Lupin successfully became the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Tver finally relaxed, Marvolio earned major credit, and the werewolves received a suite in Azkaban.
A bright future for all of us.
Tver enjoyed a long stretch of comfortable, carefree days.
He spent his time at Cynthia's house, reading, having afternoon tea, discussing the face mask business and company operations with Jeff, and practicing combat techniques with Marvolio and Cynthia.
From time to time, letters arrived from Lupin, and they would plan out the new school year's curriculum together.
Just like the previous year, they would split all the classes evenly and take turns teaching.
But to Tver's delight, Lupin proposed many excellent ideas for the coursework.
He wasn't skilled at using written tests to deepen students' understanding of theory, but when it came to practice—especially dealing with dark creatures—he had plenty of experience.
In his own words:
"I've run into more dark creatures these past few years than wizards."
So Tver felt completely at ease handing over most of the textbook content to him, and even took the liberty of requesting a salary raise for Lupin from Dumbledore.
For both of them, of course.
Though Dumbledore still hadn't replied...
Even so, Tver remained in a very good mood, smiling through every business discussion with Jeff.
"Young Master, Mr. Lucius has excitedly submitted quite a few new proposals."
Jeff brought over a stack of papers covered from top to bottom with writing.
"...Just toss them in the bin." Tver's smile vanished.
Ever since the first batch of face masks had become a massive hit in the Muggle world, the company's reputation had skyrocketed.
Even though the first batch was given out for free—earning nothing and actually losing money—the effect was extraordinary. The entire British fashion world was buzzing about the masks' miraculous results.
So before the second batch had even been produced, merchants were swarming the company like sharks scenting blood.
Judging by their offers, the deposits alone would easily cover the initial costs.
To boost Lucius's confidence, Tver had "accidentally" let that information slip.
After several days of researching and brushing up on Muggle knowledge, Lucius finally understood—
His ten percent share had earned enough in just a few days to buy an entire Quidditch team brand-new broomsticks.
Firebolts, at that.
Even though the money couldn't yet be converted into Galleons, with so many supply contracts in place, they could fill a vault with Galleons at any moment.
Lucius was so excited he barely slept for days. Eventually, Narcissa kicked him out of bed, and he ended up in his study, racking his brain and churning out a mountain of proposals.
Naturally, they all involved using magic to manipulate people and promote the product.
If he hadn't had a sliver of rationality left, reminding him not to draw the attention of the Ministry of Magic or the Wizengamot, he might've actually tried implementing them.
But none of these suggestions were ever going to be used. Once they arrived at Tver's desk, their only destination was the trash.
In fact, not even the trash.
Jeff gave a casual wave, and the papers in his hand went up in flames and disappeared.
"What about the second batch? Are we selling them straight away?"
At this, Tver couldn't help but grin.
"No. For the second batch, aside from supplying a few shops, we sell half and keep half."
"Once the benefits of the first half show up publicly, then we slowly release the rest."
"Isn't that still selling? Why make it complicated?" Marvolio had just come home, finished with his day of babysitting.
"To create the illusion of scarcity," Tver said. He didn't need a mirror to know he was wearing a wicked expression. "That way, the face mask shifts from a fashion trend to a social topic."
"Once that happens, everyone—men, women, young, old—will know about it."
The technology of this era wasn't nearly as advanced, and information didn't spread quickly. Advertising only through newspapers or television could reach only specific groups.
But once something became a social topic, scarcity marketing would turn it into public conversation.
The invisible advertising effect would be immeasurable.
After spending time learning from him, Marvolio had grown quite familiar with Tver's sly business methods.
So after thinking it over, he immediately understood just how powerful this strategy was.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Good thing you're not strapped for cash, or you could topple the magical world's entire financial system with money alone."
Tver's excitement faded, replaced with a hint of disdain.
"If I actually tried that, the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts would show up at my door the very next day. They'd confiscate everything I own and toss me into Azkaban under some made-up charge."
"Even if their rules are full of loopholes, even if there's nothing in the law that forbids it."
That was how the wizarding world kept its financial order "stable." A rather crude system, really.
Only strength could truly protect wealth.
The Malfoy family had spent years and a fortune building connections within the Ministry. Dumbledore, on the other hand, only had to wait for the Ministry to curry favor with him.
And that was why making money had never been Tver's real focus.
"Alright, come on—let's have an exciting duel!" With a dramatic sweep of his hand, he activated the room's protective wards.
Jeff took one look at the atmosphere and immediately scampered off on his short legs. "Young Master, I'll go prepare dinner."
Marvolio's face collapsed. "What about Cynthia? Wasn't she eager to be your sparring partner at the beginning?"
"I'm not sure why," Tver said, scratching his head. "She's been coming home much later lately. Always just in time for dinner."
Thinking back to the intensity of their recent training sessions, Marvolio instantly understood.
She's terrified of you…
But that was something he absolutely could not say. If he annoyed Tver, the man could keep him pinned in a duel until morning.
After weeks of combat practice, Tver had mastered nearly all the spellcasting techniques Ravenclaw left behind. His casting speed had become noticeably faster, and his grasp of Transfiguration was advancing rapidly.
Fighting him wasn't particularly dangerous—after all, they were on the same side now.
But it was exhausting.
Spells flew at you nonstop, as if magic cost nothing. And that wasn't even the worst part—Transfiguration spells came at you from every possible angle.
One lapse in concentration, and even someone as strong as Marvolio could get caught and end up humiliatingly tied up by conjured ropes for a few seconds.
A few seconds were more than enough to get teased for the rest of the day.
Thankfully, before they even finished taking their stances, Jeff came back carrying an owl.
"Young Master, you have a letter."
Tver took it, brows knitting deeper the longer he read.
"What's wrong?" Marvolio asked.
"Dumbledore is coming tomorrow. Not here—he's going to the professor's home in Austria..."
...
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