The desserts eventually vanished, much to Tver’s quiet regret.
Dumbledore rose to his feet once more, and a hush fell over the Great Hall.
“It seems everyone has eaten and drunk their fill,” Dumbledore said, his voice carrying clearly over the crowd.
“I hope you still have a bit of energy left to humor a few words from an old man.
“First-years should note—indeed, all students would do well to remember—that the forest on the school grounds is forbidden to every student.
“I am delighted to see you all making such admirable progress in your magical craft, but please refrain from casting your imaginative creations in the corridors between classes.
“Furthermore, do not enter the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor, unless you wish to die a most painful death.”
A sudden chill swept through the hall.
The younger students, assuming Dumbledore was joking, let out a couple of tentative chuckles.
But upon seeing the solemn, deadpan expressions on the faces of the older prefects and upper-years, their laughter withered instantly.
Dumbledore took in their expressions without offering any further explanation, merely continuing in a warm, brisk tone:
“On a happier note, I am delighted to announce that this term, we welcome two new teachers to our ranks!
“Professor Welfare and Professor Quirrell will share the duties of the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.”
Scattered applause pattered through the hall at first, but the moment Tver stood and bowed slightly to the room, the clapping swelled into a roar.
Taking in Tver’s strikingly handsome features, a rather bold young witch shouted from down below, “Professor Welfare, do you have a girlfriend?”
“Now then,” Dumbledore said, clapping his hands to reclaim the room’s wandering attention, “your new classes begin tomorrow, and you will have ample opportunity to get to know both professors.”
Dumbledore drew his wand and gave it a light flick toward the ceiling.
A long golden ribbon fluttered out, twisting into lines of words, and his voice took on a booming resonance.
“And now, for our final tradition before we retire for the night, let us sing the school song together!”
Tver watched Dumbledore’s theatrics in surprise; he had not known Hogwarts had such a ritual.
Evidently, reality still diverged in notable ways from the films.
Yet the moment everyone opened their mouths, Tver instantly understood why this scene had been left on the cutting room floor.
The Hogwarts school song had no set melody.
Aside from the lyrics floating overhead, every single person sang to whatever tune suited their fancy.
Under Dumbledore’s magically amplified wand-waving, this chaotic mishmash of rhythms and notes produced a strange, polyphonic harmony that was surprisingly pleasant to the ear.
It was certainly not a performance Muggles could ever pull off.
Once the song concluded, the students filed out behind their prefects to their respective common rooms.
Having eaten and drunk to his heart’s content, Tver bade farewell to his new colleagues and headed back to his own quarters.
His office was entirely bare, waiting for him to settle in.
In private quarters like a professor’s office, the elves would never intrude unless specifically summoned, even though they were capable of Apparition within the grounds.
Tver set his mokeskin pouch on the desk, opened it, and gave his wand a flick.
Under his direction, the items flew out one by one, settling into their proper places.
Along with stacks of books, several cages floated out, housing a few interesting little creatures he had brought along to use in his lessons.
It took him ten minutes to tidy up the entire office and attached bedroom.
Rather than resting, however, Tver sat down in his chair, his expression turning grave.
Holding out his right hand, he watched the tiny dark speck on his wrist morph into a small skull, a serpent coiling out of its mouth.
The Dark Mark.
A much smaller version of the Dark Mark, but the Dark Mark nonetheless.
The skull seemed almost alive, the snake’s body extending further and further as it sought to wrap itself around his wrist.
To Tver’s magical senses, the dark magic inside was so dense it felt nearly physical, straining violently against the protective enchantments he had placed around it.
Without hesitation, he drew his wand with his left hand and aimed it directly at the mark.
This was a duelists’ trick.
If your opponent could not tell which hand was your dominant one, they were bound to misjudge your speed and power.
“*Protego Vitae!*”
As the incantation fell from his lips, a pulse of magical energy swirled around his wrist, forming a delicate, translucent film of pale gold.
The golden barrier sank into the skin surrounding the Dark Mark.
The shadowy serpent hit it like a stone wall, slowly compressed back until only the tip of its head poked out.
This was a variation of the Shield Charm, designed to endure for extended periods to hold back the encroachment of dark magic.
Fortunately, he had chosen Durmstrang in his youth, and even more fortunately, his mentor held profound insights into the Shield Charm.
In truth, aside from dark magic itself, the Shield Charm was the magic Tver had studied most extensively.
Even so, he could not afford to relax.
He had only a year and a half left.
This development had caught Tver off guard.
The curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post was never supposed to be this aggressive.
The two curses had resonated, their synergy compounding far beyond mere addition.
*I was too impatient,* he thought.
In his rush to get his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone as early as possible, he had applied for Defense Against the Dark Arts, the easiest post to secure.
To ease his frayed nerves, Tver made up his mind.
He would inspect the fourth-floor corridor tonight.
With his life hanging by a thread, how could he possibly sit on his hands?
Before stepping out, he glanced at his teaching schedule: two classes a week per year, across three different years and four houses—which meant at least one class every single day.
Hogwarts certainly didn’t let its staff slack off.
With a quiet sigh, Tver layered a protective ward over his office and slipped out the door.
One could never be too cautious.
The castle was dead quiet at this hour, save for the crackling torches lining the corridors.
Relying on their flickering light, Tver cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself and crept silently up toward the fourth floor.
He was briefly delayed by a trick staircase along the way, but he soon deduced the secret behind the moving stairs.
If you channeled a wisp of magic into the step while holding your intended destination firmly in mind, the staircase would glide you right there.
If you rushed ahead recklessly, on the other hand, the stairs took delight in leading you astray.
It must have caught out countless young students over the centuries.
Reaching the fourth floor, he found the corridor devoid of torches.
Once the distant ambient light faded, the hallway plunged into total darkness.
“*Lumos Obscura.*”
A soft blue gleam spilled from the tip of Tver’s wand, illuminating the way ahead.
This was a variant of the Wand-Lighting Charm.
The blue radiance was not actual light; to any outside observer, the corridor remained pitch-black.
In reality, it was an extension of his magical perception, allowing him to see clearly through the dark without attracting unwanted attention.
The corridor was surprisingly short—or rather, a significant portion of it had been walled off compared to the floors above and below, as though a stretch of hallway had been awkwardly partitioned away.
The heavy door sealing off that hidden section stood right before him.
Tver reached his hand toward the brass doorknob, only to freeze and pull back sharply.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming!