Minister Fudge's gaze flicked curiously between Maurise and Harry. A perfectly measured expression of mild confusion settled on his face. "How exactly did you two end up traveling together?"
Before Harry could stammer out an excuse, Maurise answered smoothly. "We simply ran into each other on the Knight Bus."
Fudge nodded, seemingly satisfied with the incredibly vague explanation. He turned his attention back to the innkeeper. "I require a private parlor, Tom."
Tom the innkeeper instantly scurried out from behind the bar, his face twisted into an eager, fawning smile. "Right away, Minister! Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?"
"No, no... well, perhaps just a pot of tea," Fudge replied, turning back to the two boys. "What would you like to eat? It is entirely on me."
Harry remained completely silent, still convinced he was about to be expelled.
"A sandwich would be lovely. Thank you," Maurise requested, showing absolutely zero hesitation.
Tom quickly ushered the three of them down a narrow, dimly lit corridor and into a small, cozy private parlor furnished with a heavy wooden table, a few padded chairs, and a small, crackling fireplace.
"Please, have a seat, Harry. You too, Maurise." Fudge removed his lime-green cloak, draping it casually over the back of his chair.
Harry sat rigidly opposite the Minister. His spine was completely straight, and his hands were resting tightly on his knees, radiating nervous energy.
Maurise, on the other hand, was the picture of perfect relaxation. He slouched back into his chair and casually crossed his legs. He had already accurately deduced the exact reason Fudge was here.
As expected, the ensuing conversation revolved entirely around Harry's recent "magical incident." And, just as Maurise had predicted, Fudge did not utter a single word regarding punitive measures or expulsion.
It was glaringly obvious that the Ministry of Magic had absolutely no intention of prosecuting the famous "Boy Who Lived" over a minor domestic disturbance involving a ballooned Muggle relative.
Realizing he was completely off the hook, Harry wisely kept his mouth shut and played along.
A few minutes later, Tom bustled into the parlor carrying a heavy wooden tray. It held a steaming pot of tea, three porcelain cups, and two perfectly ordinary-looking sandwiches.
He placed the items on the table with practiced care. Just as he was preparing to quietly slip out of the room, Fudge spoke up. "Tom, Harry requires a room. He will be residing here for the remainder of the summer holidays."
Tom halted immediately, nodding enthusiastically. "Not a problem at all, Minister! Room Eleven is currently vacant."
"How incredibly fortunate," Fudge smiled warmly at Harry. "Your accommodation is sorted, Harry. I strongly advise you to remain within the confines of Diagon Alley for the rest of your vacation. It is perfectly safe and highly convenient. You are free to browse the shops, read your books, and meet up with your friends when they arrive. But please, under absolutely no circumstances are you to wander back into the Muggle world. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Minister," Harry replied, trying his absolute best to sound calm.
This was literally his ultimate dream scenario. He had avoided expulsion, and he didn't have to return to the Dursleys' miserable house for the rest of the summer. He had absolutely nothing to complain about.
Fudge looked highly satisfied with the outcome. He stood up, grabbing his cloak from the chair. "Excellent. Then it is officially settled. You are a sensible young man, Harry. Now, I must return to the Ministry. There is a mountain of paperwork waiting for my signature. Feel free to stay and enjoy your sandwiches."
Just as the Minister turned to leave, Maurise finally spoke up. "One moment, please, Minister. I have a quick question I was hoping you could answer."
Fudge paused, glancing briefly at his gold pocket watch before settling back into his chair. "Very well, Maurise. But you have exactly five minutes."
Maurise uncrossed his legs, leaning forward slightly. "Minister, what exactly is an Unspeakable?"
Fudge was visibly taken aback.
"An Unspeakable?" He frowned deeply, looking genuinely confused. "They are highly specialized researchers employed within the Ministry's Department of Mysteries. Why on earth are you asking about them?"
Harry immediately perked up, his Gryffindor curiosity flaring. This was the very first time he had ever heard the term "Unspeakable."
Maurise answered calmly. "I was recently invited to join their ranks. I simply assumed you would have been briefed on the matter, Minister."
Fudge's eyes widened to comical proportions. "You?! Invited to become an Unspeakable? I was under the impression you were merely a second-year student!"
"I will be entering my third year this September," Maurise corrected smoothly. "A Mr. Vaughan Hardy from the Department of Mysteries formally offered me a position upon graduation. I ultimately declined the offer, primarily because I have absolutely no idea what that department actually does."
Fudge stared at Maurise for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. "Maurise, unless an absolute, catastrophic emergency occurs, not even I am privy to the exact nature of the research conducted within the Department of Mysteries. As I am sure you are aware, their work is strictly classified."
Maurise was genuinely surprised by that revelation.
The Minister of Magic—the absolute highest-ranking official in the government—had no idea what one of his own departments was researching? That sounded completely absurd.
Was the Minister of Magic truly that much of a figurehead?
"What about their recruitment standards?" Maurise pressed, attacking the problem from a different angle. "You must at least possess a general understanding of the specific magical talents or qualifications they seek in a candidate."
Fudge offered a highly exasperated, helpless expression. "I honestly have no idea, my boy. That department operates entirely under its own jurisdiction."
"Well, that certainly sounds excessively mysterious," Maurise raised an eyebrow.
In truth, Fudge simply didn't care about the Department of Mysteries.
In the Minister's highly political worldview, the Department of Mysteries was essentially an ancient, entirely marginalized retirement home for eccentrics. It was filled with bizarre, anti-social wizards who were completely disconnected from the reality of governing. They never participated in policy drafting, they never submitted administrative reports, and they didn't even bother attending the daily departmental briefings.
As far as the rest of the Ministry was concerned, the department might as well not exist.
While Fudge technically possessed the executive authority to demand access to a portion of their research files, he simply felt it wasn't worth the inevitable bureaucratic headache. He had more than enough pressing political issues on his plate as it was.
"Regardless," Fudge offered Maurise a highly patronizing wink. "If you possess a genuine ambition to build a career within the Ministry, I strongly advise you to set your sights on a vastly more prominent, promising position."
"I will certainly keep that in mind," Maurise nodded politely.
If anything, Fudge's complete ignorance had only deepened Maurise's interest in the Unspeakables.
After Fudge finally departed, Maurise pulled the crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet—which he had discreetly pilfered from Stan—out of his robes. He leisurely read the articles while eating his sandwich.
When his eyes landed on the massive, moving photograph of Sirius Black again, he paused.
'Black, huh...'
Maurise took a bite of his sandwich. A small glob of mayonnaise squeezed out, landing squarely on the raving fugitive's eye.
At that exact moment, Harry's brain finally finished processing the earlier conversation.
"Wait a minute!" Harry practically leaped out of his chair, staring at Maurise in absolute shock. "You were formally recruited by the Ministry of Magic?!"
"I merely received a preliminary invitation," Maurise corrected him.
Harry honestly had no idea how to react. They were both thirteen-year-old students, yet Maurise was already receiving high-level job offers from classified government departments?
How was that even possible?
However, Harry quickly shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Maurise Black had always operated on an entirely different level of existence. Comparing himself to the boy was entirely pointless.
---
Harry Potter officially began his brand new, highly luxurious summer lifestyle.
It was, without a doubt, the single greatest vacation he had ever experienced.
Every morning, he could sleep in as late as he pleased. When he finally wandered downstairs, Tom the innkeeper always had a piping hot, delicious breakfast waiting for him. Afterward, he was completely free to stroll down Diagon Alley, browsing the magical shops for hours on end without a single care in the world.
This was exactly how a wizarding vacation was meant to be spent.
Of course, this idyllic lifestyle was entirely funded by the massive mountain of Galleons his parents had left him in Gringotts.
In the blink of an eye, over a week passed.
One early morning, as Harry descended the stairs into the pub, he spotted Maurise sitting alone at a corner table, staring blankly out the window.
Hearing Harry's footsteps, Maurise turned his head. His face bore a highly uncharacteristic look of eager anticipation.
"Good morning, Harry," Maurise greeted, his voice noticeably lighter and more energetic than usual.
"Good morning," Harry replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
Maurise didn't waste a single second on idle chatter. He immediately stood up. "Come with me, Harry. I have something truly magnificent I want to show you."