Watching Cedric sink into deep thought, Tver didn't interrupt him. Instead, he turned his attention to the Quidditch match, which he honestly didn't understand all that well.
He'd only explained that much earlier because he happened to be in a good mood.
To put it bluntly, this was a topic most adult wizards had never even considered, let alone a student like Cedric.
Still, outstanding students always received a professor's special attention—and they were expected to put in the effort worthy of that attention.
"Harry Potter's Firebolt has completely stolen the spotlight today! If you ask me, Potter should've done a victory lap around the pitch before the match even started!" Jordan shouted excitedly from the commentary box.
"Jordan, what the audience actually wants is information about the match itself," Professor McGonagall's sharp reminder echoed through the enchanted microphone.
That small interruption did nothing to stop Gryffindor from building an eighty-point lead, even though Harry, as Seeker, couldn't directly contribute much to his team's scoring.
In truth, Ravenclaw had simply been stunned for a moment by the Firebolt's overwhelming performance.
Especially when compared to Cho Chang's Comet 260, the difference was so stark that her broom looked barely faster than a crawling turtle.
After a while, though, Ravenclaw recovered from the shock. Taking advantage of Gryffindor's momentary overconfidence, they scored three goals in quick succession and narrowed the gap.
The match gradually settled into a stalemate. Unable to follow the finer details of the game, Tver could only take amusement from Jordan's increasingly outrageous commentary.
Still, he noticed something else.
To counter Harry's Firebolt, Ravenclaw had resorted to a rather desperate tactic.
After several attempts, Cho Chang completely gave up on searching for the Golden Snitch. Instead, she made use of Harry's gentlemanly instincts, repeatedly placing herself in his flight path to block him and buy time for her team.
Of course, it wasn't as if Cho Chang had many other options.
But…
Tver cast a strange glance at Cedric, who was still deep in thought.
He couldn't help wondering whether the two of them were actually dating, and whether this Seeker, who had once defeated Harry, had ever imagined such a scene playing out.
Suddenly, a gasp swept through the crowd. Not only Tver, but even Cedric was jolted back to attention.
Harry was still speeding forward, but he pulled out his wand mid-flight and fired a streak of silver light toward three tall, black shapes on the ground.
No—one enormous shape.
A stag.
Tver recognized the Patronus instantly.
Those with antlers were stags. Those without were does.
As for its opponent, that was far stranger. Even from a distance, Tver knew it wasn't a Dementor.
If they'd paid even minimal attention in class, they would know this much at least—Dementors have hands, but no feet.
No matter what, it was a fully formed Patronus. With its embodiment of joy, it celebrated Harry's capture of the Golden Snitch and Gryffindor's victory.
Unlike the crowd surging toward the Gryffindor players, Tver let out a quiet sigh and walked calmly to the edge of the pitch, approaching the heap of so-called "Dementors."
Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle. And Slytherin's team captain, Marcus Flint.
It was obvious now that the earlier scare had been staged by these four.
"Professor," Malfoy said first as he crawled out from beneath the robes, his head lowered in shame.
Professor McGonagall came striding over, fury written all over her face.
"A disgraceful trick! Despicable and cowardly, trying to sabotage Gryffindor's Seeker! Even if Professor Snape were standing here, I would still give every one of you detention and deduct fifty points from Slytherin!"
Her hair was slightly disheveled, whether from anger or excitement at the victory was hard to say. But the fury in her voice left the four Slytherins utterly unable to argue.
"May I take responsibility for Draco Malfoy's detention?" Tver said suddenly.
"Oh!" Still seething, Professor McGonagall only now noticed Tver standing beside her.
"Of course. Then the other three…"
"They can be handed over to Professor Snape," Tver replied calmly, his gaze never leaving Malfoy, who still hadn't lifted his head.
"Very well." Professor McGonagall glanced between the two of them with a strange expression.
"You three, come with me!"
Once they hurried away, the pitch gradually fell quiet as the students dispersed.
The Gryffindors, it seemed, had moved their celebrations back to the common room.
"To be honest, forget your father. Even I feel ashamed of what you did this time."
Tver's tone was perfectly calm. There was no trace of shame in it at all. If anything, it sounded as though he were speaking to a complete stranger.
Draco didn't know why, but a sudden panic rose in his chest.
"No, Professor, it's my fault. I'm the one who should be punished. I shouldn't have… I really shouldn't have…"
Tver watched quietly as Draco babbled in a fluster, words tumbling over each other.
"And your reason?" he asked flatly. "Or have your thoughts really become this childish?"
Draco froze, his words catching in his throat.
He stole a glance at the professor's expression and pressed his lips together.
"I… I just wanted to scare Potter."
"So that's how you came up with such a brilliant plan as pretending to be Dementors?" Tver said mockingly. "Even though you don't even know that Dementors don't have feet?"
"I do know," Draco muttered in a small voice. "It's just that the others couldn't hide it properly…"
Tver let out a humorless laugh.
"You see Harry as your rival. Honestly, I'm glad to see the two of you competing in a fair environment. It benefits both you and Harry."
"But look at yourself. Harry practiced the Patronus Charm, a spell of that level, to overcome his fear."
"And you? You can only rely on such clumsy tricks to interfere with a fair match?"
"Draco, is this really the manners your family taught you?!"
"Where has your pride gone?" Tver said, exasperated, as if iron truly could not be forged into steel.
With every word, Malfoy's head dropped lower. In the end, his shoulders trembled slightly.
After a moment, he suddenly lifted his head, staring straight at Tver with reddened eyes.
"But why do they get to misunderstand me?!"
"I didn't. My father didn't either. We never accused that… that whatever animal it was!"
"They pushed all the blame onto me. Even Goyle and the others think I'm always scheming and plotting."
Tears pooled in his eyes, held back only by sheer stubbornness.
"Is it just because I'm a Malfoy?! Just because my father was once a Death Eater?!"
"Why? I want to know why too!" he shouted hoarsely.
Tver paused.
In truth, the reason he valued Draco at all was because, as the heir to the Malfoy family, he was far more malleable than members of other pure-blood families, especially those that openly represented the Death Eater faction.
To be frank, Lucius had his own calculations and was far too driven by profit and self-interest.
Choosing him had been something Tver did out of necessity.
But his son, Draco, was much better than him.
"Have you ever asked yourself why Goyle and Crabbe are willing to follow you without hesitation?"
"It's because of the Malfoy in your name."
"When you enjoy the honor that name brings, you must also shoulder its responsibility. That's something every one of us has to face."
"You think being misunderstood is unfair. But what about Harry? Doesn't he also carry the title of savior on his back?"
Draco sniffed. He couldn't help feeling that the professor was right. His lips trembled, and he lowered his head again.
"Then what about you, Professor? I've always wanted to become someone like you… someone people admire. But I never see you carrying any burdens."
Tver chuckled softly, reached out, and patted Draco on the head. He leaned in and spoke quietly by his ear.
"Because I'm not the same as you, Draco."
"My glory was never earned through my bloodline. I've always relied on myself."
"What's great isn't pure blood."
"It's me. And only me."