December gradually arrived. Dumbledore's earlier fury seemed to have had an effect—the Dementors no longer drifted recklessly through the grounds with billowing clouds in their wake. The castle's weather looked much improved because of it…
Yeah, right.
With December came snow and ice covering the entire castle. Even without Dementors, the cold cut straight to the bone. Still, the sunlight was far brighter now, and even the students felt more cheerful about their Hogsmeade trips. Tver was no exception.
After weeks of practice, the club members could now perform the Riddikulus Charm flawlessly on mannequins. When casting it on actual wizards, however, they could only manage to turn things into small items like shawls or handbags. But for them, this was major progress, and it meant they were following the right path. A brand-new form of magic was taking shape in their hands.
Tver "accidentally" leaked this news to Rita Skeeter, and for an entire week the Daily Prophet's front page was filled with articles on Tver and the Defence Against the Dark Arts Club. Rita, ever clever, knew constant praise would only irritate readers, so she invited several highly respected wizards to contribute to a heated public discussion in the paper. Some approved, others criticized, naturally.
Yet as Tver had said, the forward-thinking nature of this magic was enough to reshape the magical world's understanding. The debate raged on, and ultimately they reached only one conclusion—this innovative idea deserved genuine admiration.
For the first time, Tver's name rose to prominence not because of the Fawley family, but because of his own achievements. When the reports first circulated, many curious wizards wrote to him. By the time the discussion reached its conclusion, the writers had become internationally renowned masters.
Recently, Tver found himself both pained and delighted. This reputation was something he had actively sought, meant to ease his future dealings in the magical world. After all, he couldn't very well have a new Dark Lord appear only for everyone to ask, "Who is Tver Fawley supposed to be?"
These veteran wizards had devoted decades to magical research, and their knowledge wasn't inferior to his. Many of their insights left Tver genuinely enlightened. This also meant replying to them took a great deal of effort. If he hadn't passed part of the correspondence to Marvolio and Cynthia, he would have ended up like Lockhart—spending every day buried in letters.
He finally understood why Dumbledore always claimed to have no energy for school affairs—he must receive far more letters than Tver ever did.
But there were gains as well. He had quietly asked for guidance from several elderly wizards with deep expertise in soul studies, particularly regarding soul-alteration techniques, and they really had offered substantial help.
He had now begun experimenting with transforming his little imp. It could already take the form of pure magic, though changing it back would still take some time…
"Time to go, Tver." Hagrid appeared in the corridor, grinning broadly. "Any later and we'll be late."
Professor McGonagall had suggested that several professors spend the weekend in Hogsmeade. Tver hadn't planned to join them at first, but Hagrid—who was currently extremely fond of him—had enthusiastically invited him several times. Considering he'd spent so long buried in tedious magical research, Tver agreed, treating it as a chance to relax.
Lupin, meanwhile, was preparing to teach Harry the Patronus Charm and wasn't feeling well, so he wasn't going. Harry had actually approached Tver first about learning the spell, but considering his own Patronus, Tver recommended Lupin instead.
So the group ended up being Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and Tver. And of course, someone else was waiting for them in Hogsmeade.
"...Tver?" Fudge extended his hand in surprise. "I thought the paper must have printed it wrong. Never imagined it would actually be you."
Tver smiled and shook his hand.
"Of course it's me. No one in the wizarding world could possibly impersonate me."
"This is Tver's third year at Hogwarts!" Professor McGonagall proudly patted Tver on the shoulder as she addressed Fudge.
This left Fudge even more astonished.
"But I recall you're the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? Or did the newspaper get it wrong?"
"He is currently the only Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts who has taught for more than two years!"
Professor McGonagall deliberately emphasized the word "only."
"Don't stand out there—come inside and talk," Mrs. Rosmerta called from the pub entrance.
She was the proprietress of the Three Broomsticks, a small pub, and a Madam of enduring charm and refined features. Consequently, many in the wizarding world recognized her, and the pub's business was consistently brisk.
Only then did Fudge take Tver by the arm and lead the way inside. He seemed particularly fond of that gesture.
"So, you've resolved the issue with this course?"
Fudge knew nothing about Voldemort's curse, but that didn't stop him from sensing the peculiarity of the class. In fact, most of the British wizarding world had some awareness of the problem.
Tver silently glanced at his right wrist, still held in place.
"...More or less."
Fudge frowned slightly, but didn't press further. He was simply making polite conversation—after all, even if the Fawley name wasn't as prominent as before, it was still a recognized pureblood family.
The pub was sparsely populated, lacking its usual weekend bustle. They found seats tucked into a corner beside a Christmas tree.
"What would you like to drink—oh my, is this Professor Fawley Hagrid always talks about?"
Madam Rosmerta looked at Tver with delighted surprise.
"Honestly, if Hagrid didn't rarely lie, I'd have thought you were a handsome student. How about trying my…"
Her graceful figure leaned lightly against Tver, her arm resting on his shoulder as she whispered, "Aphrodite."
Don't misunderstand—she was referring to a cocktail named after the goddess.
"Thanks for the compliment, but I'll stick with a mead. Curious little wizards keep coming to find me, so I need to stay alert."
Tver smiled, subtly glancing toward the space concealed by the Christmas tree.
There, two panicked young wizards were hiding, along with a third one—draped under an Invisibility Cloak—who cowered beneath the table even more anxiously.
The Harry trio.
Madam Rosmerta straightened reluctantly but professionally, turning to the other professors.
"And you? You must have a Red currant rum, Minister…"