Lockhart proved remarkably efficient, completing exam papers for all seven grades in just one week. Yet this achievement did little to salvage his rapidly declining reputation within the school.
On the contrary, by the end of the week's lessons—especially when compared to the two Defence Against the Dark Arts professors' performances in the Cornish Pixie class—Professor Fawley utterly outshone Lockhart.
This overwhelming sense of déjà vu made students recall last year's Professor Quirrell. Back then, Quirrell had also been completely outclassed by Professor Fawley in teaching performance, forcing students to spend the remaining half of the school year revisiting content they had already learned in Fawley's class.
But Quirrell had only taught fourth years and above, whereas Lockhart now had to handle all seven grades.
Soon, half the school was grumbling, especially since their classmates were enjoying Professor Fawley's creative and engaging lessons.
First years? Nothing to say there—they were still learning to conjure sparks. Even if they managed it, the most they could do was play light-ball games.
Second years had Tver's opportunistic Cornish Pixies, while third years and above were busy with "spectacular" functional scoring drills.
Students who'd suffered through Quirrell could only sigh, "At least Lockhart's classroom doesn't stink."
Those who hadn't experienced it yet—well, they were already beginning to understand.
Even Lockhart's most loyal fans could only defend him weakly: "Professor Lockhart is a great adventurer. He might, perhaps, just not be very good at teaching."
The thought that half their classes this year would be taught by Lockhart sparked a wicked idea in their minds.
If they got rid of Lockhart, Professor Fawley would have to take over all the classes himself!
...
"So that's why you finished the exam questions so quickly?"
Tver took the thick stack of papers from Lockhart's hands, flipping through them as he spoke casually.
Lockhart instantly recalled the malicious stares from his students and the constant whispering that followed him whenever he entered the Great Hall.
"If you really want to get rid of me, you shouldn't be discussing it so loudly!" he roared inwardly. Outwardly, though, his expression calmed slightly—Tver's office did give him a certain sense of safety.
"How could that be? They're just a bunch of students who haven't even graduated. Me, afraid of them? Ridiculous, haha..."
"Just a reminder," Tver said, "last year, Professor Quirrell got hit in the head twice—and both times were accidental."
"Hah—" Lockhart's smile froze. "Is your class really that cursed?"
"That depends on you."
Tver sighed, placing the stack of papers on the desk.
"The questions are well-made, but please refrain from mentioning your name in half of them—and subtly hinting at it in the rest."
Setting that aside, Lockhart's exam questions were actually impressive. They lacked depth, perhaps, but covered a wide range of material. Was he hoping to redeem himself through this?
Lockhart gave a sheepish laugh and took the papers back.
"Since I wrote these questions, putting my name before the author's should be fine, right?"
In just one week, he had realized how immensely popular Tver was within the school. Despite being a new professor who had only been there for a year, Tver's authority rivaled that of veterans like Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.
So Lockhart planned a small trick—placing his own name first and Tver's after it, to subtly boost his own image.
This kind of quiet one-upmanship? He'd been doing it long before he ever started writing books.
Tver shrugged with amusement. "Doesn't matter. As long as you follow my requirements, you don't even need to include my name."
"No way! Absolutely not!"
Lockhart's sudden outburst startled Tver.
Blinking twice in confusion, he said, "Well... whatever you say, then."
Lockhart looked at Tver with the expression of a disappointed mentor, speaking earnestly.
"This is your hard work—how can you treat it so lightly? Not only will I put your name on it, but I'll make sure it's front and center!"
With that, he grabbed the large bag and dashed out of the room before Tver could say another word.
"What a mystery," Tver muttered, closing the door Lockhart had left open and making a point of locking it.
He returned to his seat, checked the time, and pulled a badge from his drawer. It was identical to the one he'd given Cynthia last Christmas—actually, the two badges were a matching pair.
They functioned like two-way mirrors, allowing their owners to communicate with each other at any time.
Right on schedule, Cynthia's cautious voice came through.
"Tver, are you free right now?"
"Please, aside from Dumbledore and Grindelwald, there's no one in the wizarding world who could make him in—"
"Con—"
"venient—"
A smug voice cut in at the same time.
Even through the badge, Tver could picture Marvolio's lazy, irreverent grin.
"Ugh..."
After a moment, Cynthia's voice returned, sounding apologetic. "Sorry about that. He's been a little off lately."
"Sounds like he's enjoying the Auror job?" Tver asked, amused.
"Enjoying it is an understatement. Every day he's either buried in wanted lists or running all over the place with his investigation squad. He spends less time in the Ministry than he ever did in Knockturn Alley!"
Tver's expression turned strange.
He had originally hoped that Marvolio's achievements might help him gain control of the Auror Office, or even the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But that was more about giving Cynthia support within the Ministry—he never truly expected much, since Marvolio's soul was still Voldemort's. Even under Tver's control, he wasn't exactly obedient.
And now he's suddenly in love with hunting Dark Wizards?
"Wait—he's not just killing people at random, is he?!"
"At first, yes," Cynthia sighed. "For several days in a row, every suspect in his cases turned up dead under mysterious circumstances. Even an idiot could tell something was wrong."
"So Kingsley launched an internal investigation right away. If they'd found any magical traces on his wand—or if his squad hadn't vouched for him—he'd have been fired."
"Luckily, he got the message and toned it down. His methods became... well, a little more 'restrained.' Missing limbs and such."
"It still stirred up quite a bit of controversy, though. But after that speech he gave at the office about 'good men bearing the burden while villains run free,' he actually won a lot of Aurors over. The members of his investigation squad, especially—they're completely loyal to him now."
"How could they not be?" Marvolio's voice broke in again. "They get the credit without any of the risk. Anyone with half a brain would take that deal."
"So," Tver said smoothly, "how about earning yourself another bit of credit?"
"Oh?" Marvolio perked up immediately, his tone curious. He'd gotten addicted to this role-playing game of his.
The two began whispering through the badge.
Five minutes later, Marvolio's voice turned sulky.
"This is boring. There's not even anyone to fight."
"Be patient. Once you've made a name for yourself, the more dangerous missions will be yours," Tver said, coaxing him like a child.
After a bit more persuasion, Marvolio finally agreed—albeit reluctantly.