Over the next two weeks, students began to notice some unexpected changes in their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes.
After realizing how utterly hopeless he was at teaching practical lessons, Lockhart finally gave up on the idea altogether.
Instead, he brought out exam papers and textbooks approved by Tver and began explaining the key theoretical points through written instruction.
As for the exam's authorship, his own name appeared first in large, bold letters, while Tver's name—slightly smaller but still very noticeable—was placed just below it. Beside it was a neat line of text: "With thanks to Professor Fawley, whose assistance made these questions possible."
Lockhart made a point of emphasizing that line, proudly boasting about it to every student and spinning countless stories about how Tver had "assisted" him.
What he didn't realize, however, was that this only made the students despise him even more.
"Unbelievable! Lockhart must've used his fame to force Professor Fawley to write these ridiculous questions for him!"
"Just look at this! Twenty questions, all about the same topic!"
"Exactly! There's no way Professor Fawley would make something this cruel!"
"Lockhart is insufferable!"
"Down with Lockhart! Save Professor Fawley!"
Percy, who often attended Tver's private lessons, felt a strange sense of familiarity as he looked over the exam.
Why does this look so much like the notes in the professor's notebook?
Of course, he didn't dare say that out loud—he had no intention of losing the privilege of those lessons.
With that thought, Percy slung his bag over his shoulder and followed his classmates toward the dueling arena.
This time, however, something was different. To his surprise, a faint golden line ran horizontally across the entrance door.
Remembering the rumors that had been circulating all week, he stepped through it curiously.
The golden thread immediately wrapped around his body in a quick loop, and as it faded into his skin, a new one appeared at the entrance, ready for the next student.
"It's a protective spell," Professor Fawley explained with a smile. "It strengthens the enchantment on your badges."
The students looked down at their waists, where the badges now shimmered faintly, covered by a thin transparent layer glowing with soft golden light.
Confirmed, Percy thought.
Recently, the professor had handed out badges to every student in his class, even reinforcing the older ones. According to him, it was because of the higher risk involved in their lessons—an added layer of safety.
But Percy wasn't fooled. He could tell this was more complicated than it looked.
Still, since the professor hadn't said anything more, he wisely decided not to ask.
"Everyone, take your positions according to your assigned teams," Tver instructed. "From left to right—attackers, disrupters, and supporters."
Once they had lined up in two neat rows, Tver waved his wand, and the badges on their robes instantly changed color.
Attackers' badges glowed red, disrupters' turned green, and supporters' became yellow.
"Why isn't there a blue one?" a Ravenclaw student asked, sounding a little disgruntled.
House pride was deeply rooted in every student. Those whose badge colors matched their house cheered excitedly, while the others teased them good-naturedly.
The Ravenclaws, however, could only look on enviously as their classmates celebrated.
"Because blue is etched into my heart," Tver replied helplessly.
The class burst into laughter, and even the Ravenclaw students chuckled, dropping the question.
Once the room had quieted down again, Tver continued,
"I assume you've already divided into teams. But the real question is—how will each of you play your part within that team?"
"The first question: how do you make the most of your team's strengths?"
"Take turns casting spells?" offered Charles Mig, one of Percy's teammates.
Tver raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. He hadn't expected anyone to reach that idea so quickly.
"Care to explain your reasoning?"
Charles thought for a moment before answering slowly.
"That was something you mentioned in last year's teamwork lesson. In my opinion, as a team, attacking in rhythm and in layers doesn't just stop the opponent from resting—it also gives your teammates time to think and defend."
"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw," Tver said, applauding appreciatively.
"So, within your teams, not only must each of you fulfill your roles, but you must also grasp the rhythm of attack. In fact, even when fighting alone, rhythm is just as important."
"But, Professor," asked Crystal, another of Percy's teammates, raising her hand, "isn't attacking faster always better?"
"If you were fifth-years, I'd tell you yes," Tver said, summoning a stone statue armed with a spear. "But now that you're in the advanced class, it's my responsibility to tell you—"
"The rhythm of battle matters even more."
The students exchanged puzzled looks as Tver activated the statue, enhancing its strength and speed.
In an instant, the statue lunged forward, spear thrusting fiercely toward him.
But the next second, a transparent shield appeared before Tver, blocking the blow. Almost simultaneously, a flash of red light shot back at the statue.
The statue twisted aside, its spear changing from a stab to a downward strike. With a shrill whistle, it swung straight for Tver's head.
"Oh no!" one student shouted, squeezing his eyes shut.
His classmate calmly patted his shoulder. "Relax. The professor's already countered it."
A massive stone arm jutted out before Tver, catching the spear's tip in its grasp. On the other side, another stone hand seized the statue's head, fingers tightening around its stone skull.
One thought from Tver, and the head would've shattered.
Of course, he didn't. Instead, he canceled the Transfiguration, letting the statue return to its original form.
"See? That's the rhythm of combat."
The very same statue that had tormented them for two grueling weeks now looked like nothing more than a toy in the professor's hands.
Effortless.
That was the only word that came to mind.
The students were still gaping when the realization struck—
Wait, we only saw him trade two moves!
What were we supposed to learn from that?!
Still, one student managed to pick up on something.
A Slytherin named Bulstrode stepped forward.
"Professor, do you mean attacking before the enemy has time to recover from their own strike?"
"Correct. Attacking again while your opponent's still in an offensive or defensive posture. In simple terms, fast, continuous offense."
"But in practice, it means each spell doesn't just serve its basic function—it gains an extra layer of effect, reaching one hundred and twenty percent of its potential."
"This creates multi-layered offense and defense, forcing your opponent to react to you, exhausting them until they expose a fatal weakness."
The students' eyes shone with excitement.
With that explanation, they finally understood what the professor had demonstrated earlier.
If they had to describe it in one word, it would be—graceful.
To defeat an opponent with such composure and poise—wasn't that the kind of duel every witch and wizard dreamed of?
"But our spells can't even reach eighty percent of their potential yet," Crystal said dryly.
"…"