However, mastering the Cruciatus Curse was never something that could be done overnight. After confirming that Tver would teach it, Neville threw himself into studying the extended theory of the Unforgivable Curses under his arrangements, working alongside Draco.
…
The new term had only just begun. Even if they wanted to start grading exams, Moody wouldn't have been able to finish writing them so quickly.
Draco himself had no interest in learning the Cruciatus Curse, but he was in such a good mood that he didn't complain at all.
After all, he had beaten Potter for the first time.
In the second week's battle royale game, Draco successfully stirred up the other students and turned them against Potter's team. Even though he became the second person to be targeted and narrowly missed out on becoming the final champion, that didn't stop him from taking immense pride in how well his plan had worked.
Harry, on the other hand, was anything but happy.
Ever since the summer holidays, his scar had started aching from time to time, and the pain was especially sharp whenever he encountered Voldemort.
He hadn't told anyone about it.
According to Hermione, when Professor Fawley handed Harry over to Sirius, he used the excuse that he had accidentally been hit by a Stunning Spell. Harry's head really had felt hazy at the time, but before that, he clearly remembered what he had seen.
A solid, fully formed Voldemort.
Not the twisted thing clinging to Quirrell in his first year, and not the younger version he'd faced in the Chamber of Secrets in his second year.
It was an evil, complete Voldemort standing right in front of him.
Unfortunately, before Harry could take a proper look, the pain in his head surged until he lost consciousness.
That memory only made the unease in his heart grow heavier.
He didn't know why the professor hadn't mentioned Voldemort to anyone else, but since Professor Fawley hadn't spoken up, Harry felt he shouldn't go around spreading something like that either.
Maybe he'd just been mistaken.
Rubbing his scar, Harry left the owlery.
Sirius already had enough on his plate, being summoned to the Ministry for questioning every few days, as if they were deliberately trying to wear him down. Harry decided to keep the fact that his scar was still hurting to himself, so Sirius wouldn't have even more to worry about.
Besides, he had more than enough things to deal with on his own.
First and foremost were the classes taught by the two Defence Against the Dark Arts professors.
Ever since Harry had been the first one eliminated in the battle royale game, Ron had tried to cheer him up by pointing out that George and Fred had met the same fate. Even so, Hermione, while spending all day buried in books, had also increased the intensity of their practical training.
As for Professor Moody, Harry's feelings were complicated.
In the new round of lessons, Moody had them practice resisting the Imperius Curse, and Harry turned out to be the best among them. Even though his mind instinctively rejected the sensation, he could only treat it as a small consolation for losing the battle royale.
On top of that, the workload from their other classes had increased noticeably. As Professor McGonagall put it,
"You have less than two years left before your O.W.L.s. If you don't want to end up unable to find work in the wizarding world, you'd better start preparing now."
Harry didn't disagree. But when he thought about the mountain of homework waiting for him, even the weekend failed to bring him any sense of happiness at all.
"Where's Hermione?"
Back in the common room, Harry immediately spotted Ron, who was sitting there scratching at his hair in frustration. If Harry hadn't gone off to send letters earlier, he'd probably look exactly the same.
"She said she finished something and went to talk to Professor Fawley." Ron's hopeful expression collapsed at once. He'd thought Hermione had come back.
"Forget it. It's probably something to do with house-elves again. Come on, take a look at what we're supposed to write for Divination!"
Harry sat down helplessly.
"Just keep making things up about us getting hurt. Professor Trelawney loves stories like that, doesn't she?"
Out of all the recent half-good news, getting high marks on their Divination homework was the most ridiculous one of all.
"But I've already written down every accident we could think of," Ron groaned, slumping over the table. "I can't exactly say we got swallowed whole by a fire-breathing dragon, can I?"
Precisely because of those high homework scores, Professor Trelawney had started paying close attention to their assignments. Otherwise, Ron wouldn't be this distressed.
...
Meanwhile, Hermione was in a far better mood than her two friends.
"Professor!" she called cheerfully as she jogged toward Professor Fawley's office. "Um—what's going on here?"
The moment the door swung open, she spotted Draco and Neville on the floor, drenched in sweat. She knew the two of them had been studying magic with the professor, though Neville had been oddly evasive lately about what he was learning.
Still, what kind of magic could leave someone this exhausted?
Draco and Neville sat there limply. Even hearing Hermione's voice, they didn't have the strength to lift their heads. Sweat dripped steadily from their foreheads, and every muscle in their slack bodies seemed to be protesting.
The professor had just made them try out the Cruciatus Curse on each other.
The spell's power was nowhere near enough to seriously harm anyone, and there was no hatred between them. Even so, the professor had demanded that they maintain a continuous flow of magic, insisting they needed to get used to the constant stabbing pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Otherwise, they might one day use it without restraint.
Casting spells while pushed to their limits would also force them to focus on precision, conserving every bit of magic and time.
They could feel the benefits already.
The problem was that it was exhausting as hell.
"Don't worry about them. They'll recover on their own soon enough." Tver waved his wand casually, levitating the two of them onto a nearby sofa.
"Oh. Okay," Hermione replied.
She tightened her grip on her small satchel and sat down across from the professor, watching as he poured her a glass of pumpkin juice.
"You seem in a hurry. Is there something you wanted to discuss?"
At that, Hermione immediately forgot about the strange scene from earlier.
"I finished the draft you asked for!" she said excitedly, pulling out a roll of parchment. Judging by its weight alone, one might even believe it was a club.
"Uh…" Hermione stuck out her tongue sheepishly. She'd realized it herself. This was probably far too much.
"There was so much useful information, and I couldn't tell what mattered most, so I just wrote everything down."
Tver took the parchment with an amused look. As expected, Hermione hadn't done what other students did by padding their work with oversized handwriting. Instead, she'd deliberately made her script smaller so she could cram in as much content as possible.
"There's too much material. Some of this needs to be cut and revised." Tver picked up his quill and began marking it line by line.
Hermione didn't argue at all, listening attentively as he explained.
"What people want to see is representative content, not repeated information."
"It's good that you included all sentient beings," he continued. "But you missed one point. Wizards of mixed heritage with magical creatures aren't treated particularly well in the magical world either."
"Overall, though, this article is already enough to show wizards what kind of ideas you have."
With a nod of approval, Tver handed the revised parchment back to her.
He could have left this task to Rita, but Rita was different from Hermione. Hermione didn't have such a strong utilitarian streak. Her writing might still be rough, but it was far more capable of resonating with readers.
Especially with those magical creatures.