Battle royale–style games kept playing out in the classroom. Aside from a small number of standout students in the upper years, most students had nothing but praise for them.
The chaotic battlefield format gave powerful teams a chance to be fully balanced out. Or rather, raw strength was no longer the deciding factor in victory. For the first time outside of exams, intelligence was given real weight.
For the first time, students felt the sheer thrill of playing a game with their brains.
It also meant that many teams who weren't particularly strong could, for the first time, feel that victory was actually within reach instead of something they could only watch from the sidelines.
So even after Tver emphasized several times that these activities would continue, the students still asked eagerly when the next one would be.
And this was despite the fact that they had just finished such a class.
"It looks like the students really enjoy playing games?"
At lunch on Thursday, Professor Flitwick watched the students animatedly discussing the battle royale game, his expression thoughtful.
Tver, who had only just managed to escape the crowd of students, paused for a moment when he heard that.
"What, are you planning to add some little games to your classes too?"
"It does seem to be working quite well, doesn't it?" Professor McGonagall joined in.
"Alastor's lessons have been a bit… by the book lately. Just this morning, I heard students quietly complaining more than once. All they want now is to attend your class, Tver."
"It's been a year since Remus left the school since I last heard complaints like that."
She said it with a hint of amusement.
Last year, the students had complained about Lupin at first as well, but they were quickly won over by his cleverly designed lessons.
This year, however, Moody hadn't been quite so lucky.
His classes were better than Quirrell's or Lockhart's in previous years, but compared with Lupin and Tver, there was nothing particularly remarkable about them.
Tver glanced in surprise at Moody not far away, who was wolfing down sausages. It seemed he was saving his real tricks for Harry's class.
Wasn't that scheduled for this afternoon?
"Professor Moody, would you mind if I sat in on your class this afternoon? I'd like to learn from a veteran Auror's unique approach to teaching."
Moody clearly hadn't encountered the idea of someone auditing a class before. Even with his superb acting skills, he couldn't help lifting his head in surprise.
His magical eye swiveled toward Tver, twitching uneasily.
"Since when does Hogwarts allow people to audit classes?"
"Alastor, there's no need to be so tense. When Lockhart was teaching here a couple of years ago, Tver sat in on his lessons too." Professor McGonagall gently patted Moody on the arm.
She knew all too well how suspicious the elderly Moody could be.
What she didn't know was that this Moody was not the same Moody.
"So, kid, you're putting me on the same level as that fraud Lockhart?!" Moody snapped, his eyes wide with anger.
Tver smiled faintly, picked up his cup, and took a sip of Pumpkin juice before speaking unhurriedly. "Even that fraud, Lockhart, didn't react as strongly as you did when he heard I wanted to audit his class."
Moody's expression stiffened. Catching the slightly suspicious looks from Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, he couldn't help feeling a flicker of anxiety.
He simply didn't want Tver doing whatever he pleased in his classroom, which was why he wanted to refuse the audit.
But compared to the other professors' doubts, that concern seemed insignificant.
"Hmph. Auditing is fine, but don't interfere with my lesson!" Moody snorted, pushing himself to his feet. Leaning on his cane, he stomped out of the Great Hall, the heavy thuds echoing behind him.
"That's just how Alastor is. He doesn't actually bear you any ill will," Professor McGonagall explained.
Professor Flitwick couldn't help adding, "Or rather, he seems to bear ill will toward just about everyone right now."
The students in the Great Hall clearly didn't care much about Moody's temperament. Students like Harry, who were about to have class, hastily ate a bit of lunch and hurried off to attend Moody's first lesson.
After all, every new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor brought something different each year. Whether it was good or bad, the students would only know after attending the first lesson.
On top of that, everyone knew about Moody's identity as a veteran Auror. Many students were secretly hoping that one day he might suddenly put on a display of what the wizarding world's legally sanctioned force of violence could really do.
Tver was the sole exception.
This school year, nothing could stop him from enjoying every meal, along with the extra biscuits prepared by the house-elves.
So it wasn't until the class bell rang that he finally strolled toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
"If I heard correctly, you're late."
Tver glanced at Hermione, who was walking toward the classroom alongside him.
Hermione gave him a helpless smile and adjusted the heavy bag that kept sliding down her shoulder.
"I… I got too absorbed in reading at the library and lost track of time. If Madam Pince hadn't reminded me, I'd probably still be there."
"Reading? About house-elves?"
"That's right!"
The bitterness of being late vanished from Hermione's face the moment she touched on her favorite topic.
"I've looked through a lot of material. In the past, house-elves and wizards had a mutually beneficial relationship. During the Goblin Rebellions, they were even the only magical creatures willing to stand on the wizards' side!"
"And in the end, the wizards betrayed that trust and treated them like slaves."
"Exactly. That's why other highly intelligent magical creatures, including centaurs, are unwilling to form closer relationships with wizards."
Tver nodded in approval.
Approaching the issue from the angle of betrayal was clearly far more effective than the earlier, rather naive idea of simply paying house-elves wages.
After all, empathetic wizards carried far more influence than house-elves longing for pay.
Encouraged, Hermione's smile grew brighter.
"So we can call on wizards to fulfill their original promises and give house-elves the treatment they deserve!"
"I can help you publish these ideas in the Daily Prophet," Tver said, "but you need to understand one thing. This process will inevitably harm certain wizards' interests, and the backlash will be far greater than you imagine."
"Especially since you're still just a student."
He deliberately tempered her rising excitement.
As Hermione dug through more material, she had also begun to see wizarding interest groups more clearly.
"Then… then what should we do? Gather a group to fight back against them?"
"No, no. What I mean is that you should soften the appeal for now. For example, we can start by advocating kinder treatment of house-elves and other magical creatures."
"Compared to the original promises wizards made, this kind of suggestion is much easier for them to accept. After that, we can gradually, step by step, improve the treatment of house-elves."
"By the end, even if some people still oppose you, more will support you, simply because they've grown used to treating magical creatures as equals."
Tver patiently guided Hermione through his way of thinking when it came to magical creatures.
To be clear, house-elves alone were not worth this much of his attention.
What he wanted was the recognition of all magical creatures.
This was an extension of his werewolf policy. Once people became accustomed to treating intelligent beings as equals, would they still resist integration with Muggles?
It was a small plan Tver had thought up on the spur of the moment after Hermione raised her question.
He couldn't say how effective it would ultimately be.
But all it cost him was a bit of time and effort spent answering a student's doubts.
Besides, maintaining friendly relations with magical creatures could also prevent them from throwing their support behind Voldemort without restraint after his return.
Anything that could trip up the enemy could hardly be called meaningless.