Ron and Malfoy had been running for a while before they realized, with alarm, that Harry wasn't behind them.
"Oh no! What if some monster's taken him?!" Ron cried, clutching his face in panic.
"Then… do we keep running?" Malfoy asked uncertainly, torn between fear and hesitation.
"No! I have to go back and save him!"
"Or perhaps," came a weary voice from the shadows, "he's waiting for you to return."
Tver stepped out, looking faintly exasperated.
If he hadn't happened to notice on the Map of Precise Locations that the three hadn't returned to their common rooms, they would've likely run straight into the Basilisk by now.
Yes, he'd known the moment Harry described the voice that it could only have come from the Basilisk—the creature hidden in the Chamber of Secrets by Salazar Slytherin, which only his heir could open.
Truth be told, Harry's shout had nearly made his heart stop. He hadn't expected the Chamber to open this early; he'd thought the Basilisk wouldn't appear until Halloween.
(In the movie, it was Halloween, but in the original book, Harry first heard the Basilisk's voice on the Saturday night of the first week of term.)
That was why he'd rushed here—to make sure none of them got hurt.
"Professor?!"
Seeing Tver, Ron and Malfoy both let out a breath of relief just as Harry jogged up to them.
"How did you… Professor?"
"Curfew is in less than twenty minutes. If you keep stalling, I'll have to put you all in detention again," Tver said calmly, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone.
"But—" Harry started, only for Ron and Malfoy to grab him by the arms and drag him along.
Once they were far enough away, Harry pulled free from their grasp.
"Why didn't you let me tell the professor? What if that voice hurts him?"
Malfoy glanced around nervously and lowered his voice. "Potter, even in the wizarding world, hearing things no one else can isn't exactly a good sign!"
For once, Ron didn't argue.
"Yeah… as much as it pains me to agree with Malfoy, he's right. That's not normal, and saying it out loud won't do you any favors!"
"But what if the professor's in danger?" Harry protested, anxiety written all over his face.
"Oh, please," Malfoy scoffed. "Think about how he handles everything. With his power, do you really think our warning would make a difference?"
Ron tugged on Harry's sleeve. "Let's just go back to the common room. With how strong the professor is, he'll be fine—and so will we."
Reluctantly, Harry nodded and followed them down the corridor.
...
The hallway soon fell silent again, lit only by the flicker of torches—and then, from the shadows, Tver reappeared.
His form shimmered into view, solidifying as he watched the three students disappear from sight.
He glanced down at the parchment in his hand.
Fortunately, Ginny had attended his class earlier that week, giving him a reason to distribute the enchanted badges to the first-years. And, thankfully, she'd been wearing hers ever since.
Sure enough, he could see her name moving slowly toward his location on the parchment.
Drawing his wand, he cast another Disillusionment Charm over himself. His arms relaxed at his sides, and his eyes slid shut.
Behind that calm expression, magic surged and pulsed within him, spreading outward until it replaced his senses entirely.
He had no intention of testing the Basilisk's gaze—or discovering firsthand how lethal it truly was. He wasn't foolish enough to make that mistake.
To him, the creature's eyes and venom were the only real threats. As long as he avoided those, the Basilisk was little more than a toy snake in his hands.
Three minutes later, Ginny's footsteps echoed softly through the corridor.
Tap... tap... tap...
But to his surprise, his senses detected no sign of the Basilisk.
Not on the walls, the floor, or the ceiling—there wasn't the slightest trace of it anywhere.
Did it just take a stroll and go back to sleep?
Tver let out a quiet breath of relief.
He wasn't ready to deal with the Basilisk yet. He still needed it to follow the story's progression until his objective was achieved.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Ginny moving like a puppet, her eyes vacant and lifeless. Aside from the diary clutched tightly in her hands, her body hung limp, as if stripped of all strength.
She looked like the walking dead.
The badge fastened to the waist of her robe glowed faintly with a soft blue light, preserving the last thread of her soul.
Guilt tugged at Tver's chest as he quietly strengthened the magic within the badge, ensuring Voldemort's influence wouldn't leave any permanent scars on her spirit.
It was, after all, the first time he had ever used a child like this.
He'd known from the beginning that this path would be steeped in blood and darkness—but when it came to children, he still couldn't harden his heart.
Following Ginny's light footsteps, he watched as color slowly returned to her cheeks. Her eyes grew clearer, and life began to flicker within them once more.
Looking around in confusion, she finally realized she was standing at the entrance to her common room and gave a small, dazed shake of her head.
"Sword."
After Ginny disappeared inside, Tver began to wander through the castle halls.
Hogwarts at night held a peculiar kind of beauty—quiet, mysterious, almost serene. Only the occasional creak of a moving staircase disturbed the silence.
He stood for a moment in the corridor, listening to the whisper of wind rustling through the trees outside. The peace of the moment eased something within him.
The Basilisk had emerged. But reality was not a movie—Tver couldn't assume it would simply follow the same pattern. He couldn't risk believing that no one would meet its deadly gaze.
It had so many chances, and the kind of power even he would hesitate to face—and yet, after a thousand years, its only confirmed victim was Moaning Myrtle. The rest had all survived as petrified statues.
He wasn't foolish enough to bet that the creature would remain that predictable.
If someone died because he'd turned a blind eye, he wouldn't be able to justify his position as a professor any longer.
Given that, he'd need to keep a close watch on Ginny—and, if possible, intervene each time the Basilisk struck.
Tver rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
The best line of defense was the Shield Charm badges, but their current strength wasn't nearly enough. They couldn't withstand a Basilisk's lethal gaze.
He would have to reinforce them, layering the Shield Charm until it formed a golden film—something akin to an advanced Protego barrier that could block direct eye contact.
He mulled over the idea late into the night. One by one, the castle's torches went out, leaving him swallowed by darkness before he finally turned back toward his office.
Above him, faint golden light shimmered across the ceiling—so weak it could only be seen in the dark, devoid of any magical ripple.
Or perhaps it wasn't gone at all, but had simply merged perfectly with the castle's own ancient enchantments.