The Christmas ball quickly became a cherished memory for the young witches and wizards.
Tver, however, felt only one thing.
Exhaustion.
After the opening dance, he and the other Champions courteously gave up the center of the floor, letting the excited students take over.
He had barely found a seat when the festive atmosphere seemed to infect Fleur. She walked over with effortless confidence and invited him to dance.
In a European ball, asking someone other than your original partner for a dance was perfectly normal.
The problem was that Fleur was dressed in a tailored black robe with a distinctly masculine cut, and she had just led Hermione through the male steps.
Now she expected Tver to dance the female part.
Tver promptly tapped her on the head. Only then did she obediently switch roles and take the female steps.
He had only meant to respond politely.
Instead, it sparked a frenzy.
No sooner had he finished a dance with Fleur than Penelope, who had just danced with Percy, approached him with flushed cheeks.
And then there was Hermione, practically radiating anticipation.
After that, witches from every house came forward one after another, shy but determined, hoping to squeeze in a dance with the professor while the ball lasted.
Even professors such as McGonagall joined in the fun, laughing as they invited Tver onto the floor.
Faced with so many hopeful looks, and considering it was Christmas, Tver found himself unable to refuse.
So he became something of a machine, partnering each witch in turn. His excellent memory proved unexpectedly useful, especially when some, unsatisfied after one dance, tried to claim a second.
By the time Dumbledore finally announced the end of the ball, Tver had not once stepped off the dance floor.
If not for his strong constitution, he might not have lasted to the end.
...
Not long after the Christmas ball, Tver received intelligence from Peter.
He was far more interested in the clay jar than in Quéops himself.
Unfortunately, Peter could provide little detail. He only knew it was extremely old, a handcrafted relic so fragile that a careless knock might chip it.
Its surface was densely covered in Ancient Runes, seemingly recording the deeds of a certain wizard.
Voldemort never allowed Peter near it. Most of the time, he kept the jar to himself, studying it alone in his room.
Of course, Tver suspected that even if Peter had been allowed to examine it, he would not have understood the runes anyway.
One thing was certain. The jar showed no magical fluctuations. That conclusion had already been reached after examination by the Greek Ministry of Magic.
For the moment, there simply was not enough information for Tver to draw any conclusions.
Ancient magic had developed in a largely untamed way. Every ancient wizard had effectively created their own magical system. Artifacts that looked similar on the surface could operate on entirely different principles.
Even after consulting Dumbledore, Marvolio, and Professor Flitwick, all of whom had some knowledge of ancient magic, Tver still could not determine what the jar was meant to do.
Voldemort had begun keeping secrets from him.
The only name Tver could think of was Herpo the Foul.
Perhaps the jar recorded Herpo's creation of Horcruxes, or research related to the soul. That would explain why Voldemort treated it with such care.
After sitting in his office and thinking it over for a while, Tver decided to stop dwelling on it.
Whatever came, he would deal with it.
With Peter in place, there was little chance Voldemort could pull off anything truly shocking.
After all, in the original storyline, Voldemort had thrown everything he had at Hogwarts and still failed to take it. With Tver here now, the odds were even slimmer.
For the moment, he had other guests to receive.
"Come in."
The office door opened at once.
Viktor awkwardly lowered the hand he had raised to knock and stepped inside, followed by Fleur, who strode in at the front, Cedric with an embarrassed smile, and Harry and Hermione, both looking slightly sheepish.
"You again," Tver said, not the least bit surprised. He conjured five chairs as usual and poured five glasses of pumpkin juice.
"Let me guess," he said, pretending to think for a moment. "You're here about the second task?"
They exchanged awkward glances and quickly took sips of pumpkin juice to cover it.
"I should remind you," Tver said helplessly, "no one else is allowed to help a Champion solve the task."
After the first task, they had studied and discussed things together. Somewhere along the way, they had grown fond of, or perhaps simply used to, relying on him and on each other.
"But you're a Champion," Viktor said firmly.
"That's right. The rules never said Champions can't help other Champions," Cedric added with a nod. "Just like Harry told me about the dragon."
Harry's expression stiffened, and he did not return Cedric's friendly smile.
Ever since Cho Chang, whom he had planned to invite, ended up as Cedric's dance partner, he had privately declared himself done with Cedric.
Well, maybe not done. More like back to being strangers.
No, not strangers. Strangers united around the professor.
After wrestling with that thought for a moment, he looked back at Tver.
"Don't you already know what the task is?" Tver paused, then suddenly remembered that his golden egg had been tossed onto a shelf in the corner.
With a casual gesture, he summoned it. The golden egg floated gently over to them.
"The remaining problem is how to breathe underwater and how to fight down there."
"Er…" Harry raised his hand, looking lost. "I still don't know what the task is. Why would we need to go underwater?"
Cedric stared at him in disbelief. "Didn't I tell you to open the golden egg underwater?"
Harry pressed his lips together. After Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, he replied stiffly, "I haven't had the chance. I'm not a prefect or Quidditch captain. I can't just use the special bathroom."
"Fine. Then let's open it now and listen again."
Without waiting for their response, Tver hooked a finger under the latch. The golden egg sprang open.
Viktor and the others instinctively covered their ears, expecting the awful screeching sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.
But this time, there was only a beautiful voice, singing clearly and gently.
"…You have but one hour to find and reclaim what we have taken. After the hour is gone, hope will fade. It will be lost forever, never to be seen again."
"Taken? One hour?"
"That's right. On land, it sounds like shrieking. Underwater, it becomes a song. So we need to find the merpeople's settlement in Hogwarts' only body of water and retrieve whatever they've taken from each Champion."
Harry still looked confused.
Since the only fair cheating was when everyone cheated, Tver had no choice but to spell it out for him.
"So the difficulty lies in dealing with the strange creatures already living in the Black Lake, along with whatever obstacles Dumbledore and the others might have arranged."
"And, of course, managing to breathe underwater for an hour. Or simply not needing to breathe for an hour, provided that when it's over, you're still capable of breathing."
Thinking back to the Hebridean Black dragon from the first task, Tver could not shake the suspicion that Dumbledore might come up with something else just to make things harder for him.