As soon as they finished discussing, Cynthia impatiently shoved Marvolio aside and snatched the badge back.
"What about me? I've already gained Barty Crouch's trust. I'm not only his assistant now but also hold a position in the International Magical Law Enforcement Office."
Her excited voice came through the badge.
It was no wonder she was so thrilled—being a newcomer with less than a year at the Ministry and already achieving such a position was remarkable. Especially for a Durmstrang graduate like her; it had taken no small effort to overcome her colleagues' prejudice.
Still, the issue was obvious: her authority extended only within the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
"Any updates on Lucius Malfoy lately? Especially regarding him and Fudge."
"Understood."
Cynthia paused briefly before her tone shifted to something sharp and professional.
"Malfoy has complained to Fudge several times about the search operation. Of course, nothing came of it, since the investigation turned up no damaging evidence. However, he's been trying to contact your parents through the Ministry and has been in more frequent communication with other pure-blood families."
Looks like the crocodile's taken the bait, Tver thought with satisfaction.
After a moment's reflection, he instructed, "Keep an eye on his dealings with Fudge—especially anything connected to Hogwarts."
They chatted a bit more about Ministry matters, and near noon, Cynthia reluctantly ended the call under Marvolio's teasing.
Tver lingered, absently rubbing the badge as his thoughts wandered.
Before Muggles invented things like the telegraph, two-way mirrors were practically divine tools for wizards. But now that Muggles had mobile phones, fewer and fewer alchemists bothered to master the craft.
After musing in his office for a while, he calmly made his way toward the Great Hall.
The wizarding world was full of problems like this—that was exactly why he was here to fix them, wasn't it?
But for now, he had a more pressing task at hand.
At the entrance to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall intercepted him.
"Tver, I should remind you—Potter and Weasley's detention needs to be carried out soon. Especially Potter's, before it interferes with his Quidditch training."
Tver blinked.
"I thought he had training on the weekend? Am I supposed to lock him up afterward?"
Professor McGonagall gave a look that was half a grimace, half exasperation—Tver had never seen her so displeased before.
"Not today. A certain house decided to cut in line under some excuse."
She explained the morning's incident at the Quidditch pitch. Gryffindor's practice time had been snatched by Snape, who claimed he needed the field to train new players, which of course led to a scuffle between the two teams.
Tver nodded knowingly. So it was about Quidditch—no wonder she was upset.
"Then I'll have them serve detention tonight. Oh, and let Malfoy know he's to come as well."
"Malfoy?"
"Yes. He deserves punishment too."
Tver nodded with a faint smile, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
And since Professor McGonagall had no objection to Malfoy being punished, she certainly wouldn't oppose him.
...
That evening, Harry and Ron were surprised to find Malfoy waiting outside the office.
Malfoy stood there, shoulders slumped, looking utterly dejected—he didn't even have the spirit to mock Ron, who was still spitting out slugs.
After shouting "Mudblood" on the Quidditch field, he'd nearly been mobbed by the Gryffindors. Then, when he ran into Head of House Snape in the Great Hall, the man's cold stare had terrified him so much he'd lost his appetite entirely.
Now, dizzy with hunger, he was here to serve detention with Professor Fawley.
Malfoy had only one thought—regret.
If he could turn back time, he would never have said that word to that girl.
"Oh, so you bought seven Nimbus 2001s? I knew the professor—ugh—wouldn't let you off that easily." Ron's face was a little pale, but that didn't stop him from taunting Malfoy.
Unable to resist his son's pleas, Lucius had splurged on new brooms for the entire Slytherin team. On the pitch, they moved like a green blur.
Malfoy was now so famished he saw stars; he merely glanced over, too weak to retort.
Seeing this, Harry tugged at Ron, and they obediently continued waiting. They'd been standing outside for five minutes already, as Professor Fawley had specified they could only enter at exactly eight o'clock.
The office door opened precisely on the dot, not a second off. Tver nodded with satisfaction.
This was a form of timed magic. But as everyone knew, magic only reacted to real-world conditions, and time was a human-made concept—magic wouldn't treat it as a trigger. To achieve timed magic, Tver had to meticulously calculate the magical energy expenditure, resorting to the archaic method of burning a rope to measure time.
Seeing the smiling Tver, Harry and the others, misreading the situation, assumed tonight's punishment would be light and instantly relaxed.
"Tonight, you'll experience the 'joy' of Muggles doing manual labor..."
Thud.
Suddenly, Malfoy collapsed onto the floor.
"Seriously? Fainting just from manual labor?" Tver exclaimed in astonishment.
Harry glanced over. "Professor, he probably just fainted from hunger."
After a long while, Malfoy slowly stirred from the soft bedding. His eyes flickered dazedly before gradually regaining their sharpness.
A soft bed, the professor's office... Wait, this couldn't be—
"If you're awake, kindly get off my notebook and come eat something," Professor Tver's voice drifted softly.
Only then did Malfoy gradually hear the sound of chewing. But it wasn't coming from the professor—it was Harry and Ron, wolfing down food not far from him. Especially Ron, who'd been spewing slugs all day. Just healed by Tver, he was finally able to stuff himself.
The sight of the steaming feast made Malfoy's stomach growl immediately. He scrambled off the bed. Compared to the weakness before his unconsciousness, his body felt much stronger now, not at all like it had been drained.
The bed Malfoy had been lying on transformed back into a notebook and flew into Tver's hand.
He gestured toward Harry and Ron's table, where a mountain of roasted meat and bread was rapidly diminishing under Ron's assault.
"I gave you some potions, but they can't compare to a proper meal. I specifically instructed the kitchen to prepare food for you both. Go eat now."
Malfoy swallowed hard, but first bowed to Tver.
"Thank you very much for your help."
Only then did he scamper over to the table and start fighting Ron for the roast meat.
"Aren't you usually so elegant? Why so rough now?"
("Aren't you usually so refined? Why are you being so rude now?")
Though Ron's words were slurred, Malfoy understood his meaning perfectly.
"That's for the professor! You're not worthy of my elegance!"