Lying on the grass, basking in the sunlight and savoring a rare moment of peace, Tver realized he had never felt his body so light and unburdened.
"Hey, hey, where did you disappear to just now?" the ring's voice suddenly echoed.
He immediately understood that the place he had been was far from ordinary. Even the ring, which usually perceived everything he experienced, had been unable to "see" into that space.
"Somewhere that could've gotten rid of you," Tver teased.
The ring panicked at once.
To be fair, it had been with him longer than most people ever had. Normally, Tver was tense, driven by an undercurrent of urgency. This was the first time the ring had ever seen him so completely relaxed.
"You can't mean that, Tver!" the ring exclaimed in alarm. "I've been by your side all these years, helping you study dark magic!"
"More than that, you've been nurturing my soul—piece by piece—helping me recover what I'd lost! You can't just stand by and watch your own work be destroyed!"
Ordinarily, Horcruxes—even Voldemort's own soul—were incomplete. But the ring had absorbed Tver's vitality, and through deliberate cultivation, its soul had become far more intact than any other Horcrux.
That was why it was unusually intelligent. And that, too, was Tver's doing.
In a sense, the ring was now a fusion of his life force and Voldemort's soul.
"Relax. If I wanted to destroy you, I would've done it long ago," Tver said, pulling the ring from his finger and rolling it between his fingers. "I'm not that eager to see you gone."
He knew how to destroy a Horcrux. But, as the ring had said, doing so outright would waste a great deal of life energy.
Even weeds had their uses.
The ring sighed in relief—then caught sight of his right hand. It peered closer, noticing the faint mark on his wrist.
"Wait—you actually removed the curse?!"
"Of course not. I just replenished my life force," Tver said, checking himself over. "Should be good for about fifty years."
He carried two curses on him. For now, they were merely suppressed. To rid himself of them completely, he'd have to meet Madam Ravenclaw.
"So… we're still going to steal the Philosopher's Stone, right?"
"Of course," Tver replied. "After all the preparation I've done, I'm not about to waste it. I'm a practical man."
He paused for a moment. "Besides, even if I don't need it, someone else will."
"Who?" the ring asked lazily.
It was completely under his control now, incapable of harboring any independent desires.
"You, obviously." A sly grin tugged at Tver's lips, his tone dripping with mockery.
"!!!"
If one could see the fragment of Voldemort's soul inside the ring, its wide-eyed shock would have been a sight to behold.
"You're not lying to me, are you? Wizards shouldn't lie to wizards!"
"Exactly. You don't even need the Stone that much. What would you do with it? Better to let me handle it, don't you think?"
"Ugh… my original body abandoned me in a dusty old house. He never appreciated me. You're the only one who treats me right."
"From the moment you picked up this ring, I knew you were a good person!"
Receiving such an absurd compliment out of nowhere, Tver snorted and rapped the black gemstone sharply with his finger.
"Drop the act. We agreed to make it sound more convincing."
The ring immediately fell silent.
Tver took the opportunity to study the Resurrection Stone embedded in it.
The dark, angular gem was engraved with the Peverell Crest—the mark of the Deathly Hallows. Its surface seemed as deep as a black hole; every time he probed it with magic, his power was swallowed completely.
In truth, he didn't dare study it carelessly.
The forces bound within it were far removed from the laws of the wizarding world. Until his understanding of the soul reached a higher level, he had no intention of wasting time experimenting on the Resurrection Stone.
Still, he remembered the first thought that had crossed his mind when he realized what it was:
If one were to summon their soul back at the very moment of death… what state would that create?
Alive and dead at once—a superposition of both?
He was still mulling over the question when a massive shadow suddenly blocked the sunlight.
And in front of him appeared a large, bearded face looming close.
"Professor Fawley?" Hagrid asked in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
With the sunlight gone, Tver rose to his feet. Even standing tall at nearly two meters, he still had to tilt his head back to meet the half-giant's gaze.
Since this was their first proper encounter, Hagrid introduced himself politely.
"You probably don't know me well. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."
"How could I not know you?" Tver replied with a faint smile. "A man like you is hard to forget."
Only then did he take in his surroundings.
He was at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest—right where the snow-covered grounds met the first line of ancient trees.
Helga had been considerate enough to send him straight back.
Five-star service.
Hagrid scratched the back of his head with his free hand, a little embarrassed. He was used to hearing comments like that.
Still, he treated every professor with genuine respect. Even those unreliable Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers before Tver had always been met with his deference.
"Don't know what brings you here, Professor, but you'd best stay out of the Forbidden Forest for now," Hagrid said seriously.
"Oh? Did something happen in the forest?"
A suspicion flickered in Tver's mind as he noticed the heavy crossbow in Hagrid's other hand and the quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.
"I'm not sure who it was," Hagrid said with a frown, "but there was a lot of disturbance in the forest last night. When I went to check, I only saw a dark figure."
He cast a worried glance toward the shadowy depths of the woods.
"The creatures are restless—I can feel it. Earlier, I even came across several dead Acromantulas. They'd been killed cleanly, quick and precise. I know you're a strong wizard, Professor, but…"
He trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Tver's face.
"…It'd still be best for you to keep your distance from the forest. No need for any… misunderstandings." His tone had grown noticeably stiff.
Suspecting me, are you?
He couldn't really blame him. With Hagrid's straightforward nature, even subtle suspicion was about as subtle as a brick to the head.
"Alright," Tver said with a nod, glancing toward the direction where the rabbit had hopped away.
He had no intention of interrupting Quirrell's hunt. Let the man eat properly—he'd need the strength for what was coming.
"I doubt I'll be back in the Forbidden Forest anytime soon. I'll leave its little residents in your care."
But Hagrid clearly misunderstood what Tver meant by "little residents." To him, dragons were the cutest creatures imaginable.
Still, he beamed, swinging his massive hand cheerfully. "That's my job! Just like it's yours to teach classes, Professor."
There you have it. With a reputation like his, how could anyone think Professor Fawley would ever try to steal the Philosopher's Stone?