Foley Village, Hampshire.
This village, named after the family, was not large.
Aside from the grand manor at its end, there were only a dozen or so households in the vicinity.
Furthermore, these residents were all Muggles, entirely unaware that several magical wizards lived within the manor enclosed by high hedges.
In fact, they could not even see the manor itself.
A massive number of Muggle-Repelling Charms and ancient protective enchantments had been cast upon the grounds, ensuring that even ordinary wizards would see nothing more than a commonplace estate.
According to his memories, Tver had often run off to play in the village as a child, only to vanish before the astonished eyes of his playmates.
However, after he did this one too many times, his mother forbade him from teasing his Muggle playmates again.
At the peaceful gates of the manor, with a soft *pop*, a figure spun into existence.
It was Tver, who had traveled from miles away.
Before entering Britain, however, he had used a Portkey for international transit.
It had to be said that for long-distance travel, a Portkey was far less exhausting.
Unlike Apparition, a Portkey was not spatial transportation magic; rather, it was a high-speed flight spell.
Consequently, compared to Apparition, Portkeys conserved more magic and were far safer.
No sooner had Tver steadied himself than the manor gates swung open automatically.
A small house-elf stood behind them, bowing respectfully.
The elf had two large, bat-like ears and bulging eyes.
This was the Foley family’s house-elf, Jeff.
Unlike other elves, however, he wore a clean, neat white robe.
“Good afternoon, Master Foley.
Welcome home.
The master and mistress are already waiting for you,” the house-elf said in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, his eyes welling with tears as he looked up.
“Long time no see, Jeff.” Tver smiled.
Back when he had first touched the ring and his body was weak, Jeff had cared for him day and night.
Although it was taken for granted among wizards that house-elves should serve their masters, Tver, as a transmigrator, could not bring himself to accept such servitude as a matter of course.
Thus, after convincing his parents and Jeff, Tver had presented the elf with a robe.
If Jeff ever wished to, he could leave the Foley family at any time and become a truly free elf.
Of course, given Jeff’s deep affection for the family, Tver could not have driven him away even if he tried.
Jeff wiped away his tears.
He ought to be happy now that the young master was back.
“Since you haven’t been back in so long, Mistress is going to nag you for quite some time.”
At this, Tver felt a headache coming on.
He wondered if his father could offer any help at a time like this.
He turned it over in his mind all the way back, only to conclude that his father was utterly unreliable in these matters.
“Oh, look who we have here.
Is that the future Minister for Magic?”
An elegant woman leaned against the front door, unable to contain her wide smile.
Fortunately, the years had left very few marks on her face.
This was Tver’s mother, Belinda Foley.
Hearing this, a good-natured-looking man poked his head out from another direction.
His eyes lit up instantly upon seeing Tver standing at the entrance.
He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, he was choked off by the woman’s pointed cough.
Giving Tver a “you’re on your own” look, he pulled his head back inside.
This unreliable figure was his father, Miles Foley.
“Naturally, it is your gentle, elegant, kind, beautiful, generous, and virtuous son.”
Tver heavily emphasized the adjectives before stepping forward to give Belinda a pleasant shoulder massage.
“Save it,” Belinda said, turning to walk inside, her voice tinged with a slight sob.
“My son wouldn’t stay away from home for two whole years.”
Oh no.
In order to study the secrets of the curse, Tver had not returned home for a single day of vacation since last summer.
For some reason, his family placed immense value on family bonds.
During his seven years of study at Durmstrang, the owls exhausted from flying back and forth could have circled the manor twice.
But honestly, it felt incredibly warm.
Especially under the crushing pressure of his race against Death, the warmth of family was the primary anchor keeping him going.
Tver did not want to ruin this familial bond and become cold and detached.
He caught up with his mother, intending to give her the explanation he had prepared beforehand.
But the moment he crossed the threshold—
“Surprise!”
His father, who had been hiding behind the door, jumped out and waved his wand.
Instantly, the ceiling of the house filled with beautiful, multicolored fireworks.
Jeff also scrambled out from the side, squeaking loudly, “Happy eighteenth birthday, Young Master!”
The originally bright house suddenly dimmed.
His mother stood holding a large cake adorned with a wiggly “18.” With a gentle breath, she lit the candles, which illuminated her face.
“It might not look very pretty.
I tried for days and couldn’t make it look as good as your father’s, but don’t you dare say a word!” Belinda glared threateningly at Miles, who was snickering nearby.
“No, I love it,” Tver said softly.
“As if you’d dare not to,” Belinda said, cracking a smile herself.
“Remember to make a wish before you blow out the candles!”
Wizards did not traditionally make wishes on birthdays, but when Tver had first transmigrated, he hadn’t known this and foolishly wished to live to a hundred.
Ever since, making a birthday wish had become a Foley family tradition.
Clasping his hands beneath his chin, Tver closed his eyes and thought to himself, *I hope my parents live long, healthy, and peaceful lives.*
Under the expectant gazes of Belinda and Miles, he opened his eyes, leaned forward slightly, and blew out the eighteen candles with a single breath.
He tossed the cake, and Miles deftly caught it from the side.
Belinda, however, didn’t even spare her husband a glance, opening her arms wide to pull Tver into a tight hug.
“Happy birthday, son!”
“Thank you, Mom.
I’m really happy.”
Tver suddenly felt a pang of guilt.
The original owner of this body had such wonderful parents, yet he had taken his place.
The only thing he could do now was to perform better than the original owner ever could, so as to ease that lingering guilt.
“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Belinda said, releasing him with a mischievous grin.
“As punishment for not coming home for two years…”
Miles handed the cake back at just the right moment.
“You have to finish this entire cake!”
Tver: “…”
Thus, at dinner, Tver sat at the dining table, left to enjoy the massive cake all by himself, while watching his family—Jeff included—relish an exquisite French feast prepared by his father.
As everyone knew, the saving grace of cakes was that they were rarely completely unpalatable.
But once they did taste bad, they were truly awful, a problem that mere appetite could not resolve.
In their household, Miles was skilled in fine French cuisine.
Thanks to his past life, Tver could whip up some Chinese dishes.
Jeff, being a house-elf, was naturally a master of various popular European cuisines.
Only Belinda struggled even with Britain’s famous “three-course meal” of fish, chips, and fish and chips—let alone this cake, which she had supposedly spent a week learning to bake.
“Alright, come and try your father’s Baked Fire Crab with Cheese.” Seeing her son’s utterly soul-crushed expression, Belinda knew when to stop and brought over the dish she had originally prepared for him.