Hagrid's hut.
After the match, Harry brought Hermione and Ron along to have afternoon tea with Hagrid. Of course, they "just happened" to discuss their latest discovery.
"Professor Fawley caught me just now!" Hermione said, still visibly shaken.
Hagrid handed her a mug of strong tea before asking in confusion, "Caught you doing what?"
"He caught Hermione casting a spell on Snape," Ron replied matter-of-factly. "But why didn't the professor report her?"
Hermione frowned thoughtfully, cradling her teacup, while Hagrid grew more anxious by the second.
"Why would you cast a spell on Professor Snape? How could you do something like that to a teacher?" he said worriedly, glancing between them. He hadn't even realized Hermione had disappeared for a moment, let alone noticed what had happened up on the staff stand.
"Harry's broom was going crazy because Snape was cursing it," Ron said, picking up a rock cake. "I saw him muttering an incantation!"
"Nonsense! If Professor Fawley could spot Hermione casting a spell, he'd have noticed Snape doing it too!" Hagrid slammed the teapot down with a thud.
Hermione's expression tightened. She clutched her teacup so hard it looked as if she might crush it, her knuckles turning white.
"What if... Professor Fawley and Snape are working together?" she said hesitantly.
"Impossible!" Harry said at once. "Professor Fawley's a good man. He and Snape are total opposites—there's no way they'd ever team up!"
Hermione loosened her grip, her hand brushing against the pocket of her robe where the professor's handkerchief rested. She didn't want to believe he could be involved either.
"But think about it," she said quietly. "We ran into Professor Fawley on the fourth floor before, and Snape tried to get past the three-headed dog on Halloween."
"Wait—how do you know about Fluffy on the fourth floor?" Hagrid's voice rose sharply.
"Fluffy?"
"That's the one I lent Dumbledore! He's guarding—"
"Guarding what?" Harry cut in quickly.
"That's none of your business!" Hagrid barked.
"But Professor Fawley and Snape are trying to steal whatever it is!" Harry insisted.
"Impossible! If Fawley were in on it, why would he let Hermione interrupt Snape's spell?"
Ron rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then discreetly set the rock cake back down—it had nearly broken his teeth.
"Maybe Professor Fawley's a good person," Ron said slowly, "someone who doesn't want to hurt Harry... but still wants to steal that thing?"
Hagrid shook his head so hard his beard trembled.
"Impossible! No decent person would ever try to steal Nicolas Flamel's—"
Harry's eyes widened.
"Oh! So that thing belongs to Nicolas Flamel, doesn't it?"
Hagrid froze, then turned red with fury. He herded the three of them out of the hut and slammed the door shut behind them, deciding to lock himself inside and sulk for the rest of the day.
...
Outside, Hermione still couldn't let go of her doubts about Professor Fawley.
"No, I have to ask the professor myself!" she declared.
Ron and Harry quickly stepped in front of her.
"Are you mad?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry added. "What are you going to do—walk up and say, 'Excuse me, Professor, are you planning to steal something from the fourth floor?'"
Ron imitated Hermione's questioning tone, which finally made her stop in her tracks.
"But if the professor really is trying to steal that thing," Hermione asked softly, "what should we do?"
Ron shrugged. "Maybe we could even help him out."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
"Professor Fawley's only a suspect," Harry said suddenly. "Ron, you play Wizard Chess with him every day, don't you? Maybe you could try probing him a bit."
Ron immediately shook his head, waving his hands in protest.
"Forget it. I finally got the chance to be taught by the professor—I'm not going to ruin it over a suspicion."
"Besides, try facing him for an hour. His eyes feel like they can see straight through you!"
"I wouldn't dare ask him something like that."
"George and the others say it's because he's so knowledgeable that he can instantly read what I'm thinking, but… something about it just feels strange."
He imagined the scene and shuddered, his face full of refusal.
Harry hadn't experienced it himself, but when he thought of what it was like to face Snape, he immediately understood—and substituted himself into the image.
"Then forget it. Let's look into Nicolas Flamel first. Once we figure out what's hidden there, we can decide what to do next."
The other two let out breaths of relief—they didn't want to doubt Professor Fawley either.
"Wait," Hermione said suddenly. "Are we just assuming Snape's trying to steal something?"
Thinking of Snape's constant favoritism toward his own House, Harry snapped, "Compared to Professor Fawley, I'd believe Snape could do anything evil!"
...
Meanwhile, Tver had no idea he'd somehow inherited Snape's uncanny ability to take the blame for everything. Even if he did, he'd probably just laugh it off.
Because he really was planning to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
"Professor, am I just terrible at magic?" Neville's voice wavered on the edge of tears.
They were practicing stable magical energy output, but after ten failed attempts, the fragile confidence Neville had built up was beginning to crumble.
In an earlier lesson, Tver had helped him learn how to release his magic properly and cast spells successfully. But there was still a problem. When it came to spells that required a continuous flow—like the Levitation Charm—Neville's magic would suddenly cut off after a short time.
It reminded Tver of his Map of Precise Locations, where the connection between the badge and the map would abruptly sever. The similarity piqued his interest.
"Don't be discouraged. I can guarantee your magical talent is not inferior to anyone in this castle."
"Your foundation just isn't solid yet. You need more repetition. Be prepared to put in twice as much practice as others."
Neville sniffed and quickly wiped his eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.
"I... I don't mind practicing more than others," he said softly. "I just... feel like I'm wasting your time."
"Not at all," Tver replied calmly. "Teaching students is what a teacher should do."
"Now, raise your wand again. This time, release your magic more slowly. Even if it means going slower, focus on keeping the flow steady."
Neville was deeply moved. The tears he'd just managed to stop began to well up again.
He had only one thought—If I could, I'd be the professor's student forever.
He quickly wiped his eyes, pressed his lips together, and his round face tightened with determination.
I can't cry anymore. I can't disappoint the professor again!
He aimed his wand at the small ball on the floor.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The ball rose slowly, floating up until it hovered in front of him.
"Excellent," Tver said approvingly. "Your control over the spell is already better than most of your classmates. Keep the ball steady in the air, but don't stop channeling your magic."
Neville puffed out his cheeks, his wide eyes fixed intently on the ball. When it began to wobble, he focused even harder on maintaining his output.
So focused was he that he didn't notice how long this attempt had lasted—longer than any before. It wasn't until his magic was nearly depleted that he finally came back to his senses.
Sweat beaded on his forehead from exhaustion, but his eyes shone with joy.
"Professor! I finally did it!"
Tears filled his eyes once more.
No, I promised I wouldn't cry, Neville thought desperately, blinking rapidly to hold them back.
Tver's expression turned slightly odd. He clapped his hands once, then asked curiously,
"Can you... try failing again?"
Neville: [・_・?]