Taking advantage of the last few moments, Lupin chatted with Tver about the plan to recruit werewolves.
Being a werewolf himself, Lupin understood the complexity of their community without needing Tver to spell it out. Yet he was no ordinary werewolf. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, he had extensive experience dealing with both werewolves and ordinary wizards. In Tver's eyes, he was the ideal candidate to become the new leader of the werewolves.
"You should be prepared," Tver said. "When it comes to winning over werewolves, aside from material support, we won't be able to help you much."
In truth, it wasn't that Tver couldn't help. It was simply that the gains from dealing with werewolves weren't worth his personal involvement, nor sending Marvolio or Cynthia. They had far more important objectives to carry out. That was precisely why Lupin was the best choice for the task.
Lupin, however, assumed Tver simply didn't want to get involved in werewolf affairs. After all, not everyone shared the ideal of saving everyone. The help Tver had already given was more than enough to earn his gratitude.
"I understand. What you've done for the werewolves is already far more than most people in the wizarding world would ever do."
To put it bluntly, even Dumbledore hadn't gone to such lengths for werewolves. Of course, someone like Dumbledore surely had more important matters demanding his attention.
Lupin felt nothing but gratitude toward Dumbledore. Without him, he would never have received a complete magical education, nor would he have met several companions he considered brothers.
Thinking of Sirius Black, his expression dimmed, and he let out a quiet sigh.
He still harbored doubts about what had happened back then. Deep down, he couldn't believe Black would betray James. He had even wondered whether he himself might someday buckle under pressure and betray everyone. Never once had he imagined that the one who leaked the secret would be Black.
That proud, carefree Black, who had looked down on You-Know-Who's power with utter disdain. How could he possibly choose to become the very thing he despised most?
Yet Lupin never dared speak of it to anyone. He could only secretly revisit those memories during his drifting, unsettled life.
If he hadn't heard about Black's escape, he would never have exposed himself, never risked everything to go to Grimmauld Place.
But where are you now, Padfoot…
Tver looked at Lupin with mild confusion as Lupin suddenly fell into melancholy. Just moments ago, he had been spirited and energetic. After a brief silence, he had turned unexpectedly wistful.
"I won't disturb you any longer. The Christmas banquet is about to start, and I need to hurry home."
As Tver stood up, Lupin was pulled out of his memories at once.
"You're not staying at the school for Christmas? Come to think of it, this is the first time I've attended the Christmas banquet feeling this relaxed. You know, in the past I was always exhausted."
"No. If I'm any later, my mother might come personally to drag me back."
Tver gathered his things and left the office with Lupin.
The afternoon sunlight still lingered, but the students who had been playing outside had already returned to the castle, waiting for the banquet to begin. The Dementors outside had also calmed down considerably, standing obediently at their posts without moving.
The castle was decked out in colorful Christmas decorations. Thick garlands of holly and mistletoe hung through the corridors, and the suits of armor lining the halls gleamed from being freshly polished.
Even if not many students would get to admire them.
After parting with Lupin at the castle gates, Tver headed out of the school, walking into the gradually cooling dusk.
A dinner was waiting for him at home.
...
When Tver returned to the manor, only the rows of trees along the path greeted him. There weren't many Christmas decorations, but each one was hung in the exact same position on every tree. That kind of obsessive symmetry was something you'd only see in the wizarding world.
He was already familiar with the routine, so he quickened his pace toward the house.
The moment he pushed the door open, the place was lively and noisy.
Mills and Jeff were busy in the kitchen, with Cynthia occasionally stepping in to help. Brenda, meanwhile, leaned against a chair, directing Cynthia and Marvolio as they arranged the dishes.
"Cynthia, put that cheese-baked fire crab in front of Tver. He likes that one."
"Yes, and place the cranberry tarts next to it."
"Dawlish, could you carve the roast turkey first? No need to wait—"
Out of the corner of her eye, Brenda spotted Tver standing there with an awkward smile and immediately flicked her head away.
"No need to wait for Tver. Just give him the leftover bones later."
Tver, however, wasn't about to be intimidated so easily. He quickly stepped up to the table and grabbed a fragrant tart. At the same time, Cynthia subtly pointed in Brenda's direction.
He understood at once.
"This is genuinely the best tart I've ever had. Crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and the cranberry aroma is brought out perfectly."
"I can't believe this was made by human hands. At the very least, it must have been Merlin himself, personally using Madam Helga's food magic!"
"Just this small plate of tarts alone surpasses every dessert I've eaten before!"
"That's good to hear. From now on, you can have this plate of tarts. We'll take the rest of the dishes," Brenda said with a light laugh as she pulled Cynthia down to sit.
"Sit down, Dawlish. You'll need to eat more tonight."
At that moment, Mills and Jeff came out carrying the final dish, a pot of seafood soup.
"Oh, Jeff, is this gentleman a guest you invited?" Mills asked.
"He looks a bit familiar, Master, but no," Jeff replied, holding back a laugh.
"Cynthia, Dawlish, do you two know each other?" Mills continued, feigning curiosity as he served the soup.
Tver helplessly snatched Marvolio's portion away.
"I'm Madam Brenda's most honored guest. You'd better show me some respect—"
"Sit down already!" Brenda snapped, pulling him into his seat.
"Honestly. Dawlish and Cynthia are both so busy, and they still came early to help."
"And you? You show up only when the dinner's about to start. Is this even your home anymore?"
"They came early because I told them to help. That credit should count as half mine… all right, at least a little bit of it!"
Under Brenda's stare, Tver decisively looked away.
"Wow, tonight's spread is really something."
This wasn't flattery. The table was genuinely overflowing, with almost every signature dish from the three chefs present. If the table weren't so much shorter, he might have thought he was back in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
"Last year, you didn't get to eat to your heart's content, so this year I specifically told them to make more, with more complex flavors too. You're not going to waste everyone's hard work, are you?" Brenda rested her chin on her hand, watching him with a half-smile.
Tver swallowed unconsciously.
"…No."
...
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