As July dawned, Maurice's routine settled into a familiar rhythm.
One ordinary morning, he walked into the parlor, picking up the Daily Prophet from the table. He skimmed to the back pages, searching for Rita Skeeter's article on the Phantom.
He read it with considerable amusement.
It was classic Skeeter—a masterclass in hyperbole. She didn't just praise the broom; she described it with such extravagant rhetoric that one might think Maurice had invented a spacecraft capable of interstellar travel, rather than a wooden stick meant for flying.
The article called it an "epoch-making invention destined for the history books."
"Clever," Maurice murmured, shaking his head.
He saw right through her tactic. It was a classic 'build them up to tear them down' strategy. By setting expectations astronomically high, she ensured that any minor flaw would cause a massive public backlash when the broom failed to meet the impossible standard.
Fortunately, the Phantom could handle the scrutiny. As long as the article drew attention, he wouldn't have to worry about sales.
Speaking of which, it had been days since he delivered the first batch to Madam Lawson. He wondered how the inventory was holding up.
Just then, Cinder swooped into the parlor, a letter clamped in his beak.
Right on cue.
Maurice took the letter. It was indeed from Madam Lawson. He broke the seal and unfolded the crisp parchment.
The message was brief: she requested his presence at Quality Quidditch Supplies that afternoon. She had good news.
Good news? That could only mean one thing regarding the brooms. And what could improve one's mood more than the prospect of shiny, clinking Galleons?
Humming softly, Maurice folded the letter and set it aside.
---
That afternoon, Maurice arrived outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, his enchanted briefcase in hand.
The young clerk spotted him through the window and practically burst through the door, a smile wide enough to rival the July sun.
"Mr. Black!" he shouted across the cobblestones. "The Phantom is brilliant!"
Maurice nodded. "Thank you. Is Madam Lawson inside?"
"Right in there." The clerk stepped aside to let him pass.
Maurice walked in. A quick glance at the front display window revealed that the prime spot—formerly occupied by the Firebolt—now held a Phantom. However, a closer look confirmed it was merely a display model, not a functional broom.
Inside, Madam Lawson appeared in high spirits. She was busy rearranging a shelf—even the owner participated in the shop's daily upkeep.
Hearing his footsteps, she looked up, her smile widening. "Ah, Mr. Black. I see you received my letter. I've just put the kettle on."
Maurice approached the counter and set his briefcase down. "How is the situation?" he asked, referring to his merchandise.
Madam Lawson moved behind the counter and poured two steaming cups of black tea. "The entire first batch is gone. Most customers bought one on the spot after a test flight. I even received orders from two local Quidditch teams this morning."
Maurice nodded. "I cannot supply volume of that magnitude. Twenty brooms a week is my absolute maximum."
Sales had vastly exceeded his expectations. He could force himself to produce more, but he had no desire to monopolize his time with manual labor. He built brooms for profit, and his current output comfortably covered his living expenses and research costs. The Phantom was priced higher than a Firebolt, yet its manufacturing cost was practically nonexistent. The profit margin was staggering.
Madam Lawson hesitated. "Is there truly no way to increase production?"
Before Maurice could answer, a booming voice echoed from the doorway.
"Madam Lawson! Are you in?"
A burly man in vibrant yellow robes strode into the shop.
"Mr. Bagman?" Madam Lawson looked surprised, setting down her teacup. "What brings you here? I thought you were entirely occupied with the Quidditch World Cup."
Maurice recognized the man. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the designated commentator for the upcoming World Cup. He had been featured prominently in the Prophet lately.
"Occupied is an understatement! I'm rushed off my feet!" Ludo laughed heartily, drawing the attention of several browsing customers. He leaned casually against the counter. "So, Madam Lawson, have you reconsidered my proposal?"
Madam Lawson shot a quick glance at Maurice before performing introductions. "This is Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
"I am aware. Good afternoon," Maurice said politely.
Since Ludo clearly didn't recognize him, Madam Lawson clarified, "Mr. Black is the designer of the new broom."
"The broom?" Ludo paused, his eyes widening. "You mean the Phantom...?"
"Precisely," Madam Lawson said.
Ludo scrutinized Maurice, his expression turning a bit skeptical. The age factor, Maurice presumed.
"Mr. Black," Ludo said, his surprise evident. "You are much younger than I anticipated."
Maurice offered a polite smile.
Ludo quickly refocused on Madam Lawson, his tone enthusiastic. "Back to business, Madam Lawson. What about my proposal?"
Madam Lawson's reply was instantaneous and firm. "I have told you multiple times, Bagman. I will not participate in your betting pools."
'Betting pools?'
Maurice felt a flicker of surprise. Did the Ministry allow its department heads to run gambling rings? Not that it mattered to him; he had zero interest in gambling.
Ludo sighed dramatically but maintained his jovial demeanor. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
"I will," Madam Lawson said dryly. "Surely you didn't come all this way just to ask that."
"Of course not," Ludo replied brightly. "I came to test fly this new broom. I want to see if it truly outpaces a Firebolt." He winked at Maurice.
Madam Lawson spread her hands apologetically. "Unfortunate timing. I sold the last one yesterday afternoon."
"Sold out? Not a single one left?"
"Not a single one." She pointed to the display window. "Only the model. Care to take that for a spin?"
Ludo's mouth twitched. "I'll pass."
"It's quite alright," Maurice interjected, patting his briefcase. "I brought the next shipment."
---
Maurice concluded that Ludo Bagman was a highly pragmatic individual.
Initially, Bagman had likely assumed the Phantom was overhyped nonsense. However, after a personal test flight, his attitude underwent a complete reversal. His enthusiasm skyrocketed.
Leaving the testing pitch, Bagman slung a heavy arm around Maurice's shoulders, treating him like a long-lost brother.
"My boy, do you know? I've flown for decades, and I've never felt anything like that! The speed! I guarantee you, you're going to be famous! By the way, care to place a wager in my betting pool?"
"Er, no thank you."
Why did every conversation with the man inevitably circle back to gambling?
Before Maurice finally managed to extract himself, Ludo aggressively shoved a ticket for the Quidditch World Cup into his hand.