On Thursday afternoon, Harry and Ron hurried toward the first-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
“I wonder what Professor Welfare is going to teach us?” Ron asked eagerly between strides as they jogged along.
Harry wasn’t nearly as optimistic.
“If the professor finds out we can’t cast a single spell, will he get mad and refuse to teach us?”
Ron waved a hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry.
Aside from that Granger girl, not a single first-year can cast a spell yet.
Who knows, maybe he’ll jump straight to advanced magic!”
“Once I learn it, I’m going to teach George and the others a lesson.”
By the time they navigated the mischievous trick stairs and reached the classroom, they were unmistakably late.
The two darted inside in a hurry.
Their classmates were already seated, scribbling away on test papers, while Professor Welfare sat at the teacher’s desk, leafing through a book with great interest.
“Wicked,” Ron murmured in admiration.
Even though they had heard about it a hundred times, seeing their names appear over their heads along with that brief flash of golden light still filled them with awe.
Harry nodded in agreement.
Tver, however, had already looked up at them.
“I believe,” he remarked abruptly, “you two are the only ones to ever arrive late to my class.”
Harry immediately pulled his neck in.
“Sorry, Professor, we got lost.”
Tver didn’t answer, merely giving Harry a long, penetrating look.
Only after the two boys squirmed and fidgeted with their robes did he say casually, “Don’t let it happen again.
As a penalty, you’ll have five fewer minutes to finish the test.”
The first-year exam was exceptionally simple, primarily checking how well they had prepared by reading the assigned textbook.
Anyone who had at least browsed the pages could easily score around seventy percent.
Feeling as though they had received a royal pardon, the two scrambled over to find empty seats.
After five agonizing minutes of waiting, two test papers finally floated gently over to their desks.
Tver resumed reading his copy of *Fundamentals of Wizard’s Chess*.
He had fully mastered the rules of Wizard’s Chess; all that was left was finding a sparring partner to test his skill.
Half an hour later, the last grain of sand in the hourglass dropped, though the students were still scratching their heads and ears in a frantic final struggle.
“Harry, let me see yours,” Ron whispered urgently.
With a deadpan expression, Harry showed him his paper.
It looked just like Ron’s.
An absolute disaster.
Tver clapped his hands twice, and all the test papers drifted softly through the air toward the desk, gathering into a neat stack.
“No need to worry about your scores.
I already anticipated your current level of knowledge.”
Hermione let out a soft, dissatisfied huff, not realizing how loudly it would carry across the quiet classroom.
The young witch’s face instantly flushed crimson.
She looked up in a panic, eager to explain herself.
“Of course, I am aware that some of you have diligently read ahead, and I mean no disrespect to your efforts.”
“To be frank, I prefer a clean slate like this.
It gives me a better opportunity to build your foundation properly from the ground up.”
Drawing his wand, Tver addressed the class with a clear, resonant smile.
“So, are you ready?”
“We’re ready!” the students chorused excitedly.
Excellent.
Very spirited.
Tver gave a satisfied nod.
“However, knowing that none of you can cast much magic yet, practical combat lessons will depend on your progress in Charms.
Until then, you will mainly focus on theoretical study.”
The collective morale plummeted instantly, like a car dropping off a roller coaster.
“Now then, before we move on to the core material of the curriculum, you will need to learn a small technique.”
Leading them into an open area of the room, Tver casually flicked three bursts of light—red, green, and yellow—against the white wall at the back of the classroom.
“This is it.
A very simple trick.
It isn’t a spell, just pure magic expressed as light.
It won’t hurt even if it hits someone directly.”
“You can also use this technique in the wilderness to communicate over long distances.”
“Red signals danger, green signals safety, and yellow indicates a special situation.
Of course, yellow isn’t very visible in broad daylight, so green can take its place.”
The young wizards found this utterly underwhelming.
They had hoped to learn powerful, flashy magic and engage in a fierce duel with the professor.
A single glance was all Tver needed to read their minds.
“A quick reminder: this technique is vital.
Every single student must master it before we can proceed to the next stage of our lessons.”
Only then did they fix their expressions and begin diligently practicing against the white wall.
It was indeed quite easy.
Anyone who had paid attention in Charms could quickly manage to produce a light.
The only tricky part was changing the color at will.
With a bit of practice, however, nearly everyone had fully mastered the trick within half an hour.
Except for one student.
“Mr.
Tver tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, but it still startled the round-faced boy.
His hand shook, sending his wand tumbling toward the floor.
Only Tver’s swift reflexes caught it before it could strike the ground.
The students who had already finished turned their attention toward them, softly snickering at Neville Longbottom’s expense.
Sweat beaded on Neville’s forehead from sheer nerves.
He had no idea what to do with his hands and couldn’t even bring himself to take back the wand Tver held out to him.
“Have you all mastered it so thoroughly, then?” Tver shot a sharp glare at the idling students.
“Come now, there’s no need to be nervous,” he consoled Neville softly.
“For us wizards, casting magic is as natural as breathing.”
“I’m sure you’ve experienced this before: breathing comes effortlessly, but the moment you focus on it, you seem to forget how to do it naturally.”
“Professor, maybe I’m not a wizard at all,” Neville whimpered, on the verge of tears.
Tver patted his shoulder with an amused, sympathetic smile.
Through Legilimency, he had long realized that Neville’s fading memory and cognitive haze were the lingering aftereffects of a Memory Charm.
Whatever the cause had been, it had burdened the future legendary swordmaster of his past life with such a miserable start.
“I can say with absolute certainty that you are a wizard—and a powerful one at that,” Tver continued as Neville looked up in astonishment.
“You’re simply too nervous, overthinking trivial details that don’t matter.”
He pressed the wand back into Neville’s hand.
“Now forget everything.
Feel your magic like an instinct, and let it out.”
Tver’s voice was almost hypnotic, like a subtle, devilish whisper enticing Neville, compelling his right hand to rise on its own.
*Bang!*
A massive burst of red light slammed into the wall, blasting a chunk of plaster clean off and making the surrounding students jump.
They crowded around Neville once more, but this time, their eyes were wide with shock.
“That…
was that…”
Stunned by his own magic, Neville opened and closed his mouth several times, completely at a loss for words.
Tver waved his wand, instantly repairing the damaged wall.
“That was plaster.
For damaging the classroom, one point from Gryffindor,” he said with a chuckle, looking at the stunned students.
*Pfft.*
Ron broke the silence with a snort of laughter, and the entire room erupted into hearty chuckles.
Neville was laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes, clutching his stomach.
“All right,” Tver said, drawing their attention back.
“Since everyone has mastered the technique, that will be all for today’s lesson.”
“No homework.
My only requirement is that you practice this small trick as much as possible.
It will be of tremendous help in your next class.”