Tver’s heart finally settled.
Yes, he planned to return to England, to work as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching assistant at the only and finest magical school in Britain—Hogwarts.
Now, this was hardly an easy, comfortable position.
In fact, it could be called the second most dangerous profession.
Second only to being the parent of a transmigrator.
If he remembered correctly, of the seven Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in the story’s seven years, one remained permanently at St.
Mungo’s, two were imprisoned, and five had died.
Yes, five.
The extra was Moody, who only avoided that fate because someone else had impersonated him using Polyjuice Potion.
He’d still gone to meet Merlin in the end.
The frequency of incidents made it hard not to question the course’s danger level.
But for Tver, this was just adding a bit more spice to his already mounting pile of debts.
One more layer on his impending death.
At age eleven, he’d stumbled upon a ring by accident.
The bad news: the ring bore powerful Dark Magic that could instantly destroy his young life.
The good news: he’d transmigrated at that moment, bringing his cheat with him.
It was a badge.
This badge was merchandise he’d purchased in his previous life, bearing the crest of Britain’s most famous wizarding school—Hogwarts.
A large H in the center, surrounded by four animals: lion, snake, eagle, and badger.
Below ran a motto.
“Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.”
[Never tickle a sleeping Draco (wrong translation).]
Which actually meant: Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon.
Somehow this badge had transmigrated with him.
As his life force drained away, the badge suddenly produced a power that resisted the Dark Magic’s erosion.
Only this power wasn’t strong—it could barely keep him alive.
The Dark Magic still clung to him like a parasitic curse, siphoning his life away.
But the moment he’d seen the ring, he’d known what it was.
One of Voldemort’s Horcruxes!
Having seen the films, he knew that even Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, two of the magical world’s most accomplished wizards, couldn’t break the Dark Magic on it.
Dumbledore, hailed as the greatest white wizard, had ultimately chosen death precisely because the Dark Magic proved impossible to remove.
He’d made a snap decision, abandoning the Hogwarts acceptance letter and begging his parents to send him to Durmstrang, to this school famous for studying the Dark Arts.
Fortunately, his family was prominent enough to gain admission easily.
Over these seven years, relying on his study of the Dark Arts and the badge’s protective power, he’d successfully delayed his death date.
He’d also discovered the badge’s greatest secret.
As his understanding of magic grew stronger, the badge’s power increased, compensating for the life damage caused by the Dark Magic.
Like a swimming pool with water flowing in and draining out simultaneously—except the water was his life.
But last year, his abilities hit a plateau.
Growth no longer came rapidly as before, and the badge’s power gradually faded.
After six months, it vanished completely.
The Dark Magic instantly extended its tendrils toward his life.
The pool became output only.
Facing life draining away like water, Tver had used his seven years of Dark Arts knowledge, plus a bit of extra help, to barely condense the Dark Magic temporarily into a small point.
Thinking of this, he raised his right wrist to look.
A small black dot marked it, with thin lines extending from both ends and continuously lengthening.
When the lines met, his life would end.
At this rate, he had two years left.
This was why he’d desperately applied to teach at Hogwarts—because this year, a miraculous stone would be kept at the school.
A stone that granted eternal life.
As for why Defense Against the Dark Arts specifically, that was simply because only this position recruited externally every year.
Even so, his identity as a Durmstrang student had given that certain someone pause.
If he hadn’t changed his application to assistant professor, he’d probably have wasted another three years.
So the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching assistant position was, for Tver, truly one man’s poison and another man’s cure.
Reflecting on his past seven years felt like racing against death itself—every day desperately absorbing all kinds of magical knowledge, every night devising more efficient study methods in his mind.
This had earned him an indescribable nickname at Durmstrang.
Panda Warlord…
Once he left, no one would call him by that embarrassing title again, would they?
Tver happily took out fresh parchment and wrote his reply.
Moments later, the letter was folded without a single crease.
The owl, however, didn’t appreciate such neatness.
It twisted the letter twice while binding it to its leg and pecked his hand once in apparent complaint before spreading its wings and flying toward the distant snowy mountains.
Sorry about that.
I’ll make it up to you next time if I get the chance.
Tver’s good mood remained undamaged.
He gave his wand a cheerful flick, and the two neatly packed trunks on the floor became light as feathers, drifting toward the open wallet in his hand.
Upon contact, the trunks compressed instantly and flew cleanly inside.
The wallet had been secretly enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm—the space inside was larger than this dormitory.
Using this spell on private items was illegal under wizarding law in every country.
But really, what kind of wizard never broke a few laws?
Tver cast one final lingering look at the room, shut away his seven years of memories, and left with a light heart.
“Graduating just like that, are you?” The elderly figure in the stairway portrait suddenly spoke.
This was Durmstrang’s second headmaster, the one who’d introduced dueling and combat magic into the curriculum.
The arena before the castle was his masterpiece.
Even in his portrait frame, he sat on stone steps.
“Yes, Mr.
Mont.
Thank you for all your help these seven years.”
Tver stopped.
Though Mont sometimes tattled to the headmaster, he’d also helped during Tver’s nighttime excursions.
“That idiot Karkaroff failed to keep you—Durmstrang’s greatest loss!”
Even as a portrait, even with aged features, the old man’s fiery temper remained undimmed.
“It’s my fault.
I need to study my magical skills further, explore different areas of magical knowledge to reach greater depths.”
To stay alive, Tver left the subtext unspoken.
“I heard you’re going to teach at that school?” The old man’s emotions came and went quickly.
“Yes, though only as an assistant.”
“Well, all I can wish for you is not to exhaust yourself.
Sometimes stopping lets you see more clearly.” Mont winked meaningfully at Tver.
Since last year, Mont had repeated this phrase every time, but when pressed further, he’d say nothing more.
So Tver simply shook his head, said his goodbyes—to him and to the school.