After sufficiently satisfying the group's intense curiosity regarding the Ship in a Bottle, Maurise was warmly invited to join the Weasley family for lunch at the Burrow.
As they trudged through the tall grass toward the house, Arthur sidled up next to Maurise, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "A flying ship. Now that is a truly magnificent idea. Perhaps you are already aware, but I used to own a heavily modified Muggle automobile. It was fully capable of flight and possessed numerous other fascinating magical enhancements."
Maurise cast a brief glance ahead at Ron, who was currently chatting excitedly with Harry.
"It is a tremendous pity what happened to it," Maurise noted dryly.
The vehicle in question had, of course, been completely lost to the Forbidden Forest thanks to the brilliant decision-making of Arthur's youngest son.
As a minor side note, according to strict Ministry legislation, enchanting Muggle artifacts—especially those capable of exposing the existence of magic to the non-magical populace—was highly illegal. Arthur Weasley's flying Ford Anglia was undeniably an illicit, rogue project.
Fortunately, a wooden galleon was drastically different from a modern automobile. It was not exclusively associated with Muggle technology. As long as Maurise ensured the vessel was never spotted by Muggles, he wouldn't face any legal repercussions.
"I am fully aware Ron didn't intentionally lose the car," Arthur shook his head with a heavy sigh. Then, his eyes lit up with renewed excitement. "Tell me, Maurise, where exactly did you acquire the base hull for this ship? Was it a custom commission? Truthfully, I would absolutely love to..."
Maurise had naturally constructed the ship's hull entirely by himself. For an exceptionally powerful wizard equipped with the proper raw materials and a fundamental understanding of Transfiguration, assembling the physical framework of a ship in a short timeframe was hardly an insurmountable challenge.
Just as he opened his mouth to explain this...
"Arthur!"
Molly Weasley's voice rang out from the front of the group, carrying a highly distinct, unmistakable tone of strict warning.
Arthur instantly snapped to attention, straightening his posture and attempting to look entirely innocent.
'Once bitten, twice shy.'
He had already faced severe disciplinary action and a hefty fine at work over the flying car incident. Even if modifying a wooden ship technically skirted the legal boundaries, his wife would absolutely never permit him to embark on another mechanical project.
However, Maurise always felt a strong inclination to support a man's harmless hobbies.
Waiting for the exact moment Molly diverted her attention to scold the twins for roughhousing, Maurise smoothly, imperceptibly retrieved a thick stack of blueprints from his leather briefcase and shoved them directly into Arthur's hands.
"Here is a comprehensive collection of nautical schematics. I have completely finished referencing them," Maurise whispered rapidly. "They were sourced entirely from Muggles. Their structural engineering and aerodynamic designs are vastly superior to ours. For a wizard of your caliber, reverse-engineering a vessel using these as a foundation shouldn't be terribly difficult."
"Muggle blueprints?!" Arthur gasped aloud, his eyes widening in sheer delight.
Molly's head whipped around with terrifying speed, her gaze locking onto her husband like a hawk spotting a field mouse. "Arthur Weasley? What exactly are you whispering about?"
Arthur jumped violently. He frantically shoved the blueprints behind his back, puffed out his chest, and forced a stiff, unnatural smile. "I didn't say a single word, my dear!"
"Is that so?" Molly narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Her tone grew deadly serious. "Do not even consider engaging in any more dangerous, illegal tinkering, Arthur. That wretched flying car not only resulted in a severe official reprimand from the Ministry, but it also very nearly cost Harry and Ron their lives!"
Arthur mumbled a meek, highly guilty apology.
Walking beside Molly, Ron awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, his ears burning a vibrant red. 'The true culprit is standing right here.'
At that moment, the twins, who had been wrestling mere seconds ago, suddenly materialized silently on either side of their father.
"Do not lose hope, Dad," Fred whispered with a wicked grin. "If you ever decide to secretly construct a flying galleon, George and I are fully prepared to offer our absolute support."
Arthur shook his head sadly. "Let it go, Fred."
Fred and George exchanged a knowing look and smiled faintly, electing not to push the matter further. They knew their father perfectly well. He was an absolute fanatic when it came to Muggle artifacts. It was only a matter of time before he caved to the temptation.
---
A few minutes later, the group finally arrived at the front door of the Burrow.
Maurise finally had the opportunity to properly examine the architecture of the famous residence.
It looked exactly as though several distinct, mismatched wooden cabins had been haphazardly stacked on top of one another. The entire structure leaned precariously to one side, looking incredibly unstable and highly unsafe.
Apparently, this chaotic, gravity-defying architectural style was quite popular among wizarding families. Maurise had observed several similarly crooked buildings leaning over the narrow streets of Diagon Alley.
In addition to the main house, the property boasted a ramshackle garage and a sprawling, unkempt back garden.
"Please, come in," Arthur pushed open the heavy wooden front door, stepping aside to allow Maurise to enter first. "I apologize in advance. It is likely going to feel quite cramped."
Maurise stepped over the threshold.
The ground floor appeared to be a chaotic amalgamation of a living room, a kitchen, and a dining area all rolled into one. While the actual square footage wasn't small, every available inch of space was absolutely crammed with mismatched furniture, piles of books, and various magical knick-knacks.
The air was thick with the rich, comforting scent of cooking food and the undeniable, vibrant energy of a bustling, lively family. It was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile atmosphere of Frick's shop in Knockturn Alley.
As the Weasleys filed into the house one by one, a highly peculiar clock resting on the mantelpiece instantly captured Maurise's full attention.
The clock possessed nine separate hands, each engraved with the name of a different family member. The moment Ron stepped through the front door, the hand bearing his name smoothly rotated from "Traveling" to "Home."
"What an incredibly ingenious piece of enchanting," Maurise praised, stepping closer to examine the clock face. "It accurately displays geographical location and tracks individual status conditions. Who was the artificer behind this?"
Ron, currently busy wrestling his jacket onto a crowded coat rack, glanced over. "Oh, that old thing? My dad built it."
Hearing the praise, Arthur puffed out his chest, a look of immense, beaming pride spreading across his face as he walked over to Maurise.
"Ah, yes," Arthur nodded. "I did indeed enchant it myself. The primary motivation was that two of my children possess an extraordinary talent for spontaneously vanishing without a trace."
'I wonder which two he could possibly mean,' Maurise thought dryly. He didn't even need to guess.
"What specific magical matrix did you utilize?" Maurise asked, his academic curiosity burning. "Would you mind explaining the underlying theory?"
"Not at all, my boy! If you are genuinely interested, I would be delighted."
For the next fifteen minutes, Arthur enthusiastically broke down the core principles and arithmancy behind the clock's enchantment.
The underlying spellcraft wasn't actually overly complex. It relied on a highly specific, ancient branch of sympathetic magic.
However, there was one massive, insurmountable catch: casting the spell required a deep, biological blood-tie to the individuals being tracked.
'Well, that entirely ruins it for me,' Maurise thought, mildly disappointed. He was forced to immediately abandon his plan to construct a replica clock for his own base.
While they were deep in their theoretical discussion, Ron led Harry upstairs to his bedroom, while Ginny and Percy retreated to their respective spaces.
"Maurise, dear, please have some tea," Molly bustled over carrying a heavy wooden tray laden with steaming teacups and a massive plate of freshly baked biscuits. "I sincerely hope you don't find our home too terribly cramped. With so many people under one roof..."
"Not at all, Mrs. Weasley," Maurise accepted a teacup, his tone perfectly polite and sincere.
"That is wonderful to hear." Molly suddenly paused, a look of deep concern crossing her face. "By the way, Maurise, where exactly are you residing for the summer? Fred and George claimed you were living in Knockturn Alley. Those two little terrors are always fabricating such horrible, tasteless jokes."
"They were entirely truthful," Maurise admitted candidly. "I am currently residing in Knockturn Alley."
The warm, welcoming atmosphere instantly vanished. Molly tensed visibly, and Arthur shot him a look of sharp, sudden alarm.
Knockturn Alley was universally recognized as a wretched hive of dark magic and criminal activity. It was absolutely no place for a child.
"We told you so, Mum!" George shouted from across the room, grinning triumphantly. "Fred and I never lie about the important stuff!"
Molly completely ignored her son.
"Is this actually true?" She sat down heavily on the sofa right next to Maurise, staring at him with profound, maternal worry. "Knockturn Alley is an incredibly dangerous, unsavory place, dear. How on earth did you end up..."
'This entire family is genuinely far too kind-hearted,' Maurise noted inwardly.
"It is the absolute truth, Mrs. Weasley," Maurise reassured her smoothly. "But please, do not worry yourself. Professor Dumbledore is fully aware of my living arrangements, and he personally approved them. I am perfectly safe."
'Dumbledore.'
The mere mention of the Headmaster's name acted like a potent calming charm. Both Molly and Arthur visibly relaxed, though a lingering trace of deep concern remained in their eyes.
At that exact moment, the frantic flapping of wings echoed from outside the kitchen window.