July thirty-first.
Tver arrived half an hour early on purpose, Apparating directly to the gates of Hogwarts.
He chose Apparition over the more convenient Floo powder purely because using Floo powder was never particularly elegant.
Tver had no desire to show up in formal attire with a nose full of soot.
For a Durmstrang alumnus like him, everyone at Hogwarts was someone he had to approach with caution.
Moreover, under his teacher’s influence, maintaining his public image was always of paramount importance.
He had arrived a bit too early, however.
The gates were shut, and there was no sign of the “designated guide” mentioned in the letter.
He yawned helplessly.
Ever since Rowena Ravenclaw’s name appeared, Tver had spent his recent days researching that strange book.
But his mind was never hijacked again, and the book’s contents offered no practical help.
They were all broad generalizations, far more vacuous than his graduation thesis from his past life.
“Good morning.
You must be Mr.
Foley?” As Tver was grumbling inwardly, an elderly but elegant witch appeared beside him.
She wore square spectacles and had her dark, curly hair bound in a tight bun.
Draped in emerald-green robes, her immaculate attire gave her the appearance of a very strict teacher.
“Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Professor of Transfiguration.
You may call me Professor McGonagall,” she introduced herself immediately, noticing Tver’s appraising gaze.
Tver’s long-buried memories surged.
Professor McGonagall had been a household name in his past life.
Unlike her film depiction, however, her expression was somewhat colder.
“Please, just call me Tver.
Thank you for coming to guide me, Professor,” Tver said with a warm smile.
His demeanor and actions seemed rather un-Durmstrang-like, causing McGonagall’s pursed lips to soften slightly as she nodded at him.
“Professor Quirrell and Headmaster Dumbledore are already expecting you.
Let us go inside.”
“I hope I am not late,” Tver said, following her into this long-dreamt-of school.
McGonagall made no attempt to introduce Hogwarts to him, merely replying indifferently, “They are quite looking forward to this interview.”
Her expression remained somewhat detached; it seemed his Durmstrang background made her a bit wary.
He wondered what Dumbledore thought of it.
Walking quickly through the castle, the usually mischievous staircases behaved themselves perfectly in front of the Deputy Headmistress, naturally delivering them to the eighth floor.
“Lemon drop,” McGonagall said, speaking the password.
“Go on in.
They are waiting for you in the Headmaster’s office.”
“Thank you very much for guiding me,” Tver said with a polite bow, then stepped onto the staircase.
As the stairs slowly wound upward, a polished wooden door appeared before him at the top.
He took two steps forward, and the door swung open on its own.
Before him was a quaint but exquisite circular office.
The wall on the left was covered in portraits of past Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses, all of whom squinted to examine Tver as he entered.
On the right was a row of bookshelves and a curtain, blocking his view.
Deeper in the room sat a long desk cluttered with bizarre silver instruments, which spun continuously while puffing out small wisps of smoke.
Behind the desk, a crimson-and-gold phoenix stood upon a perch, tilting its head to look at him.
In front of the desk sat a young man wearing a large turban, his hands clasped tightly against his chest, his entire body twitching from time to time.
Behind the desk sat an old man with hair and a beard of pure white.
His long beard was obscured by the desk, and his brilliant blue eyes shone brightly behind half-moon spectacles.
And those eyes were currently locked onto Tver.
“Welcome, my friend from afar,” Dumbledore said, stepping around the desk with an agility that belied his age.
“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.”
Dumbledore maintained eye contact, but Tver felt no discomfort.
“Tver Foley.
I dare say even young wizards who have yet to attend school know your name, sir.”
Tver shook hands calmly with the legend.
Meeting the man hailed as the greatest wizard of the light for the first time, he felt no pressure; in fact, he felt rather at ease.
Perhaps it was because he was well-versed in handling such situations?
“Please, do not say that.
Such praise is far too heavy for an old man.”
Dumbledore turned to look at the turbaned man.
“Allow me to introduce Quirinus Quirrell, who will be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”
Quirrell, already standing nearby, gave a rigid smile as his facial muscles twitched.
His eyes darted nervously, and his hand trembled slightly as he shook Tver’s.
“I…
I was so pleased when I heard…
heard that there would be an assistant…
that I could hardly sleep.” This story is hosted at g.com.
He stammered heavily, requiring Tver to focus twice as hard to understand him.
“I look forward to working with you as well, though that still depends on Headmaster Dumbledore’s approval, does it not?”
Dumbledore offered a soft chuckle but did not answer.
Instead, he gestured for Tver and Quirrell to sit down.
Once the three were seated around the desk, Dumbledore waved his wand and asked, “What would you like to drink?
Tea?
Pumpkin juice?
Or perhaps some wine?
I hear students from Durmstrang are rather fond of alcohol?”
“That is merely an outsider’s prejudice.
In truth, not all Durmstrang students enjoy drinking.
As for myself, I would much prefer a glass of pumpkin juice right now.”
Tver met Dumbledore’s bright gaze, his words carrying a subtle undercurrent.
Dumbledore waved his wand thoughtfully, and a glass of pumpkin juice floated over to Tver.
Tver had long wanted to taste the famous pumpkin juice.
He accepted it eagerly and took a small sip.
The sweet flavor instantly made his eyes light up.
Sweet, smooth, and laced with a hint of creaminess, he instantly fell in love with the drink.
“You seem to like pumpkin juice quite a bit.
Would you like me to give you some?
I have a whole barrel of it here,” Dumbledore said, noticing Tver’s subtle reaction.
*It seems you really enjoy talking in riddles…*
Tver sighed inwardly.
The prejudice against Durmstrang was even deeper than he had imagined, and even Dumbledore was on his guard.
“No, thank you.
I do not believe in overindulgence.”
“I rarely meet a Durmstrang student as well-spoken as you.”
Seemingly tired of speaking in riddles, Dumbledore suddenly went straight to the point.
“Especially one applying to be an assistant at Hogwarts.
As far as I know, you are the very first to do so.”
“And so, I am quite curious.
Would you mind clearing up my confusion?”