Having successfully helped the trio uncover information about the Philosopher's Stone, Tver began to carry out his own plan to steal it.
Before that, however, he stood before the giant chessboard for the third time.
Compared to his previous humiliating defeats, he now moved his pieces with practiced ease. The black side was swiftly overwhelmed, and at last, the door to the next chamber opened for him.
After a quick sweep confirmed there were no detection spells, Tver didn't spare a glance for the toppled chess pieces scattered across the floor. He strode straight through the open doorway.
Before his eyes could adjust to the sudden glare of light, a massive wooden club came crashing down toward him.
With a roar of wind came a stench so foul it made his eyes water instantly. The nauseating smell hit him like a wave.
Careless again. He'd assumed Snape's room came first, and that the troll would appear afterward.
Without even bothering to draw his wand, Tver muttered a sharp Freezing Charm. The troll froze solid in an instant, and at the same time, a large bubble formed around it, sealing the stench inside.
Only then did he exhale in relief.
This troll was far larger than the one from Halloween. If that one was meant for teaching students below third year, then this was clearly a version for the upper grades. Its reeking odor alone felt like its strongest weapon—so overpowering it could have been considered a skill in itself.
Dispatching the troll, Tver hurried on to the next chamber.
This one was simple: a table stood at its center, upon which sat seven bottles of varying shapes and sizes.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a wave of purple fire erupted behind him, sealing the doorway. Ahead, black flames flared to life across the exit, blocking his way forward.
Tver studied the magical flames with curiosity. Their heat radiated a destructive power unique to magic—it was clear these were no ordinary fires.
The intended way through, of course, was to solve the riddle Snape had left behind.
But that wasn't necessary for him. Drawing his wand, he traced a slow circle around himself.
"Protego Diabolica!"
A circle of blue-violet flames ignited around him, flickering menacingly. They weren't especially hot, nor did they cover much ground—but that was enough.
Under the shield of his conjured flame, the black fire ahead responded like a tamed beast, parting to clear a path.
Next came the final chamber.
This room was smaller than the others, but far more refined. Torches on the walls illuminated every corner, casting warm light over the large mirror standing at its center. It shimmered brilliantly, like a jewel tempting him closer.
Even so, Tver carefully examined the space before proceeding. If Dumbledore had left behind any surveillance magic, broadcasting his presence here would be disastrous.
To his surprise, there was none.
He was confident in his magical perception—though he still couldn't overpower Dumbledore and the Elder Wand, there was no one in the world capable of hiding a detection spell from him.
Stepping slowly toward the Mirror of Erised, Tver couldn't help but wonder what his own deepest desire truly was.
Sometimes people didn't even know what they wanted. The older one grew, the more uncertain that answer became.
He felt something stir within his mind—memories shifting, surfacing. He didn't resist. In truth, he couldn't.
The mirror didn't just reflect memories. It reached deeper, probing the soul itself, seeing through him completely.
But the reflection staring back at him was still his own. Only him, standing there, as if before an ordinary mirror.
No—something was wrong. The reflection was aging.
In the mirror, his hair gradually turned white, wrinkles creased his face, and his posture bent with age.
But he was still handsome.
Tver looked at his older reflection with unabashed vanity, faintly guessing what it was his heart truly longed for. Yet the Mirror of Erised seemed to sense his desire for the Philosopher's Stone as well, for an image of it appeared beside his reflection's head.
The older version of him only glanced at it before looking away.
Tver reached out to touch the mirror, and a thought struck him. The Philosopher's Stone was sealed within using a spell akin to the Undetectable Extension Charm. If he were to destroy the mirror now, would the stone vanish forever with the collapse of that internal space, or would it be expelled—like the contents of an undone Extension Charm?
He wasn't about to take that gamble.
After a brief inspection, he could sense Dumbledore's magic perfectly intertwined with the Mirror of Erised. That kind of seamless integration was far beyond his current ability to undo.
So, without hesitation, he turned and left.
At the doorway, however, he ran into someone unexpected—though not entirely surprising.
"Fawley!" Quirrell hissed, glancing around in panic. "What are you doing here?!"
"The same as you," Tver replied calmly.
He studied Quirrell's face—it was paler than ever, a ghastly shade no living person should have. That was odd. By all logic, Quirrell shouldn't have weakened this much yet.
No, something was off. In the story, after drinking unicorn blood, Quirrell had remained vigorous until the very end.
Tsk. Looks like I'll need to speed things up.
Tver calculated silently, though his expression didn't change.
At his words, Quirrell's eyes flared with anger.
"You want to take the Philosopher's Stone and sneak off with it too?!"
"..."
Silence.
A suffocating silence.
Tver stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. Was this Voldemort's influence speaking—or was Quirrell simply losing his mind?
"Ahem," Quirrell coughed, realizing his blunder, and tried to recover. "I already know what Snape set up. Now I just need your—"
"Quiet."
Tver silenced him with a single sharp look.
Before they could hide, another figure rounded the corner in a swift stride.
That flowing curtain of hair alone gave away his identity.
"Professor Snape, aren't you quite free tonight?" Tver spoke first, his tone mocking. "Out for a midnight jog? Trying to lose weight?"
Snape's face twitched. He glared at Tver with eyes that could kill, took a slow, deep breath, and finally spoke.
"Better than you two—wandering around the fourth-floor corridor at this hour. I imagine the three-headed dog inside won't be pleased to see you here."
His eyes flicked back and forth between Quirrell and Tver, as if searching their faces for any hint of deceit.
Quirrell immediately reverted to his usual nervous act, trembling and avoiding eye contact, as though Snape's very presence terrified him.
Tver, on the other hand, met Snape's gaze with a look of amused defiance.
He was sure he hadn't triggered any detection spells inside, yet equally certain Snape wasn't there by coincidence. Which meant—there was something inside he still didn't know about.
"Oh, so there's a three-headed dog in there? I had no idea," Tver said, feigning surprise so exaggerated that even Quirrell almost rolled his eyes. "Something that dangerous, and you're not worried students might stumble in?"
"Why would students be interested in what's inside?" Snape shot back coldly.
"How should I know?" Tver smiled. "Maybe some rebellious student sneaks in. You know how certain Hogwarts students just love adventure~"
Snape's face darkened instantly. "Are you threatening me?"
Tver's smile didn't falter. He stepped closer, lightly patting Snape's arm.
"Threatening you? Of course not. I'm merely reminding you—to keep an eye on the students' safety~"
With that, Tver cast a glance over his shoulder at Quirrell, who was still pretending to be a nervous wreck, then turned and walked away first.
Out wandering at this hour? Absolutely ridiculous.