Watching Quirrell leave the Headmaster’s office awkwardly, Tver couldn’t help but feel it made him look even more suspicious.
It was practically written on the back of his head: “I am suspicious!”
Oh, wait.
Voldemort was literally carved onto the back of his head, so fair enough.
“Quirinus was always a timid child, and it is only because of certain circumstances that he has become like this,” Dumbledore sighed.
“When he was at Hogwarts, he was a bright student.
I never expected him to suffer such an ordeal.”
Dumbledore lamented softly, but he did not dwell on the topic.
“Do you believe the contents of this book?” He tapped *The Four Elements of Magic*, instantly dispelling the magic attached to it.
“I believe Rowena Ravenclaw.”
Tver didn’t dare claim the book’s contents were completely accurate, but if Ravenclaw herself held it in such high regard, there was bound to be something worth investigating.
After all, she was revered as the embodiment of wisdom.
Had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have spent so much effort on this text.
Dumbledore shared the same sentiment.
History devoted little ink to the four founders of Hogwarts, yet every detail left behind was worth endless study by later generations.
And so, Dumbledore did not dwell on the matter, turning instead to his next question.
“How do you view Dark Magic?”
At this, Tver immediately perked up.
“With caution,” Tver said, deliberately pausing to ponder so as not to appear too eager.
“Regardless of the magic, as long as it is appropriate, it can be used.”
“However, Dark Magic corrupts the mind.
That is why at Durmstrang, those whose mental fortitude falls short are forbidden from using it.”
“So I have always viewed Dark Magic cautiously.
Harboring malice toward evil men—is that not justice in itself?”
Tver’s words were somewhat harsh, causing the old man before him to knit his brows, though he did not immediately refute them.
“Fighting violence with violence can hardly be called justice—”
“The wicked need only commit evil, while the good must follow endless rules.
I didn’t realize you were so naive, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore’s words were rudely cut off by Tver, yet he was not angered.
In fact, the more he looked at Tver, the more he saw a shadow of someone else.
Himself.
The young, spirited Dumbledore of decades past.
Or perhaps…
Grindelwald.
The old man slipped into memory for a brief instant before forcing himself back to the present.
“Leave this book with me.
I will answer them for you.”
Compared to his master, Dumbledore possessed far more accumulated years of wisdom—and a much “healthier” perspective—which was precisely what Tver lacked.
Presented with such an opportunity, Tver eagerly nodded in agreement.
Stepping out of Hogwarts, Tver finally let out a sigh of relief.
He had assumed Hogwarts was desperately short on Defense Against the Dark Arts staff, but this interview had turned out to be far more complex and difficult than he had imagined.
Still, the outcome was good.
He was officially a teaching assistant at the school he had looked forward to for so long.
Checking the time, he estimated it was about right, and with a soft *pop*, Tver vanished from the spot.
When he regained his footing, the landscape had shifted from Hogwarts to a deserted alleyway.
Tver took a few steps forward and caught sight of a dingy, cramped building with a crude sign hanging by the door: The Leaky Cauldron.
People hurrying past on the street never paid any attention to the tiny building—not because they looked down on it, but because Muggles simply could not see this magical pub.
When Tver pushed open the door, it caused not the slightest stir inside, as if the patrons were entirely accustomed to people coming and going.
“A customer?” asked a shrivelled man standing behind the bar.
“Or just passing through?”
As the owner of this little pub, he could claim to remember every wizard who walked through his doors, yet he had very little memory of Tver.
A man with such striking features was hard to overlook.
In truth, Tver had been here a few times, but over the past seven years, he had transformed from a gloomy student into an elegant gentleman.
From his initial dread of death to his current composure toward the world, his transformation was so drastic he seemed like a completely different person.
Tver scanned the small pub, and finding no sign of his target, he walked over to Tom, the pub’s landlord.
“Could you tell me where Professor Quirrell is?” he asked with a smile, though he already knew the answer.
“I don’t go around revealing the whereabouts of Hogwarts professors,” Tom grunted, grinning to reveal a mouth of rotten teeth.
“What about Harry Potter, then?
Has he left?” Tver stepped back subtly from the bar.
Tom had tacitly “informed” him that the counter was even filthier than it looked.
However, the question brought the entire pub to a dead silence.
A bald little man nearby dropped his top hat without noticing, staring suspiciously at Tver instead.
“Unfamiliar guest, allow me to ask first— Ah, yes, Mr.
Potter entered Diagon Alley not long ago.
He’s likely enjoying his pleasant shopping trip at this moment.”
Tom’s smile suddenly turned flattering, his hunched back bending in a respectful bow.
The patrons in the pub found nothing unusual about this, gazing at Tver with equal admiration.
This wasn’t the Imperius Curse; Tver had no desire to get sent to Azkaban on his very first day of work.
It was a Confundus Charm, imbued with just a touch of soul force to achieve such an effect.
In their minds, he had probably become a figure as legendary as Dumbledore.
As for who he actually was, they would forget within five minutes.
“Thank you,” Tver replied with a polite smile, quickly passing through the small archway in the courtyard into Diagon Alley.
The bustling crowd lived up to its reputation as the heart of the British wizarding world.
A cobbled, winding street, it was lined with all manner of bizarre and exciting shops.
The street wasn’t particularly wide—hardly an advantage, but it allowed Tver to immediately spot his targets.
Rubeus Hagrid and Harry Potter.
As a half-giant, Hagrid’s towering frame stood out in the narrow street like a dragon.
Tver had seen plenty of people descended from magical creatures; France, for instance, had quite a few half-Veela.
As for a half-giant like Hagrid—no offense intended, but even the boldest at Durmstrang wouldn’t harbor the thought of mating with a giant.
All due respect to Hagrid’s father.
Right outside Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Hagrid suddenly rubbed his head and parted ways with Harry.
Harry headed into the robe shop, while Hagrid walked toward Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.
The owner of that shop had quite a background himself, but Tver wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
Curbing his excitement, he slowly approached Hagrid and stood beside him in silence.
Yet everyone ignored Tver’s presence, just as Muggles overlooked The Leaky Cauldron.
Coat pocket?
No.
The breast pocket of his shirt?
There it was.
Tver fixed his eyes on the bulging pocket.
If he wasn’t mistaken, inside lay the coveted Philosopher’s Stone!
He didn’t act rashly.
Magic still followed basic principles, after all; no one could fail to notice a hand reaching into their breast pocket.
Especially a half-giant like Hagrid, whose natural magic resistance was far greater than a human’s.
Following Hagrid’s perspective, Tver witnessed young Harry experiencing the wonder of the wizarding world for the very first time.
He had been just like that when he first arrived here years ago.
Bizarre magical herbs, exquisite broomsticks, whimsical toys, and even mundane cauldrons seemed utterly fascinating.
Yet happy times always came to an end.
Evening fell.
Tver watched Hagrid and a somewhat crestfallen young Harry leave the empty Leaky Cauldron.
This time, he did not follow.
Because back when Hagrid was buying the snowy owl, Tver had already confirmed that the Philosopher’s Stone was a fake!
A faint smile curled at the corner of Tver’s lips as he watched the Muggles bustling past on the street outside.
If a counterfeit was placed under strict guard in Gringotts, and subsequently survived an attempted break-in…
Then no one would ever doubt its authenticity.
Truly worthy of Dumbledore.
The smile on his face grew wider, yet his eyes grew colder and more detached.
He really was looking forward to life at Hogwarts.