As December arrived, a heavy snowfall blanketed the world in white. Under the pale winter sun, the ancient castle gleamed with a golden sheen.
Early that morning, a few young wizards were already having a snowball fight in front of the castle gates. From the window of his office, Tver immediately spotted the familiar figures of the Weasley twins.
The two were using magic to control a snowball, sending it flying in relentless pursuit of each other's heads.
This was a new variant of the light-ball game.
After the students learned to control the light spheres without relying on the Lumos Charm, Tver had taught them to use the Levitation Charm to control one sphere and attack another.
Of course, only the third-year students were capable of doing that so far. The other two grades were still playing the standard light-ball game held every two weeks.
To accommodate them, Tver had quietly expanded the space behind his classroom so multiple students could play at once.
"Thwack."
George's snowball hit Quirrell squarely on the back of the head as he passed by.
It was the second time. Judging by Quirrell's expression, the twins were about to earn themselves another severe punishment.
"That fool won't last much longer," the ring said gleefully. "So what about your plan?"
"My true self still needs him to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. I won't let him die so easily."
"Life isn't a matter of will. Unlike you, what else could Quirrell possibly do to prolong his?"
Tver's eyes shifted toward the Forbidden Forest.
"Unicorns, of course. The Forbidden Forest is full of rare treasures."
"Ugh~ that's too vile. If it were me, I'd rather die than touch unicorn blood."
"Don't act innocent. That doesn't suit you."
"Heh heh, then I'll try harder next time," the ring replied obsequiously.
Tver didn't believe a single word. As a fragment of Voldemort's soul, the ring was constantly trying to drain his vitality and tempt him deeper into dark magic. All its flattery and friendliness were nothing more than a mask for its malice.
Still, the Forbidden Forest did pique his curiosity.
That curiosity, however, began with Neville.
Ever since discovering that Neville's magic sometimes cut off mid-spell, Tver had been pondering a question.
Was magical output like a kite—or like a cannonball?
The difference was simple: the former remained tethered by a controllable magical thread, while the latter flew freely once released, no longer under the caster's control.
By common understanding, spells such as the Levitation Charm were "kites," since the caster could still manipulate them. Spells like the Disarming Charm, however, were "cannonballs."
Had it not been for Neville, Tver would have believed that for the rest of his life—and so would everyone else in the wizarding world.
But Neville was different. His magic always carried a thread of connection!
In other words, Neville's kite never lost its string—it simply dropped midair!
That could only mean the thread controlling the kite was linked to another, hidden line.
Coincidentally, Tver had recently made a breakthrough in his research on the soul. Combining the two discoveries, he uncovered another thread buried beneath the flow of magic—
Will.
Through his studies of Neville, Tver's understanding of magic and the soul had deepened. Every fragment of magical power carried with it a strand of will connecting back to its source.
Even a Disarming Charm contained that will—it's just that no one had ever noticed. That oversight made certain spells appear uncontrollable when, in truth, they never were.
Of course, Tver couldn't be sure he was the first to realize this, but regardless, the discovery had significantly enhanced his mastery over magic.
Still, probing the source of will drained both his magic and his mind severely.
Even so, he had spent the entire previous night in his office, burning through his magic reserves as he meticulously traced the origin of every strand of will within his spells.
The wallet enchanted with an Extension Charm—linked to his physical body.
The book protected by wards—connected to the unreachable void.
The Shield Charm badge crafted by Dervish and Banges—linked to a small house in Hogsmeade.
And finally—
The Hogwarts badge he carried—connected deep into the Forbidden Forest.
If the caster had died, the link should have led to the void—the realm of the dead.
But this badge… led to the Forbidden Forest.
Did this mean that the badge's creator was not only alive but possibly living well somewhere within the Forbidden Forest?
The realization sent a chill down his spine.
But after the initial shock faded, another thought crept in—if the badge could delay death, then perhaps its creator could prevent it altogether.
His body was still trembling, though now from excitement rather than fear.
After thinking it over all night, Tver decided to venture into the Forbidden Forest himself to uncover the truth.
It happened to be the weekend, giving him plenty of time to explore whatever secrets lay hidden in its depths.
After making a few preparations and restoring his magical reserves, he waited until noon, then slipped away from the students and made his way toward the forest.
Though he had been at Hogwarts for three months, this was his first time entering the Forbidden Forest. Yet even from the edge, he could sense something strange about it.
One word came to mind—massive.
From the castle above, the forest had always appeared rather ordinary—large, yes, perhaps twice the size of a normal forest, with distant mountains clearly visible beyond its far edge.
But standing at its border, Tver could feel it: the forest extended far deeper than it should have.
It was uncanny.
How could a forest that size feel so much deeper?
That discovery made him even more cautious. As soon as he reached the boundary, he drew his wand.
He placed a magical marker at the edge, allowing him to sense how far he traveled.
Following a path clearly carved out by hand, Tver began his journey forward.
It was likely one of the trails Hagrid had cleared for his rounds through the forest.
At first, the Forbidden Forest seemed no different from any other woodland—until the sudden appearance of an Acromantula.
After dealing with another of the giant spiders, he noticed the trees growing increasingly dense. Only the dim, patchy light filtering through the canopy told him how much time had passed.
He pulled out his pocket watch. Six o'clock in the evening. He'd already been walking for five hours.
But Tver had prepared himself to spend up to two days inside the forest. After a short rest, he pressed on.
About an hour later, he noticed a change. The trees had grown so close together that pitching a tent between them would have been impossible, and the undergrowth had thickened until it was almost impossible to see the ground.
The atmosphere had turned undeniably strange.
Normally, a forest like the one near the edge would have open spaces between the trees—after all, leaves needed sunlight for photosynthesis to grow.
Saplings shaded by taller trees couldn't survive, and most plants on the forest floor would wither without light.
Even in untouched wilderness, animal trails would carve open patches of ground here and there.
But this place was different. The plants grew unnaturally thick, almost suffocatingly so, and animal tracks were nearly nonexistent.
It gave Tver an eerie impression—as if this forest was endless, stretching far beyond anything he could comprehend.