The first day of the school year was also Tver’s first official day on the job.
Although he had spent quite a bit of time last night playing his playthrough game, his internal clock still woke him up early.
The weather was pleasant today.
Tver headed to the Great Hall carrying a copy of *Basics of Wizard’s Chess*.
He had just borrowed it from the library, earning himself an odd look in the process and losing a bit of time because the librarian, Madam Pince, had not opened up that early.
There were few students in the Great Hall; they still seemed stuck in holiday mode, unadjusted to the academic schedule.
The professors, on the other hand, were quite early.
Quirrell hid off to the side, eating breakfast with a heavy mind, while Professor Sprout had already finished her meal, offered a quick greeting, and headed off to tend to the plants in the greenhouses.
“Good morning, Tver,” Professor Flitwick warmly invited Tver to sit beside him.
“I hope nerves didn’t keep you awake last night.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience?” Tver teased as he took a seat.
Flitwick beamed in response.
“I can’t recall my own very first day teaching students, but I still remember how nervous several of Hogwarts’ professors looked when they first arrived.”
“Though this is the first time I’ve seen a new professor carrying *Basics of Wizard’s Chess*.
Or do you plan to teach Wizard’s Chess in class?”
Tver picked up a slice of bread from the table, meticulously spreading blueberry jam over it, and replied casually,
“I just suddenly took an interest in Wizard’s Chess, that’s all.
Do you play?
We could play a game or two sometime if you’re free.”
Flitwick shrugged.
In his eyes, Wizard’s Chess was nowhere near as fun as dueling.
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you there.
I’ve never really played it myself.
But you could ask Professor McGonagall—she’s deeply knowledgeable about Wizard’s Chess.”
Tver pictured the scenario of asking Professor McGonagall for guidance:
“Professor McGonagall, could you teach me how to play Wizard’s Chess?”
“Why the sudden interest in learning?”
“Oh, because I want to get past the chessboard trap you set up.”
Better forget it.
Asking the person who designed the trap was practically begging to expose himself.
It wasn’t overly lavish—far from equal to last night’s feast—but still better than what Durmstrang offered.
A few Ravenclaw girls had huddled together, whispering for quite some time before nudging one girl forward.
Her face flushed red all the way to her earlobes.
Escorted by her friends, she walked up to Tver timidly yet resolutely.
“Professor Welfare, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Tver replied, having noticed them long ago, a slight smile curving his lips.
“Though that was already a question, so you’re all done.”
The girl blinked in blank confusion, her smile freezing on her face.
The other girls looked equally bewildered, staring back and forth between Tver and Professor Flitwick, who was beside him, laughing so hard he was pounding the table.
Flitwick chuckled for a moment before saying, “Professor Welfare is only pulling your leg.
Penelope, go ahead and ask him whatever you like.”
He then introduced her to Tver.
“This is Penelope Clearwater, an outstanding student of Ravenclaw.”
With her Head of House speaking up and seeing no sign of objection from Professor Welfare, Penelope plucked up her courage again.
“May I ask what you will be teaching us in class?”
You couldn’t blame them.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professors over the past few years had all been temporary one-year replacements, leaving no continuity in their curriculum whatsoever.
As studious Ravenclaws, they naturally hoped to prepare themselves in advance.
“What year are you in?” Tver asked.
Unsure of what Tver meant by that, Penelope hesitated before replying, “We’re all fourth-years.”
“Ah, my apologies then.
I’m only responsible for the first through third-year classes.
For fourth years and above, you’ll need to ask Professor Quirrell over there.” Tver shook his head.
The girls couldn’t hide their disappointment, and Penelope even let out a heavy sigh.
She was about to turn and leave, but her companions nudged her, gesturing toward Tver, reminding her of their initial question.
“Oh, right!
May we ask how old you are?
You look so young, after all.”
“That’s no secret,” Tver said, taking in the young witches’ eager expressions.
“I just graduated this year.
I’m only eighteen.” You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Eighteen!
Penelope was rendered speechless with shock.
She was only four years younger than a professor!
If there were any Hogwarts students held back by two years, they’d literally be older than him.
“But if you just graduated, shouldn’t we have seen you around Hogwarts over the past few years?”
Penelope picked up on the discrepancy immediately.
A senior as strikingly handsome as Tver was not someone they could have possibly overlooked.
The surrounding girls let out a sigh of relief, assuming Tver was pulling their leg again.
But his next words shocked them even further.
“Because I didn’t attend Hogwarts.
I went to Durmstrang.”
The area fell instantly dead silent.
Penelope and the other girls gaped in shock, mouths wide enough to swallow an owl whole.
“Don’t let Professor Welfare’s youth fool you; he is the most brilliant graduate in Durmstrang’s history,” Flitwick couldn’t help chiming in.
He hated people judging books by their covers.
Back in his early dueling days, many wizards liked to mock his height.
Though he had used his size to his advantage as an element of surprise and taught them a hard lesson, it had left him with a lifelong distaste for seeing anyone looked down upon.
“The point is, Durmstrang is a school that teaches the Dark Arts!” Penelope blurted out, drawing the gazes of students eating across the Great Hall.
“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” Flitwick shrugged nonchalantly.
“Since Headmaster Dumbledore hired him, it means you don’t need to worry about being exposed to magic you shouldn’t be.”
Compared to students, veteran professors like Flitwick had researched Dark magic long ago—just not as deeply as Tver had.
In truth, once magic reached a certain level of mastery, spells were no longer strictly distinguished by black or white.
Only the intent of the caster was used to differentiate a Dark wizard from a light one.
But students couldn’t fathom such a concept.
In their minds, anyone who used Dark magic was a Dark wizard.
Although there was no proof that students from Durmstrang would inevitably use Dark magic after learning it, there was also no guarantee that Tver hadn’t!
Thus, Penelope and her friends stared at Tver as if he were a “proto-Dark wizard in training,” viewing him with even less favor than they did the Slytherins.
Tver had long anticipated this.
He knew it wasn’t just the students; the entire British wizarding world harbored deeply ingrained stereotypes about Durmstrang, and it wasn’t something he could overturn overnight.