Tver remained unaware that Dumbledore was observing him—or rather, he himself had been observing Dumbledore as well. In this regard, the two were perfectly aligned.
Since it was still early when he returned to his office, he used the extra time to read for a while.
Lately, he had learned a new method: precisely controlling his magic so he no longer needed to construct an entire room, only the specific book he wished to read. It saved both effort and time.
He had been reading for some time when suddenly a phoenix tail feather appeared before him, scattering sparks as it descended. Along with it came Dumbledore's message—
"Tver, I need you to come to the hospital wing."
Tver caught the feather, intrigued.
He knew phoenix feathers could teleport freely, but the ability to carry spoken messages felt even more convenient than a Patronus Charm.
Maybe next time he visited the Headmaster's office, he could pluck a few phoenix feathers?
Though whether Fawkes would allow that…
Lost in these idle thoughts, he made his way down to the second floor.
By the time he reached the hospital wing, several professors had already gathered.
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were dressed in nightgowns under their outer robes, while Dumbledore and Snape still wore their daytime robes, showing no intention of going to bed.
Had those two really been talking this late? Even reporting complaints shouldn't take that long.
Tver thought with a hint of mischief.
Professor McGonagall, standing at the edge, noticed him and quickly stepped aside.
"Tver, you're just in time. Take a look at this child."
The student lying on the bed was no stranger to Tver—Colin Creevey.
His body was rigid, his complexion dull and lifeless, identical to Mrs. Norris's condition last time.
"I think we can all see this child has been petrified," Snape said flatly.
"Indeed," Tver agreed easily. "Exactly like the previous attack."
"Yet your badge seems to have done nothing."
Snape lifted the badge beneath Colin's robes, its faint glow reflecting in the dim light.
"Colin being petrified doesn't mean the badge failed. If anything, it likely protected him."
Dumbledore's wise gaze halted Snape's rebuttal, and he picked up the camera clutched in Colin's hands.
"Is there any chance it captured the attacker?" Professor McGonagall asked hopefully.
Dumbledore didn't answer. Instead, he carefully opened the camera's back cover.
Hot air hissed out at once, accompanied by the harsh stench of melting plastic.
"Merlin—what does this mean?" Professor McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth.
It meant that even if the film hadn't melted, it was fully exposed. Tver's lips curled with satisfaction.
After tailing him with that camera nonstop, this troublesome device was finally done for. Hopefully any embarrassing photos had burned along with it.
"It means the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again," Dumbledore said gravely.
"Notify every professor. Everyone must be exceptionally cautious about student safety. And since both attacks occurred near the third floor, Tver—you… no, just be vigilant yourself. Report any sign of trouble immediately."
…
On Sunday, since it was still the weekend, most students in the castle remained unaware that Colin had been attacked.
But sharp-eyed Percy had heard a bit from Harry after he was released from the hospital.
"Professor, I heard there's been another attack, is that true?" he asked bravely before their tutoring session.
"Yes."
Tver gave a brief explanation of what had happened the previous night.
Percy's brow immediately tightened.
He had seen Ron and the others wandering around the third floor. Even though the professor's office was located there, if they ran into the attacker, not even a professor could help in time.
Seeing his expression, Tver reassured him, "Don't worry. As long as they're wearing their badges, their basic safety is guaranteed."
Percy nodded reluctantly.
"Now then, based on your previous practice, I believe you're ready to try some simple dark magic."
"Really?" Percy's worry evaporated at once.
These past weeks he had been practicing controlling his intent and dark emotions. What made him both amused and helpless was that, without learning much actual dark magic, his control over ordinary spells had improved significantly instead.
Finally, he could learn real dark magic.
"Of course. Dark magic is actually quite simple," Tver said with a smile.
"In the magical world, dark spells are usually classified into three types: Jinx, Hex, and Curse."
"But in my opinion, any magic that carries malicious intent and causes irreversible harm qualifies as dark magic."
Percy froze. "Then ordinary spells could be considered dark magic too?"
"Exactly."
Tver waved his wand, and a small flame flickered to life at the tip. It floated in the air like a tiny lantern, bouncing gently.
"This is the Flagrante Curse."
(Officially, 'Incendio' is labeled the Fire-Making Spell, which I find odd, so I'm calling it the Flagrante Curse. The incantation and effect are unchanged.)
Then, with another wave, the little lantern was swallowed by a scorching blue-violet flame.
Even through the table, Percy could feel the immense destructive force within the flames, and a sinister malice that seemed to claw at the soul.
"This is Fiendfyre?"
"Yes. They are essentially the same magic at their core, but because they're used differently, the Fiendfyre Curse becomes far more difficult to control and vastly more destructive."
Percy straightened, excitement filling his expression.
"So the dark magic I'm learning today is the Fiendfyre Curse?"
Tver smiled with layered meaning. "You guessed right. But before that, you need to fully master the Flagrante Curse."
"No problem. I completely deconstructed the Flagrante Curse last year," Percy declared confidently, thumping his chest.
Ten minutes later—
"Professor… I don't think my understanding of this spell is deep enough…"
Percy's face was drenched in heat-sweat from the flames. His damp bangs had been singed at the edges, making his already untidy hair curl even more.
He sat collapsed on the floor, utterly exhausted, nothing like the composed Prefect he usually was.
In front of him lay a ring of matchsticks.
The upper halves were white; the lower halves were pitch-black.
Each one had a different black-to-white ratio.
Percy's task was to control the tiny flames from the Flagrante Curse and ignite each match with a precisely different degree of malicious intent.
He couldn't hesitate; wait too long, and the earlier ones would extinguish themselves, forcing him to go back and relight them.
But by the time his magic ran dry, he could barely ignite half of them.
Hearing Percy's complaint, Tver lifted his gaze from his book.
"Rest a moment," he said.
Percy's eyes brightened—only for Tver to continue, "and then keep going."
"…Yes, Professor."