Fleur's demeanor was exceedingly frigid, but Maurise was entirely unaffected by her attitude.
Thinking about it logically, it truly had nothing to do with him. He was merely curious.
Mixed-bloods were a rarity within the wizarding community. So far, the only ones he knew were Hagrid and Professor Flitwick. However, Fleur's lack of a direct denial likely proved his assessment was correct.
Fleur Delacour was undoubtedly a witch with Veela heritage.
He nodded and said, "Very well, Miss Delacour. I mean no offense. I merely wanted to point out that while you may be trying your best to suppress your abilities, they are still having a slight effect on me."
Having said his piece, he returned his attention to the delicious food in front of him. Getting a good meal took priority.
Fleur, however, furrowed her brow tightly. She set down her soup spoon and scrutinized Maurise. "A slight effect? Whatever do you mean?"
"The inherent Veela allure, of course," Maurise answered without even looking up. "A mental manipulation magic primarily targeting human males... I assume I do not need to explain further. Do not bother denying it. I am extremely sensitive to these things. You cannot fool me."
'Sensitive?'
Fleur actually felt that Maurise was completely unaffected. She knew perfectly well that boys his age usually couldn't even string a coherent sentence together when faced with her, yet Maurise remained unfathomably calm.
She suddenly found herself deeply intrigued by this peculiar student.
Seeing that the two hadn't broken out into an argument, Kyle finally let out a sigh of relief. He had already prepared for the worst: if Fleur threw her bouillabaisse in Maurise's face, he was ready to immediately cast Scourgify. Look, he even had his wand out and ready!
However...
"Is she really a Veela?" Kyle asked Maurise, keeping his voice so low only the two of them could hear.
"Without a doubt," Maurise replied succinctly.
Kyle looked thoughtful.
---
After the feast concluded, Dumbledore stood up and introduced the two men sitting beside him at the staff table.
"This is Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. And this is Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
The students offered a lukewarm round of applause.
Maurise was already acquainted with Ludo Bagman. Bartemius Crouch appeared to be a rigid, inflexible old man, perfectly fitting Maurise's stereotypical image of a Ministry bureaucrat.
"Over the next few months, Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman will join Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and myself to form the judging panel," Dumbledore announced. He then gestured to the side. "Mr. Filch, if you would please bring out the casket."
Filch immediately slinked forward, carrying a wooden casket, which he placed gently on the table in front of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore tapped the casket lightly with his wand. It opened to reveal a rather ordinary, somewhat battered wooden cup. Inside, dancing and crackling, were chilling blue-white flames.
"This is the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore declared. "Any student who wishes to submit themselves as a champion need only write their name and school upon a piece of parchment and drop it into the flames. The Goblet will then select the most worthy candidate. However, I must warn you all: once chosen as a champion, you are obligated to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract."
Maurise glanced around and saw that everyone was staring at the Goblet with tense anticipation. Fleur was no exception; in fact, she seemed particularly focused.
"Later tonight, the Goblet of Fire will be placed in the entrance hall." Dumbledore surveyed the eager students and continued, "To ensure that only qualified students participate in this highly perilous challenge, I will personally draw an Age Line around the Goblet. Students seventeen and older may cross it freely. As for those under seventeen..."
Maurise noticed Dumbledore shoot a subtle glance in his direction.
"...As long as you can cross the Age Line, the Goblet of Fire will not reject anyone it deems worthy."
The moment the words left his mouth, a wave of irrepressible whispers swept through the Great Hall.
Maurise stroked his chin, feeling slightly surprised. He hadn't expected the champions to be chosen in this manner.
A cup?
It was somewhat novel, he supposed. But if the Goblet didn't choose him, then no matter how powerful his magic was, it would be useless.
'Oh well, I will leave it to fate,' he decided. It wasn't as if he absolutely had to compete.
Suddenly, Maurise felt a sharp gaze fixed upon him. Fleur had turned her head and was staring directly at him.
"Do you meet the age requirement?" she asked, initiating the conversation this time.
Maurise shrugged and tossed back a breezy, "Take a guess."
If the only obstacle was an Age Line, even one drawn by Dumbledore himself, he was entirely confident he could bypass it. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Fleur that.
Fleur gave a cold huff and muttered something in French. "Arrogant fellow."
Maurise didn't understand French, but he had a strong feeling it wasn't a friendly compliment. It didn't matter either way.
---
The next morning, Maurise headed to the Great Hall earlier than usual.
As he stepped into the entrance hall, he found a crowd had already gathered. Just as Dumbledore had promised, the Goblet of Fire sat in the center of the room. A glowing golden Age Line encircled it on the floor, distinctly conspicuous.
Maurise decided to grab breakfast in the Great Hall first and submit his name later.
Just then, a group of Durmstrang students appeared at the entrance. They were all wearing their blood-red school robes. Under Karkaroff's watchful eye, they approached the Goblet of Fire one by one.
Maurise stopped, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. He wanted to see what methods the underage students would use to bypass the line.
Unfortunately, things did not go as he hoped. The Durmstrang students all seemed to meet the age requirement, or perhaps they had already been pre-screened. The golden line didn't hinder a single one of them.
How boring.
Maurise popped a pear drop into his mouth. At the same time, he noticed one of the Durmstrang students walking toward him.
The boy was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, dark eyebrows and a large, prominent nose.
It was Viktor Krum, the most highly anticipated student from Durmstrang and a world-class Quidditch Seeker.
Was he coming to see him?
While Maurise was wondering this, Krum stopped in front of him and extended a hand. He spoke in heavily accented, halting English. "Hello. I am Viktor Krum."
Maurise politely shook his hand. "Maurise Black."
He didn't know the boy personally.
"About... the Phantom broomstick," Krum said slowly. "I hear... its designer is named Maurise Black. A student... studying at Hogwarts."
His English was broken and labored, clearly showing that communicating in a non-native language was a struggle.
Maurise instantly understood. Krum was a professional Quidditch player; it was perfectly normal for him to know about the Mirage. As a broomstick that surpassed even the Firebolt, the Phantom series had practically caused an earthquake in the Quidditch world. Furthermore, a portion of Maurise's personal information as the designer had been splashed across the newspapers by Rita Skeeter.
Therefore...
"That is correct. The Phantom is my creation." Maurise admitted it openly.