September 1st, evening.
When the students returned to school in a noisy rush, they were stunned to find a massive circular building standing between the castle and the Quidditch pitch.
The white structure clashed somewhat with the castle's ancient, weathered aesthetic, yet it was strikingly grand. It spanned nearly half the size of the Quidditch pitch, its outer walls covered in intricate relief carvings. The fading light, however, made it difficult to see the details clearly.
On the path to the castle—
"How about we sneak over and check it out?" George suggested.
Fred immediately nodded in agreement, but Hermione shot them both a sharp look of disapproval.
"Can't you two be worried about Harry and Ron for once?" she scolded. "We haven't seen them since we got on the train!"
"They're not first-years anymore," Fred said, shrugging. "They know how to get to school."
Hermione's raised voice drew attention from nearby students, killing any chance of slipping away unnoticed.
Seeing her still frowning, George tried to reassure her. "Ron's an idiot, sure—but Harry isn't. If something really happened, he'd at least send us a message or something."
"Maybe they're planning to jump out and surprise us!"
"…Fine," Hermione sighed, a little calmer.
At that moment, Davies strutted over with a self-satisfied grin.
"Guess what that is!" He pointed dramatically at the white building. "Go on, take a guess!"
"You went inside?" George asked, eyes wide.
"Of course I did!" Davies said proudly, hands on his hips and chin tilted up.
George and Fred exchanged mischievous glances, then pounced together, trapping him between them.
"Talk! Or we'll tickle you till you die laughing!"
The twins jabbed at his sides mercilessly as Davies burst into helpless laughter.
"Alright, alright! I'll tell you!" he gasped, surrendering instantly.
They released him, and after catching his breath, Davies leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "It's an arena."
The twins inhaled sharply, exchanging looks of disbelief—both recalling Professor Fawley's words from the summer.
"So what—you mean we're going to fight like gladiators this term?!"
"Professor Fawley would never do that!" Hermione said indignantly.
"Maybe it's for combat training," she reasoned after a moment. "Makes sense—Professor Lockhart can focus on theory and exploration, while Fawley handles the practical side."
Her expression softened into an eager smile.
"If you mean that Lockhart," George muttered, grimacing, "I'm not exactly excited."
They entered the lively Great Hall, immediately spotting Lockhart himself, resplendent in bright robes, loudly singing his own praises.
Even over the chatter and clatter, his booming voice carried clearly.
"When I was in France, I visited a castle even more magnificent than this one! The owner was so delighted he insisted I stay—well, who could refuse after I saved his entire family's lives?"
Meanwhile, the other Defence Against the Dark Arts professor kept a much lower profile. Tver stood beside Professor Flitwick, discussing the new arena.
"You're planning to host a dueling competition at Hogwarts?" Flitwick guessed, eyes sparkling with interest.
"A formal tournament probably isn't possible," Tver replied. "But I can still use class time to let the students spar."
He had originally wanted to follow Durmstrang's model of holding monthly matches, but Hogwarts simply had too many students. It was impractical—for both staff and students—to keep up such a schedule.
"In that case, I look forward to seeing how much the students improve," Flitwick said, then glanced toward the center of the hall. "Ah, the Sorting Ceremony's starting."
This year's first-years followed closely behind Professor McGonagall, whispering nervously among themselves—a familiar sight every September.
Tver watched the wide-eyed newcomers with amused interest.
Professor McGonagall, however, looked preoccupied. As soon as the Sorting ended, she hurried off with Snape, whose expression was oddly grim.
A short while later, Dumbledore approached and quietly beckoned Tver to follow him.
Trailing behind the spry old headmaster, Tver entered Snape's office for the first time.
Harry and Ron stood in a corner near the fireplace, though its warmth did little to comfort them.
Professor McGonagall was scolding them in a sharp, echoing voice, while Snape leaned in the shadows, watching with a faint, knowing smirk.
In his hand was a newspaper featuring a perfectly ordinary car—except that this one was flying through the sky.
Under McGonagall's relentless questioning, Harry and Ron haltingly began explaining what had happened at the station.
"Then why didn't you send us an owl?" Professor McGonagall demanded, glaring at them sternly.
"If someone deliberately sealed off the platform, they could've intercepted the owls too," Tver said suddenly.
Snape paused. "What do you mean?"
"We all know Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is protected by multiple enchantments. It wouldn't have been blocked for no reason," Tver explained evenly. "The only logical conclusion is that someone did it intentionally."
Snape's eyes narrowed, a cold gleam flashing in them.
"Or," he said smoothly, "they're lying. They just wanted an excuse to drive that ridiculous flying car and make a spectacle of themselves. It sounds exactly like something they'd do, doesn't it?"
Harry and Ron's tempers flared instantly, and both stepped forward.
"It's true! If you don't believe us, go check the platform yourself!" Ron shouted.
Harry's eyes blazed. "We wouldn't risk getting expelled just to show off!"
A quiet snort broke the tension.
Everyone turned to Tver, who was clearly trying to suppress a laugh.
"I just remembered something amusing," he said casually.
Harry flushed. "Alright, maybe we are a bit reckless sometimes," he admitted, "but this time, it really was an accident."
"Regardless," Dumbledore said, his tone calm but disappointed, "you should never have done something so dangerous."
Ron's face fell.
"Fine," he muttered, dejected. "We probably deserve to be expelled."
"What nonsense," Professor McGonagall said, her expression softening slightly. "The school won't expel you for this."
"But if it happens again," Dumbledore added quietly, "I'll have no choice."
When the boys' faces brightened with relief, he went on, "Still, you must understand how dangerous your actions were tonight. I'll be writing to your families about this."
Snape opened his mouth to add something, but McGonagall cut him off sharply. "And detention—you'll both serve detention for this incident!"
"Not the Forbidden Forest again, right?" Ron asked miserably.
Their experience there last year was one they hadn't forgotten.
"I'll handle it," Tver volunteered, taking the responsibility without hesitation.
Dumbledore cast him a brief, thoughtful look.
"Then it's settled," he said at last. "Let's return to the feast. Tver, I still need to make the announcement about you and Lockhart."