are you not? Are you not terrified of becoming the Heir's next victim? I am deeply concerned for your safety. After all, it is incredibly rare to find someone with an intellect equal to my own. I would hate to see anything unfortunate happen to you."
Reading that desperate, overly dramatic paragraph, a single thought crossed Maurise's mind.
'He is getting desperate.'
Leaning his chin on his hand, Maurise casually scribbled his response. "Don't worry about me. I am not scared of anything."
Inside the diary, Tom was utterly baffled. 'Why exactly is this boy completely incapable of reacting normally?'
Tom: "Very well. I wish you the best of luck. I am quite exhausted and require rest."
Following that brief exchange, the diary went completely dead. No matter what complex questions Maurise wrote down, the entity refused to respond.
'Well, it seems my free tutoring subscription has officially expired.' And it appeared he couldn't renew it either.
What a pity.
It was probably time to start brainstorming a method to forcibly extract the exact location of the Chamber of Secrets from Tom. He was still incredibly interested in the hidden chamber and the mythical Basilisk.
However, for the time being, getting a solid eight hours of sleep was vastly more important.
Maurise snapped the notebook shut, shoved it unceremoniously into his desk drawer, and climbed into bed. He drifted off to sleep almost instantly.
***
But Tom Riddle was certainly not resting.
Roughly an hour after Maurise's breathing had evened out, a nearly transparent, spectral figure began oozing out from the cracks of the wooden desk drawer. The phantom silently coalesced in the darkness of the dormitory, emitting a faint, eerie glow.
He appeared to be a young man, roughly seventeen or eighteen years old. He was tall, striking, and incredibly handsome, though his dark eyes were completely dead and utterly devoid of human warmth.
Lord Voldemort.
Or rather, the memory of Tom Riddle.
Hovering a few inches off the floor, Tom directed his cold gaze toward the sleeping form of Maurise. Slowly, he raised a spectral hand toward the boy.
However, a few seconds later, his brow furrowed deeply, and he abruptly lowered his hand.
For some inexplicable reason, staring at this completely defenseless, sleeping teenager filled him with an overwhelming, instinctual sense of dread.
Was it merely a paranoid illusion?
Tom shook his head slowly, dragging his gaze away from Maurise and focusing entirely on the desk drawer containing his physical anchor.
He raised his hand and made a sharp, beckoning gesture.
The wooden drawer slid open without making a single sound. The black notebook holding his fractured soul levitated out, stopping smoothly in mid-air directly in front of him.
It was time to leave.
Maintaining this spectral form was draining his magical reserves at an alarming rate. He couldn't sustain it for much longer.
With an expressionless face, Tom drifted smoothly toward the heavy dormitory door, phasing straight through the solid oak like a ghost. The levitating diary simultaneously shrank in size, slipping effortlessly underneath the narrow gap beneath the door.
The dormitory was plunged back into complete silence.
Roughly thirty seconds later.
In the bed, Maurise's eyes snapped open. Simultaneously, the skeletal dog sleeping at the foot of the bed raised its skull.
"Alright, Tin, come here. It seems we are going to have an incredibly entertaining night."
A wide, dangerous grin spread across Maurise's face as he swung his legs out of bed. Tin hopped silently onto the floor beside him.
In truth, Maurise had monitored the entire spectral performance.
Tom had undoubtedly relied on the immense magical power stored within the two Gap Energy Crystals to pull off that little escape act. He had to admit, the teenage Dark Lord was quite resourceful. If Maurise hadn't been highly attuned to the subtle magical fluctuations emanating from the diary, he likely would have slept right through the entire ordeal.
Scooping up Tin, Maurise cast his Umbral Walk spell, melting seamlessly into the darkness of the room.
He slipped out of the dormitory and glided silently through the Ravenclaw common room. Through his magical senses, he could clearly track the diary moving rapidly through the corridors.
The diary flew, and Maurise shadowed it perfectly.
Finally, in a long corridor connecting the main castle to the North Tower, the notebook seemingly ran out of magical propulsion. It dropped out of the air and hit the stone floor with a soft thud.
Simultaneously, a figure could be seen strolling leisurely down the exact same corridor.
Maurise instantly halted his pursuit, blending perfectly into the shadows to observe the unfolding scene. Based on the man's distinct silhouette and gait, Maurise immediately identified him as Gilderoy Lockhart.
Yes, Lockhart.
Merlin only knew what the fraudulent professor was doing wandering the corridors so late at night.
Lockhart, entirely oblivious to his surroundings, stepped directly onto the fallen notebook. He slipped violently, nearly crashing onto the hard stone floor, stumbling wildly for several paces before finally regaining his balance.
Maurise was speechless. What an unbelievably unlucky fool.
Having caught his breath, Lockhart bent down and picked up the black notebook. He dusted it off, shaking his head as he flipped through the blank pages.
Observing this, Maurise formulated a highly educated guess regarding the diary's ultimate goal. Tom had likely realized that manipulating Maurise was impossible, so he decided to physically relocate and acquire a new host.
But why Lockhart, of all people? Did the Dark Lord sense some hidden potential in the fraud?
In reality, Maurise was giving Tom far too much credit.
Tom was currently incredibly frustrated. How was he supposed to know some idiot would be aimlessly wandering the freezing corridors in the middle of the night?
However, it ultimately didn't matter. As long as the victim possessed a steady supply of magic and could be easily manipulated, the host's actual identity was entirely irrelevant. He could possess a literal pig if he had to.