Tver didn't leave the camp. Instead, he stayed on the outskirts, quietly observing the crowd.
Tonight's operation had deviated from his expectations. Lucius was not someone who acted on impulse. Especially now, when Tver's maneuvering had forced him to draw a clear line between himself and Voldemort, Lucius would be even less likely to alter plans on his own.
And yet, the procession was growing faster than Tver had anticipated, and its destructive force was far greater than he'd planned for.
Even in the original storyline, things never escalated to this extent. Tents weren't supposed to be burning in entire swathes, let alone attacks on other wizards.
Blending into the chaos, Tver released Shield Charms from time to time, protecting fleeing wizards and children as they ran.
Still no Aurors…
According to the plan, once the procession began causing damage, Barty Crouch was supposed to arrive with the Aurors he had previously drawn to his side.
Marvolio would then secure the perimeter, preventing that group of Death Eaters from slipping away.
But now, there was nothing.
Tver's heart sank.
For the moment, he still had things under control. There hadn't been any real casualties yet.
But as more people joined the fighting, this place was rapidly turning into a battlefield.
"Where is Madam Maxime?" a soft, frightened voice cried out in panic, in French.
Tver immediately turned around.
A group of boys and girls in pajamas were huddled together, carried along by the flow of people as they slowly retreated toward the forest to seek shelter.
The fear on their faces hadn't eased at all. If anything, it grew more pronounced as the fighting intensified.
The one who had spoken seemed to be the girl at the front of the group, with pure silver hair falling all the way to her waist.
What caught Tver's attention, though, was what she'd said.
Madam Maxime?
"Beauxbatons students?" he asked quickly in French.
His French wasn't particularly strong. He'd always learned foreign languages casually, based on interest. Still, basic conversation was no problem.
Perhaps hearing a familiar language amid the chaos put them at ease. Or perhaps Tver simply looked reassuring.
The students stopped at once, staring at him in surprise. The little girl glanced at him timidly, then lowered her head and answered in a small voice.
"Yes. Madam Maxime is our Headmistress. She brought us here to watch the match."
"Our tents were arranged by year, but Madam told us to wait here while she went to fetch the older students. Then those people destroyed our tents…"
The more she spoke, the more wronged she sounded. She sniffled now and then, but still managed to finish her explanation clearly and resolutely.
Tsk. No wonder Beauxbatons was a school funded by Nicolas Flamel. With money like that, they could afford to take students on summer outings like this.
Unlike Hogwarts, where Dumbledore wouldn't even agree to give himself a raise.
For some reason, in the middle of all this chaos, that was the first thought that crossed Tver's mind.
"…Sir? Can you help us find Madam Maxime?" the little girl asked. For reasons she couldn't explain, she instinctively felt that the man in front of her could be trusted.
"Tver Fawley. Just call me Tver," he said. "I'll take you somewhere safe first. Madam Maxime might already be waiting for you there."
He pointed toward the forest. As long as the refugees hadn't left the area, they would naturally gather there.
As for helping these students, Tver couldn't bear to see them harmed because of flaws in his own plan.
What's more, among the three major European schools, Durmstrang was his stronghold, Hogwarts was gradually falling under his control, and Beauxbatons was the only one he'd never had contact with.
These three schools produced the majority of Europe's wizards. Building goodwill with them would only improve his standing on the international stage.
And besides…
The little girl didn't understand any of that. All she knew was that she'd found a kind-hearted adult willing to help them.
"Thank you, Mr. Fawley. My name is Gabrielle Delacour. Just call me Gabrielle."
Gabrielle smiled sweetly, her silver hair gleaming in the firelight.
The other students looked at Tver with wide, innocent eyes, their expressions full of relief and excitement.
If he were actually a bad person, these kids would probably help him count the money after being sold off.
"Let's go," Tver said as he moved to the back of the group, wand raised to guard them.
The students immediately felt reassured, their steps noticeably lighter.
Completely unaware that, even without Tver, they had originally been heading in the same direction anyway…
Gabrielle quietly slowed her pace, toddling on her short legs until she was walking beside Tver.
"Mr. Fawley, are you from Beauxbatons too?"
"Just call me Tver. I'm not a Beauxbatons student," he replied casually, his attention fixed on the center of the battlefield.
The fighting there was growing more intense. Although no one had been injured yet, it was already far beyond the scope of a simple parade. Stray spells flew from time to time, arcing toward the fleeing crowd.
Everything about tonight felt wrong. Until the situation became clear, simply wiping out this group wouldn't solve the real problem.
That said, when the refugees saw him casually transfigure hundreds of small birds and have them intercept every incoming spell with perfect precision, they immediately understood who the real pillar of support was.
They hurriedly gathered their families and edged closer to him.
Just like that, the small group that had consisted only of Beauxbatons students swelled into a massive crowd made up of people from different countries and backgrounds.
Tver didn't seem to mind. He chatted idly with Gabrielle while scanning the surroundings.
However, such a large gathering inevitably drew attention.
At the moment before Tver could conjure another wave of birds, more than a dozen hooded, masked Death Eaters Apparated directly in front of him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Chaotic green light erupted all around Tver. Amid Gabrielle's piercing scream, he was swallowed by an explosion of dust and debris.
A moment passed.
"I've been waiting for you for quite a while…"
As the dust cleared, Tver stood there with his wand lowered, blue-violet flames coiling around his body. The fire illuminated the mocking smile on his face with brutal clarity.
Many people didn't realize that the greatest strength of Fire Shield Protection wasn't its offensive power, but its defense.
That said, its offensive capabilities were still far beyond what these idiots, who knew nothing but the Killing Curse, could withstand.
As the Death Eaters exchanged panicked looks and tried to flee, the flames surged outward in an instant.
Tver was like a flower in full bloom. Every spark became a deadly spear, and hundreds—no, thousands—of flaming javelins threaded with fine strands shot out like bullets, striking every Death Eater who had just attacked him in the shoulders and thighs with unerring precision.
And the flames didn't vanish on impact.
They pinned them firmly to the ground, leaving them—
Unable to move.