After leaving the dungeons, Tver didn't bother checking the fourth floor. Instead, he went straight back to his office, assuming the role of a diligent, harmless professor.
Now was the time to stay well clear of Quirrell.
Then, like a mild-mannered rabbit, he drew out a large sheet of parchment. "Everything is permitted." At once, a blot of ink bloomed across it.
From its center, black lines began to stretch outward, sketching the layout of every structure within the bounds of Hogwarts Castle.
Tver's understanding of the castle wasn't perfect, so the details were a little rough—some lines were too thick, some too thin, others tangled together in uneven clusters.
But the imprecision didn't matter. What mattered was that thirty names glowed faintly on the parchment, drifting across the map in real time.
The Weasley twins were still in the kitchen, probably begging the house-elves for food.
Cedric happened to be heading that way, and within seconds, all three met inside the kitchen.
One name stood out above all others, glowing gold and impossible to miss—Harry Potter.
He was stationary in the common room, Hermione Granger's name appearing right beside his.
Tver moved his wand over Harry's name, and the golden light pulsed. A clear voice rang out.
"...I was just one second away from hitting the troll before Malfoy did!"
"I saw that! Hermione was trying to set you up, but Malfoy snatched the chance!" came Ron's voice.
"So you two aren't fighting anymore?"
"If she'd stop acting like she knows everything."
"If he'd stop badmouthing me." Hermione's voice cut in, sharp but not unfriendly.
The three bickered for a bit, but their argument soon dissolved into laughter as they chatted about the night's lesson like ordinary friends.
Satisfied that both the badges and the map were functioning properly, Tver murmured, "Nothing is True," and the parchment went blank again.
It was his own creation—a version of the Marauder's Map he called the Map of Precise Locations. Using the badges as a link, he had refined its design based on the Sneakoscope's mechanism, allowing him to not only track the wearers but also hear their voices.
As for the incantations—"All things permitted" and "All things illusory"—those were his favorite maxims, so he had adopted them as the map's activation and sealing phrases.
Now came the crucial part—Quirrell. As long as—
Knock, knock, knock.
The sudden rapping at the door broke his train of thought.
Tver sighed and glanced toward the entrance.
It was Quirrell. Even through the door, the stench clinging to him was unmistakable.
Whether he'd done it on purpose or not, Quirrell had the uncanny ability to appear precisely when Tver was trying to avoid him.
Still, Tver had no choice but to open the door. If he let Quirrell keep knocking, it would only attract unwanted attention.
As soon as a small gap opened, Quirrell slipped inside with surprising speed.
He quietly closed the door behind him, then strutted over with a self-satisfied air, plopping down in the chair across from Tver.
Tver calmly tucked the parchment away, his expression blank as he looked up at Quirrell. The contrast between their faces—one composed, one smug—was stark.
"Seems you've had quite a night," Tver said evenly.
Quirrell grinned, his leg bouncing uncontrollably.
"Of course! I confirmed it—there's only one person watching that corridor. Guess who?"
"Snape."
"...What?"
Quirrell's bouncing leg froze. His eyes widened. "How did you know that?!"
Tver met his stare with a faint, knowing smile. "Why don't you tell me what you discovered first?"
Quirrell hesitated, then began, his tone losing confidence. "After we distracted the students and professors, I slipped up to the fourth floor. I didn't go inside—just opened the door and hid by it to observe."
"It didn't take long before Snape came rushing in. When he saw the door open, he panicked and ran straight inside."
A cruel smirk twisted Quirrell's face. "Heh. The three-headed beast scratched him up pretty bad. He limped out afterward."
"So you had me stall everyone tonight just to confirm that?"
"Isn't that enough?!" Quirrell shot to his feet, his voice rising. "Now we just have to avoid Snape, and we can take the Philosopher's Stone!"
Tver shook his head slowly, more weary than surprised.
"Don't you ever think? The only person in this school who could be called Dumbledore's right-hand—apart from Professor McGonagall, who manages school affairs—is Snape."
"And you went to all that trouble just to confirm something anyone could have guessed."
Kid, I'm disappointed in you.
"I... I..." Quirrell stammered for ages, unable to form a sentence.
Even he had to admit he'd been a fool tonight. Snape had tailed him for a while on his way over—like using a cannon to kill a mosquito. Completely pointless.
"Enough with the stuttering. What's your next move?"
"Why should I tell you?" Quirrell suddenly tried to sound defiant.
"Then don't ask for my help next time. I actually work hard preparing lessons for the students—unlike you, playing at being Filch."
Quirrell faltered. He knew his strength and intellect were no match for Tver's. On his own, his progress would be far slower.
"Wait, I've been investigating Snape's setup. It's potions—definitely potions!"
"Are you an idiot? Snape's a Potions Master. Did we really need you to figure that out?"
"Uh... fine," Quirrell muttered awkwardly. "Anyway, you'll handle the chessboard, and I'll handle the potions. Once we get past those two barriers, we can take the Philosopher's Stone!"
Tver gave him a sidelong glance, amusement flickering in his eyes as he noted Quirrell's increasingly pale face.
No, only I can take the Philosopher's Stone.
"Then I'll leave that to you," Tver said smoothly. "Just remember—the Philosopher's Stone is what matters. Don't waste time on anything else."
Quirrell nodded carelessly and slipped out of the office.
"He won't last much longer," the ring said impatiently the moment the door closed.
"Half his life force has already been drained by his host. He's not much better off than you—maybe worse. If nothing changes, he has a few months left, half a year at most."
Tver took the ring in hand, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers.
"I remember—absorbing life force can solidify a soul into a semi-physical form. So why is your true self still clinging to Quirrell?"
"Ha! Because it's easier to escape that way, obviously!"
With that, Tver understood.
A disembodied soul could only be anchored through a Horcrux, but a semi-physical form was different. He had at least ten ways to trap Voldemort in that state.
"So Voldemort knows this whole setup is a trap for him?"
"Of course! Everyone knows—except that idiot Quirrell. They might as well hang a sign on the door saying, 'Philosopher's Stone Inside.'"
"Though," the ring added with a snicker, "maybe even that fool is starting to suspect..."
Tver ignored its rambling and looked down at the mark on his wrist.
This was Dumbledore's open scheme—a trap laid in plain sight. But even knowing that, he still had to step into it.
"Tell me," he said quietly, "even your true body can't break this curse?"
The ring went silent for a beat, then gave a low, mirthless laugh.
"You forget—curses are evil prophecies. Once they've touched you, there's no escaping them~"