Finally, the desserts disappeared under Tver's regretful gaze as Dumbledore rose once again, and the Great Hall returned to solemn silence.
"It seems everyone has eaten their fill. I hope you still have the energy to hear a few words from this old man."
"First-years take note—and in fact, all students should remember this: the forest on the school grounds is strictly forbidden to enter."
"I'm glad to see such progress in your magical studies, but please refrain from letting your creativity run wild in the corridors between classes."
"And one more thing—do not enter the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor, unless you'd prefer not to remain safe within the castle."
The atmosphere in the hall immediately shifted. Some of the younger students chuckled, thinking Dumbledore was joking, but the serious expressions on the older students' faces quickly silenced them.
Dumbledore, noting their reactions, offered no further explanation. Instead, he smiled and continued.
"Let's move to something more cheerful. I have good news: this year, we are welcoming two new professors!"
"Professor Fawley and Professor Quirrell will be sharing the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."
A smattering of applause spread through the hall, but when Tver rose to acknowledge the students, the clapping swelled into a much warmer ovation. Seeing him clearly for the first time, a bold young witch called out from the crowd:
"Professor Fawley, do you have a girlfriend?"
"Alright, alright," Dumbledore clapped his hands, steering the focus back. "Classes begin tomorrow. You'll have plenty of time to get to know these two professors."
He drew his wand and swept it upward, sending a long golden ribbon unfurling through the air as his voice rose with sudden enthusiasm.
"And now, our final tradition before the feast concludes—let us sing the school song!"
Tver blinked in surprise. He hadn't known Hogwarts had such a tradition. It seemed the gap between the story he remembered and real life was wider than expected.
But the moment everyone opened their mouths, he understood why the films had never included it. Hogwarts' anthem had no melody. The lyrics, projected above them, were the same for all, but each person sang to a tune of their own.
Yet under Dumbledore's magically guided conducting, the chaos of clashing notes blended into something resembling a musical ensemble—strange, but oddly harmonious.
Certainly not something Muggles could ever manage.
When the song ended, the students followed their prefects back to their common rooms. Tver, content and full, said his farewells to his colleagues and returned to his office.
At the moment, the office was bare, waiting for him to put it in order. House-elves kept Hogwarts spotless, but only in public areas. Private spaces like professors' offices remained untouched unless requested, even though the elves could Apparate inside if they wished.
Tver placed his satchel on the desk, opened it, and with a wave of his wand, its contents floated neatly into place. Books stacked themselves, and several cages settled onto the shelves, each holding small magical creatures he would use in class.
After ten minutes of arranging his office and bedroom, Tver didn't choose to rest. Instead, he sat heavily in his chair, his expression serious.
He stretched out his right hand. The tiny black dot on his skin warped, shifting into a small skull with a snake emerging from its mouth.
The Dark Mark.
A smaller version, but unmistakably the Dark Mark.
The skull seemed to stir with life, the snake lengthening as if to coil around his wrist.
In Tver's senses, the dark magic radiating from it was so concentrated it almost felt solid, straining against the protective enchantments he had layered over it.
Without hesitation, he lifted his left hand, wand aimed at the mark.
It was a duelist's trick.
When your opponent couldn't tell which hand was your dominant one, they were far more likely to underestimate you.
"Protego Vitae!"
As Tver spoke the incantation, a surge of magic wrapped around his wrist, forming a thin golden membrane. The light gradually fused around the Dark Mark. The black serpent struck against it as if meeting an invisible wall, then was slowly forced back, leaving only its head protruding.
It was a variant of the Shield Charm, one that could last for an extended time and block the erosion of dark magic. Fortunately, he had chosen Durmstrang, and even more fortunate was that his teacher had possessed an exceptional mastery of the Shield Charm. In fact, aside from his studies of dark magic, Tver had spent the most effort on that very spell.
Still, he did not relax. Only a year and a half remained.
This was not what he had expected. The curse bound to Defence Against the Dark Arts should never have been so aggressive.
It must have stirred the curse already within him—the one Voldemort himself had left. Together, the two curses resonated, creating an effect far greater than either alone.
He had been too hasty. In order to secure the Philosopher's Stone sooner, he had applied for the easiest post available—Defence Against the Dark Arts.
To steady his thoughts, Tver made a decision.
Tonight, he would check the fourth-floor corridor.
With his life already slipping away, how could he not be anxious?
Before leaving, he glanced at his teaching schedule: two lessons per week, three year groups, four houses. At least one class every day. Hogwarts, as expected.
Sighing, he laid protective enchantments over his office before departing. Better to be cautious.
The castle was silent now, save for the crackle of torches along the corridors. Using their glow as cover, Tver cast a Disillusionment Charm and slipped quietly toward the fourth floor.
The moving staircases tried to interfere, but he soon understood their trick. Feed them a trace of magic while silently fixing your destination in mind, and they would carry you where you wished. Rush, however, and you risked being played for a fool. No doubt they had caused plenty of trouble for young wizards.
At last, he reached the fourth floor. No torches lit the hallway, and when the distant glow faded, the passage sank into complete darkness.
"Lumos Nox."
A soft blue light pulsed from Tver's wand, guiding his steps. This was a variant of the Wand-Lighting Charm. To outside eyes, the corridor remained black; the glow was not true light, but an extension of his perception, allowing him to see without being seen.
The passage here was short—noticeably shorter than on other floors, as though a section had been deliberately cut off. And there, right before him, stood the sealed door.
Tver's hand reached for the knob, then suddenly froze.
Something was moving.