Nearing ten o'clock, Percy couldn't help letting out a yawn, sneaking a glance at Professor Fawley.
"Professor, I've completed it."
Tver snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the black-and-white wooden tablet in Percy's hands, its surface faintly pulsing with dark magic—and at Percy's pale face, drained from pushing his magic too far.
The tablet was used for practicing malevolent intent. Any casting motion would cause it to read the caster's intent and dark intent, displaying the balance between them through shifting black and white tones.
"Then come take a piece of chocolate and eat it on your way back."
Percy looked at the large chocolate bar on the desk, its surface glimmering faintly with gold—the kind the professor gave them to restore magic.
"Professor, I wanted to ask… do you still have any cold-prevention chocolate?"
Tver eyed him with surprise.
"What, are you showing symptoms?"
"No, it's my sister, Ginny. She hasn't looked well lately, and I'm worried she'll get sick." Percy scratched his head awkwardly.
He was probably the first person to ever ask the professor for chocolate.
With an appreciative smile, Tver handed him an entire stack of chocolates enchanted to protect the soul.
"Give these to your sister. Consider it a reward for having such a good older brother."
Percy hurried to catch them all. Only after Tver handed him a bag could he stash the extra pieces that wouldn't fit in his backpack.
"Thank you, Professor," Percy said hoarsely.
"Hurry back. Curfew's almost here."
Percy sniffed, lowered his head, and left the office.
Tver watched the door quietly close and let out a soft sigh.
After a moment, he gathered his thoughts.
Percy's point from earlier was fascinating: will was part of the soul, but it could also exist independently of both soul and memory, giving it the ability to control magic and magical artifacts.
And he just might have such an artifact in his hands.
Ravenclaw's Diadem.
It contained no trace of a soul, but will was different—it could merge into an object, or even into words.
It was reminiscent of Ancient Runes, where meanings inscribed in runes produced specific effects.
The diadem had no runes, but it did have that famous phrase.
Tver ran his fingers over the engraved words, feeling a faint pulse connected directly to his heart—an uncanny sensation.
Ancient Runes were carefully codified, precise, and fixed in their effects. Each rune produced a specific outcome; mismatches between inscription and effect simply didn't happen.
Yet now, if his guess was correct, the diadem's wisdom-enhancing power came entirely from that phrase.
Which meant—
Rowena Ravenclaw had achieved something nearly equivalent to spellcraft through pure speech, turning Ancient Runes into symbols she could invent at will.
For her, producing a magical effect no longer required writing runes one by one according to established structures. A casual line of will-infused text was enough to create the impossible.
Looking at the inscription, Tver also realized what the diadem lacked.
Magic.
Absorbing life force could only revive the will inside it. To unleash its true power, it needed a soul like Marvolio's—one capable of absorbing magic.
So if he infused it with magic, he could activate the ancient magic within and uncover whatever secrets Lady Ravenclaw had left.
But Tver felt a flicker of fear.
Yes—fear.
This ability to make words into spells was terrifying. It stepped outside the entire framework of magic, allowing someone to create any effect they wished using nothing but pure magic and will.
Even Dumbledore had to follow the basic laws, keeping strictly within the system of magic.
But Tver was puzzled.
The effect was unbelievable. At this level, Madam Ravenclaw was practically divine, a whole tier above Madam Hufflepuff. The gap between the Founders shouldn't—and couldn't—be that wide.
After thinking for a while, Tver looked at the bright moon rising outside. Gritting his teeth, he pushed magic into the Diadem. Only a little.
He watched carefully. The Diadem was absorbing it. That confirmed his suspicion. This was an ancient spell inscribed into the Diadem itself.
But after slowly feeding it small amounts of magic for a long stretch, Tver realized the spell demanded an absurd amount of power. After Hufflepuff's infusion, his magic wasn't quite on Dumbledore's level, but it definitely surpassed most wizards. With ordinary spells, he barely knew what magic exhaustion felt like—he recovered faster than he spent it.
Yet now, even after channeling nearly half his magic, the Diadem still didn't react—
Wait.
A sudden tremor rose from his heart. Guided by something like telepathy, he slowly set the Diadem on his head.
This was the third attempt. And the most successful one.
The moment it touched him, blue threads shimmered into view, falling like strands of rain. More and more threads descended, until they gathered into a pale blue curtain that wrapped around him.
And carried him into Ravenclaw's world.
…
This place differed from Madam Hufflepuff's. It was a wide circular room with elegant arched windows opening onto a sea of green trees. Blue and bronze silk curtains draped along the walls.
The domed ceiling sparkled with a sky of stars, perfectly mirroring the deep blue, star-patterned carpet below.
Several stools and tables were scattered around, but the most striking feature was the seven or eight bookshelves set against the stone walls, packed full of books that gave off a faint grassy scent of fresh paper.
Tver could look around so freely for one reason: the room was completely empty. It wasn't large; he took it all in with a glance. No soul, no will, no life—just a room.
So this was what he'd spent so much magic and vitality constructing?
A mix of regret and relief washed through him. He did want to awaken the badge's power, but he also wasn't eager to come face-to-face with the Ravenclaw Madam. It felt a bit like a socially anxious person meeting a goddess.
This worked too.
Holding the badge, Tver stepped up to the shelves. The books were ancient; he had seen some of them in the Restricted Section. But even with magical protection, the school's old tomes were inevitably damaged in places.
Not here. He flipped one open. The pages were so pristine they looked untouched. Of course—they were constructed from magic and life force. It made sense they'd be flawless.
And every book concerned practice and understanding of the four elements.
So this was the source of that extraordinary wisdom?
Tver let his eyes sweep across the collection with a faint smile. A true testament to Ravenclaw. How long would it take to finish all of these?
Still, this approach suited him extremely well.