Tver watched helplessly as his chess game moved toward a dead end. He hadn't expected the student to stay focused while the teacher lost concentration.
"Of course, it's still difficult for you right now. You can focus on the required spells and mix in some practical combat training."
"You still have a year left. That's plenty of time to prepare."
After offering some reassurance to Percy, whose frown was deepening, they started another round.
Then, a sudden thought flashed through Tver's mind.
The detection magic he had set up in the fourth-floor corridor had been triggered. Since laying it down, this was the first time he had felt any feedback from it.
Surely it wasn't another young wizard sneaking out for a night stroll?
He didn't let his expression change and kept playing chess with Percy.
Cedric and the others, however, were starting to notice just how differently people could be treated.
Now that Percy was around, the professor answered their questions absentmindedly, saying things like, "The answer's in the textbook, make sure you read it," or, "We covered something similar in private lessons, it shouldn't take much effort to think it through."
But when speaking to Percy, the professor said, "If you're interested, you'll get the training mannequins in a little over a week. They can only use them for a month anyway."
How utilitarian.
The group exchanged glances and silently made the same decision—they had to improve their wizard chess skills and earn the title of the professor's favorite assistants.
At exactly 9:55, Tver ended the session. After Percy and the others left, he quietly headed up to the fourth floor.
Curfew was approaching, and a few students hurried past from time to time.
At the third-floor staircase, Filch stood with an oil lamp, his cat at his feet. One moment he glared at passing students, the next he glanced down at an old pocket watch, clearly waiting for curfew to arrive.
The fourth floor remained off-limits. Even if a student accidentally wandered there, their friends would quickly pull them away.
Tver looked toward the door. Someone else had placed a sensing spell on it, but it was rough, hastily done. He easily blocked it and focused on the movement inside.
There was music, but no significant magical fluctuation. Unless the wizard inside was standing perfectly still, admiring the Three-Headed Dog's sleeping form, there was no way he would have gone undetected.
Reassured, Tver pushed the door open.
Sure enough, the wizard was standing still, watching the Three-Headed Dog sleep.
"You're finally here, Tver."
Quirrell turned around with a self-satisfied look.
Seeing his Disillusionment Charm exposed, Tver appeared and regarded Quirrell with a puzzled look, as if seeing him for the first time.
"How did you know it was me?"
"Wasn't it obvious? A new professor, powerful," Quirrell's face twisted into a snarl, "and you even told your students to attack me! Who else could it be!"
Tver stared at him, speechless. He hadn't expected Quirrell to be so petty.
"If I said it was really an accident, would you believe me?"
"I…!" Quirrell gritted his teeth, then forced out a crooked smile. "It doesn't matter. Your identity's exposed now. We're on equal footing."
That did surprise Tver a bit. The longer he stayed hidden, the better for him. He hadn't expected Quirrell to get clever and lure him here.
Still, he suspected this was Voldemort's doing. Fortunately, for now, their goals were the same.
"Don't be so hostile. We share the same goal—why can't we be friendly?"
Quirrell snorted derisively but refrained from further taunting Tver. He knew both sides needed to cooperate if they were to deceive Dumbledore and obtain the Philosopher's Stone.
"In that case, would my dear friend be willing to show me down there?"
"With the greatest pleasure."
After exchanging a few insincere pleasantries, Tver led him downstairs with practiced ease, arriving at the chessboard for the third time.
"Keep going! Why aren't you moving forward?!" Quirrell demanded impatiently.
Tver shrugged. "To open the door ahead, you must win this game. This chessboard isn't simple—at least, I haven't managed to pass through yet."
Even if he could, Tver wouldn't do it. He still needed Quirrell to distract Dumbledore and secure the Philosopher's Stone.
Watching Quirrell pace angrily, he goaded, "Why don't you try this board yourself? See if I'm lying?"
Quirrell started to protest, but a voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
"Try it."
"But Lord Voldemort, I don't know how to play wizard chess," Quirrell's eyes suddenly lit up. "Do you? How about you play this game instead?"
"...I don't either!"
Voldemort roared once and fell silent.
Quirrell immediately shrank his neck and muttered softly, "You don't know how to play either, yet you want me to go up?"
Tver assumed Quirrell was hatching some scheme, fearing he might try brute force and draw Dumbledore and the other professors over.
"Stop thinking about it. Unless you can get hold of Professor McGonagall's chess notation, you'll just have to figure out how to win this game."
Quirrell hesitated for a moment, then finally went up to try. He'd only just learned the rules and ended up losing even faster than Tver had.
"The earlier stages were designed by Professors Sprout and Flitwick. The later ones are Snape's and yours—and of course, Dumbledore's."
Quirrell nodded in agreement. He'd known this when Dumbledore summoned him to help set the obstacles.
"Don't worry, mine are simple. The real challenge is Dumbledore's magic. Got any ideas?"
"No!"
Tver flatly refused Quirrell and left him behind. Let him deal with this headache on his own.
...
The moment he returned to his office, the ring in his pocket couldn't wait to speak.
"Is this my true form? Pathetic," Voldemort sneered.
Tver pulled the ring out and toyed with it in his hand.
"By the way, can you two sense each other?"
"Why don't you just remove the shielding spell from the ring and find out?" Voldemort urged.
"So, that means it's possible, then?" Tver chuckled softly.
"...I should've never split my soul or bothered with Horcruxes. Feels like my IQ has dropped significantly."
Resigned, Voldemort continued, "We're more like severed limbs. Unless we're close together or destroyed, only the main body can actively communicate with the Horcruxes."
"Then have you sensed a soul fragment in a child?"
"What? A child?" Voldemort grew frantic. "Which child still holds a piece of my soul? That means I could be resurrected?!"
So it seems the soul fragment within Harry is quite well-hidden. Maybe his mother's magic is at work. It really is remarkable magic.
"Hey, hey, hey! Don't just sit there, Tver! Tell me now!"
Tver retracted the ring, and the chattering voice vanished instantly.
"Good night."