When Tver entered the Great Hall early that morning, a group of young wizards immediately surrounded him, eager to ask about the newly built arena.
Rumor had it that someone had flown up on a broom the day before and gotten a clear look at the entire setup.
"That's the venue we'll be using for lessons this term," Tver said. "We'll go over the details once class begins."
"We're not going to lock you in there to fight each other. The layout is meant for teaching. This is a school, not ancient Rome."
"It won't just be dueling, either—we'll also be studying magical creature combat. So, don't worry about your O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s."
It seemed like every school year began the same way. After a bit of effort, Tver finally managed to redirect their enthusiasm toward Lockhart and slip away from the overly curious crowd.
Lockhart, who had been sulking, immediately brightened at the attention. Straightening his robes, he flashed his practiced, dazzling smile.
But his confidence didn't last long.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the school expelled you! Just wait until I get my hands on you—!"
Mrs. Weasley's voice thundered from a scarlet envelope, echoing through the Great Hall and shaking the candles suspended above until they nearly fell.
It was a Howler—one that conveyed its sender's fury with perfect clarity before bursting into flames and crumbling into ash.
The entire hall winced under the noise. Tver quietly cast a Muffliato Charm, allowing Ron and Harry to enjoy the full experience of the reprimand on their own.
When the shouting finally died down, laughter rippled among the students.
With that disturbance out of the way, Tver could finally focus on his breakfast.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn't actually gone to see the new arena yet. The speed of its construction was remarkable, but then again, such things were to be expected in the wizarding world.
Before his first class, he decided to sneak over and take a look.
In truth, it wasn't much of an arena—more like a small sports hall. The stands formed a single ring around a large open space in the center, dotted with humanoid statues and massive stone blocks.
"Protego Totalum."
Tver cast a few protective charms to prevent the students from damaging the place.
Not that they could, really—none of them were powerful enough for that. Their opponents, on the other hand, might be.
Satisfied, Tver made his way to the classroom, where his first group of students awaited.
"Good morning."
He took attendance quickly, then began outlining the plan for the year.
"First of all, I'm very pleased to see you all here in the sixth-year advanced course. As you can see, there are sixty of you—more than in any previous year."
"Looks like last year's lessons must have been quite the success," Tver said with a self-satisfied grin.
The students straightened proudly, cheering and laughing, filling the room with energy.
"However, that does bring a problem," he continued. "Our little classroom can't exactly fit so many excellent students."
"So, most of our lessons will be held in the new arena."
Excitement spread across the room.
"That's right," Tver said. "Since you sixth-years have a bit more free time, our classes will be a little more... entertaining."
"What about Professor Lockhart's classes?"
A boy named Charles Mig raised his schedule, showing that Defence Against the Dark Arts alternated every other week.
"As you can see, you'll only have my class once every two weeks," Tver said. "And as I told you last year—your theoretical knowledge is just as important. I don't want to see your N.E.W.T. scores suffer the year after next."
A wave of disappointment spread through the room.
Unlike the younger students, these sixth-years had begun to notice the emptiness behind Lockhart's polished words.
If classes had already started, they probably would've voiced their complaints openly.
After all, if not for Lockhart, Professor Fawley could be teaching them more himself.
"Don't underestimate these biweekly lessons," Tver said, wagging a finger. "What you'll learn here will be worth revisiting and practicing for a long time."
"Alright then—what are you waiting for? Grab your wands and come with me!"
At his signal, the students burst into cheers, tossing their textbooks—Lockhart's self-authored ones, of course—onto their desks.
Chattering excitedly, the group hurried after him, their noise cutting through the calm of the morning campus.
A few students without class looked on in surprise, some even tempted to follow.
Unfortunately for them, Tver had no plans to open the stands to spectators.
When they reached the arena again, he stopped the onlookers at the entrance.
"Sorry," he said lightly, "you'll have to wait until the official lesson."
Inside, the students taking the class were busy examining their surroundings, whispering to one another as they pointed at the statues and stones scattered across the floor.
The setup was simple enough, and thanks to rumors from the previous day, they quickly surveyed the whole place.
The only things that really drew their attention were the strange statues and the evenly placed stone blocks.
The statues were humanoid—each a head taller than Professor Fawley—dressed like ancient warriors in heavy armor, weapons gleaming in their hands.
Some held swords and shields, others wielded long spears, and a few carried flails that looked particularly menacing.
Tver clapped his hands to pull their attention back.
"These aren't for you to use—at least not yet. For now, let's focus on today's lesson."
"As sixth-years, you've all had years of magical training. By now, your strengths and aptitudes should be becoming clear."
"Anyone know what that means?"
"It means the ones without talent are starting to fail their classes," a silver-haired girl said dryly.
The smiles on the students' faces froze.
By sixth year, except for Percy—the only one still excelling across every subject—most of them had already failed a few classes. Some had only this course left to salvage their grades.
Lack of talent? She was obviously talking about them!
"...Well said, Crystal," Tver said with a helpless sigh. "But maybe don't say it out loud next time."
He revealed the real answer. "It means your individual combat tendencies are beginning to take shape."
"We always talk about playing to your strengths in battle, but someone once told me, 'Professor, my greatest skill is standing on the sidelines and cheering.'"
"So, what should someone like that do? Percy—what do you think?"
"Professor," Percy said confidently, "I think the key is teamwork. Working with partners who complement your abilities so everyone in the group can perform at their best."
"Exactly," Tver said with a sly grin. "I'm sure you all figured that out when you fought me one-on-one."
Every year except the first and second had already received his "special" training sessions.
They'd all gotten a taste—whether they liked it or not—of what true cooperation meant.
But it was only the beginning. This year, Tver planned to strengthen that skill properly.
After all, he had bigger plans for them in the future.