Tver woke early that morning in his bed at the manor.
There was something extremely important he had to do today.
The International Confederation of Wizards Assembly was being held today.
There was still plenty of time, though, so he lay quietly on the bed, eyes slightly unfocused as he stared at the spotless white ceiling.
Since coming to this world, this was the first time he had truly felt nervous.
The last time he had felt this unsure of himself was when he had secretly gone to Nurmengard to ask Grindelwald to take him on as a student.
But unlike that all-or-nothing gamble, this time he had already played through countless possible outcomes of the assembly in his mind.
If he ultimately failed to persuade the international wizarding community, he would be completely exposed within the magical world.
Anyone connected to him would be labeled as his associates and pushed into the public eye, subjected to scrutiny from wizards of all stripes.
It might even interfere with the arrangements he had made in the Muggle world.
That was the last thing he wanted to see happen.
That was why, in preparation for today, he had planted countless pieces on the board within the magical world, steered public opinion, and built relationships with many highly respected wizards.
He had also deliberately chosen this moment.
Even if he failed, Voldemort's resurrection would be enough to divert public attention.
Plan for failure before victory.
This assembly was simply too important for Tver, so he had no choice but to be cautious, cautious, and cautious again…
Only after carefully reviewing every arrangement he had made did Tver finally get out of bed.
To project a more approachable image, he didn't choose overly formal attire. Instead, he put on the fitted black suit he wore most often, along with a dark red robe.
After all, Dumbledore had said that assemblies like this were only held once every few years.
If not for the fact that he would be speaking, these gatherings usually amounted to little more than discussions of international affairs, not much more serious than a formal chat.
By the time Tver stepped out, his eyes were filled with calm and resolve, with no trace of his earlier hesitation.
At exactly ten in the morning, he arrived at Brown's Hotel in London, England, having come the Muggle way by taxi.
This wasn't some personal quirk of his. The entire surrounding area was under anti-Apparition enchantments to ensure the assembly's security.
What was even stranger was that this was a genuine, historic Muggle hotel.
Tver paused outside to admire the hotel's white-painted exterior before pushing the door open. Even the lobby was plain and understated, not quite befitting its status as London's first hotel.
Yet it felt perfectly appropriate. Tver was quite fond of this kind of simplicity, something worn smooth by time.
Much like the magical world's resistance to technology.
"Sir, may I—"
The attendant at the door bowed politely, but before he could finish speaking, Cynthia walked over.
"He's a guest for this assembly. I'll take him upstairs," Cynthia said, offering Tver a small smile as she waved the attendant away.
She then led Tver toward the staircase.
"The meeting is on the fourth floor. It used to be the dining hall, but as usual, we've converted it into a conference chamber."
"As usual?" Tver echoed.
"Yes," Cynthia sighed helplessly. "Apparently, for nearly a century now, every assembly held in Britain has taken place in this hotel."
"It's just that back then there weren't as many attendees, so the original meeting rooms barely met the requirements."
"But now, especially over the past fifty years, the number of participants has increased dramatically. And those committee members insist on holding it here."
"So we've had no choice but to keep finding larger spaces to remodel."
Tver chuckled softly, not at all surprised.
To put it bluntly, most of the current members of the International Confederation of Wizards were elderly wizards.
If Barty Crouch hadn't been busy with the Quidditch World Cup, and if Cynthia herself weren't so capable, the British Ministry of Magic wouldn't have sent someone so young to attend in the first place.
"All preparations before the meeting are complete. We're just waiting for the official start."
Cynthia suddenly remembered something else.
"Dumbledore arrived even earlier than you. He asked me to tell you that if you'd like to speak first, he's willing to give up his slot."
"If you insist on using the British delegation's speaking turn, then according to usual practice, the representative who shares the president's nationality will speak last."
"I'll go last, then," Tver said after a brief moment of thought, deciding it would be better to speak near the end of the assembly.
After all, once he finished speaking, the committee members probably wouldn't be in the mood to discuss anything else.
"Alright!"
Cynthia took a deep breath, suppressing her excitement, and walked into the conference room with him.
The space had been cleverly arranged into a wide, tiered hall, with delegates from various countries seated along both sides.
The meeting hadn't started yet, so most of the attendees were gathered in the open area in the middle, chatting casually and creating a lively hum of conversation.
Their ages, however, were generally on the high side. Some of them looked even older than Dumbledore himself.
So when Tver and Cynthia entered, they drew more than a few surprised looks.
"I was just wondering when you'd show up."
With his sharp eyes, Dumbledore immediately spotted Tver. He strode out of the crowd around him and came over to greet the two of them.
"I don't have quite as much energy as you do, Professor. I can't stay that endlessly enthusiastic," Tver said, teasing him.
"And yet you seem to have plenty of energy when you're arguing with me," Dumbledore replied lightly.
Thanks to the improvement in their relationship, after a brief period of relative calm, Tver's discussions with Dumbledore on Muggle-related issues had actually grown more radical.
They had talked not only about peaceful coexistence with Muggles, but even about the possibility of wiping them out.
Of course, that was largely because Dumbledore hoped to use open discussion to dispel some of the more dangerous ideas forming in Tver's mind.
"Albus, is this the young man you often mention in your letters, Tver Fawley?"
An elegant elderly woman wearing an exquisitely crafted headpiece approached them.
"Oh, Ya Zhou, I nearly forgot to introduce Tver to you," Dumbledore said.
He stepped aside, allowing Tver to face Madam Ya Zhou directly.
"That's right. This is Tver. Tver Fawley."
Then he turned to Tver.
"This elegant lady is Ya Zhou, one of the senior members of the International Confederation of Wizards and an expert on Muggle affairs. Many of my questions in this area come from consulting her."
Tver felt a flicker of oddness at Dumbledore's accurate Chinese pronunciation, but he didn't let it show. He simply shook Madam Zhou's hand politely.
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
"I've been looking forward to meeting you as well, Tver."
Madam Zhou's eyes carried a depth shaped by time itself, as though nothing strange or unusual could truly surprise her.
"Especially your views on the so-called Muggle threat. So before the meeting begins, I'd like to ask you a question. Would that be alright?"
Tver was momentarily taken aback, unable to quite grasp her intent.
"Of course."
"Then tell me, in your view, how should Muggles integrate magic into their normal lives?"
"I mean in a way that wouldn't cause harm to either side."
There was a trace of genuine curiosity on Madam Zhou's face, as though she truly wanted an answer.
But for a moment, Tver found himself completely at a loss for words.