"So, what improvements have you noticed?" Maurise asked, leaning back in his chair.
Given Neville's usual baseline of disaster, any improvement would be a surprise.
"My spellwork is stronger," Neville declared, beaming. "Last week, during practice, my Blasting Curse obliterated a solid stone boulder. It has to be the daily meditation. I haven't missed a single session."
"Whoa!" Fred gasped theatrically, throwing his hands up. "Last term, your Blasting Curse couldn't singe a housefly! Why didn't you tell us?"
Neville rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. "I suppose... I forgot."
"Your memory remains as reliable as ever," Maurise noted dryly.
Advanced meditation, it seemed, was no cure for inherent absent-mindedness.
Maurise drew his wand and aimed at a nearby wooden footstool. The wood warped and shifted, hardening seamlessly into a solid granite boulder. It landed with a heavy thud in front of Neville.
"Show me," Maurise said clinically. "Use the Blasting Curse. I want to see the impact the meditation has had on your output. Wand?"
"Right here."
Neville stood up. He looked nervous but determined as he drew his wand from his robes.
"Try not to obliterate my floorboards," Maurise added mildly.
Neville's grip tightened. He took a deep breath, locked his eyes on the granite, and slashed his wand. "Confringo!"
Boom!
A flash of red light struck the granite dead center. The stone shattered, sending a shower of sharp shrapnel outward. The kinetic impact immediately broke the underlying Transfiguration matrix. The heavy stone fragments reverted to wood mid-air. A pile of charred, smoking splinters clattered onto the floorboards.
Maurise gave a slow nod. For a third-year, it was an effective curse.
Fred stared at the smoking splinters, his jaw slack. "I don't believe you're Neville Longbottom."
"Agreed," George said, nodding vigorously. "That was flawless."
Maurise, however, saw it differently. His attunement to raw magic allowed him to perceive the underlying mechanics of the cast. Bluntly put, the execution lacked any technical finesse. The destruction was achieved entirely through brute-force magical volume.
An ordinary wizard casting a combat-grade curse required a focused, aggressive intent to destroy. Neville had lacked that intent entirely. Instead, his daily meditation had expanded his mental capacity so much that the raw volume of magic he channeled simply overwhelmed the spell matrix. It was a bizarre anomaly: terrible technique compensated by an overwhelming flood of raw power, resulting in a massive explosion.
The twins' enthusiastic praise left Neville flushed with pride. He rubbed his head, unable to suppress a massive smile.
Maurise saw no reason to dampen the boy's spirits with a technical lecture. Neville received positive reinforcement rarely enough as it was.
"Reparo." Maurise flicked his wand at the ruined wood.
The splinters flew together. Seconds later, the footstool sat intact on the floorboards, devoid of a single scorch mark.
Fred leaned close, inspecting the stool. "Magnificent. Not a single seam."
Maurise smiled faintly, sinking back into his plush armchair. "Since we are all gathered," he said casually, "I've recently developed a new magical technique. Would any of you care to attempt it? It's entertaining."
Fred and George immediately stepped closer. If anyone else called a spell "entertaining," it usually meant a mild spark. Coming from Maurise, it was guaranteed to be extraordinary.
"What kind of magic?" Fred asked, practically bouncing.
Maurise's gaze swept over them. "Don't be overly eager. I will demonstrate. For now, you only need to relax your minds. And this is critical—do not attempt to shield your spiritual energy."
The three boys complied, attempting to relax.
Ten seconds passed in complete silence. Maurise made no wand movement. He uttered no incantation. He merely sat there, smiling pleasantly.
Fred opened his mouth to ask a question, but his eyes suddenly went wide.
Maurise's mouth was closed. Yet, his calm, distinctive voice echoed with absolute clarity directly inside Fred's head.
'Telepathy. The efficient transmission of information through mental energy conduits.'
Fred whipped his head around. Both Neville and George wore identical expressions of shock.
"Did you hear that too?!" George blurted out.
Fred nodded frantically, turning back to Maurise. "Is this it? The new magic?"
Maurise's lips remained sealed, but his voice echoed in their minds once more. 'That is correct.'
"This is incredible!" Fred shouted. "Your voice is right inside my head! Can anyone else intercept it?"
Maurise opened his mouth, speaking normally. "Naturally, they cannot."
Once a wizard achieved profound familiarity with their own mental energy, developing specialized applications was a logical progression. Telepathy was an original technique Maurise had engineered in his free time. It allowed the direct, secure transmission of information without vocalization, wand movements, or verbal incantations. It didn't even require a standard spell matrix. It was merely an advanced manipulation of raw spiritual energy.
Regardless of the mechanics, it was a convenient tactical capability.
For Maurise, however, it represented more than a communication tool. Through his research, he was becoming convinced that spiritual energy possessed limitless potential. Telepathy was merely a baseline—an exploratory attempt.
'If I can integrate similar manipulation techniques into complex magical fields, what capabilities could I unlock?'
He forced his mind to halt that line of inquiry. Now was not the time for theoretical calculations. Three eager students were staring at him expectantly.
"Let us begin the practical training," Maurise announced. "The underlying mechanics are not particularly complex."
For the next several hours, Maurise transitioned into his instructional mode.
...
Two and a half hours later.
'Maurise, are you receiving this?'
Neville's tentative, nervous voice echoed directly within Maurise's mind.
'He grasped the mechanics surprisingly fast.'
Maurise looked directly at Neville, utilizing his own conduit to reply. 'The transmission is clear and stable, Neville. You've executed the technique.'
"Truly?!" Neville blurted aloud. His face flushed a vibrant crimson, so thrilled he nearly fell backward off the sofa.
Fred and George turned depressed stares toward the younger Gryffindor. They felt profoundly frustrated. Neville Longbottom had managed to master theoretical magic before they did? They hadn't even grasped the basics of mental channeling.
Maurise rubbed his chin, addressing the twins. "I suspect I've identified the cause of your failure."
"What's the issue?" Fred demanded, eager for a solution.
Maurise looked at them, his tone flat. "Your dedication to the meditation regimen has been inconsistent. Consequently, your control over your spiritual energy is insufficient. The most critical requirement for this technique is absolute mastery over your own mental state."
Fred and George exchanged a look of realization. It was true. They hadn't prioritized the tedious meditation exercises with Neville's discipline.
Despite identifying the root cause, they remained depressed. Acquiring telepathy was a tactical necessity. Numerous elaborate pranks had failed due to easily intercepted verbal communication during execution. If they mastered this, their communication issues would be permanently resolved.
At that moment, Maurise was unaware of the twins' mischievous calculations.
If he had been privy to their thoughts, he undoubtedly would have said:
You intend to use this advanced mental technique solely to facilitate schoolyard pranks?