Dumbledore's true bottom line was something Tver couldn't see through. All he knew was that his teacher seemed very pleased with his current state.
"By the way, what have you actually been doing in Britain lately? You're not seriously just visiting your great-aunt in Godric's Hollow, are you?"
During the evening meal—hardly a formal banquet, but lively and warm—Tver leaned closer and quietly asked Grindelwald, who had already resumed his Bagman appearance.
His teacher turned, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a knowing smile.
One look was enough. Whatever he'd said in the headmaster's office about behaving himself in Britain, he clearly hadn't meant it so simply.
"A visit doesn't have to be to family," Grindelwald said lightly. "Back when I was dealing with Dumbledore, I made contact with quite a few wizards…"
Tver wasn't surprised. Grindelwald's supporters had once swept across Europe.
If that hadn't been the case, Tver wouldn't have had to tread so carefully when recruiting his own people. The Ministries of Magic across Europe were like startled birds—perpetually wary of anyone gathering followers on a large scale.
"But as you said, their age… Even if they're not retired yet, they're probably too old to move much."
"Oh? So you think I'm old?" Grindelwald shot his prized disciple a sidelong glance before returning his attention to the honey-glazed roast on his plate.
Dumbledore had specially ordered extra dishes to celebrate the successful conclusion of the first task.
"Er… Why would you think that?"
"Please. Just like my old comrades, I've long known how you youngsters see us old bones."
"But, Tver…" Grindelwald's lips curved as he speared a fragrant slice of roast. "The older the meat, the more likely it is to stick in your throat."
...
Now operating under the identity of Ludo Bagman, the teacher already had no shortage of matters to handle at the Ministry of Magic.
And with Dumbledore aware of who he truly was, there was no way he would allow him to wander around Hogwarts freely anymore.
So for the time being, he wouldn't be returning to the school to discuss those former subordinates with Tver.
In the past, Tver had indeed been cautious about the Ministries' sensitivity toward any organized gathering of wizards.
But things were different now.
To avoid the Ministries' surveillance, the teacher had deliberately started with a group of elderly wizards.
Calling them marginal figures in the wizarding world wouldn't be accurate. After all, the reason the teacher had chosen them in the first place was precisely because they possessed exceptional talent or formidable strength.
People like that were usually pillars of the wizarding community.
Yet because they had once leaned ideologically toward the teacher, even if they had never stood trial, they were no longer valued.
Such helpers might not be able to assist Tver in a major way, but if the goal was to pry loose a corner of the foundations of the various Ministries of Magic, they were more than enough.
Recruiting them, however, wasn't something Tver could help with. The teacher had to run around personally.
The thought left Tver, who was leisurely enjoying his holiday, with a sudden twinge of guilt.
Damn it. The teacher was already at that age and still working for his student's ambitions, while he himself was sitting here nibbling biscuits and drinking Pumpkin juice.
He looked at the snow drifting past the window and felt a burst of determination—
Then he took a sip of Pumpkin juice and slumped back into his chair.
I was going to work hard, really. But this Pumpkin juice is just too good.
Of course, being lazy wasn't in Tver's nature. In fact, several bottles beside him each held a strand of beautifully dancing flame.
He was testing the endurance of the Gubraithian Fire.
According to Dumbledore, Gubraithian Fire could indeed burn forever. But whether it was worth it depended on how much magic was required to sustain it.
Even in the wizarding world, energy balance still mattered.
So Tver's focus had shifted to precise control of the flames. Once he could accurately judge how long each trace of magic could sustain the Gubraithian fire, he would truly have mastered the spell.
But it turned out to be far more difficult than he had imagined.
Magic wasn't something that could be quantified the same way science could.
There was no stable linear relationship between the amount of magic output and the duration of the Gubraithian fire. In other words, one unit of magic could sustain one unit of time, but two units of magic would not necessarily sustain it for twice as long.
So Tver had no choice but to keep fumbling forward with this clumsy, incremental method.
No wonder most wizards in the magical world only managed to accumulate truly formidable knowledge by the time they were old.
Most of Tver's own magical studies had relied on Grindelwald's summaries. On top of that, he specialized in brute-force dark magic, where overwhelming power solved most problems. He rarely faced situations that required such slow, painstaking refinement.
Really, being the Dark Lord was much more comfortable.
Knock knock knock.
A rapid series of knocks suddenly pulled Tver back to reality from his… magic practice.
He opened the door, and two witches, one taller and one shorter, walked in, both looking visibly excited.
"Uh…"
Hermione and Fleur stared at the bottles and jars floating around Tver, and at the flames flickering inside them.
The fire carried a faint trace of blue-violet. It was subtle, but clearly visible, woven between the red-yellow outer flames and the inner core, creating an unsettling sight.
This was another of Tver's experimental results: fusing the destructive nature of Fiendfyre with the controllability of Gubraithian fire.
Dumbledore absolutely could not find out about this. Otherwise, the old man might very well reconsider his promise to teach him.
With a wave of his hand, Tver stacked the bottles neatly into a corner, redirecting the two witches' attention back to him.
"All right, what could possibly make you give up such a wonderful holiday?"
"Oh!" Hermione quickly thrust a piece of parchment in front of him. "It's Mr. Scamander!"
In case he didn't recognize the name, she hurried to explain.
"Mr. Newt Scamander, the author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. He wrote to us!"
Tver took the parchment.
"Dear Ms. Granger,
I learned of your views on equality for intelligent beings through a letter from a friend.
To be honest, such ideas have long existed, and at first I did not consider them something that required my particular attention.
However, after reading what you wrote about House-elves and the promises once made by wizards, I realized the care with which you are advancing this cause, as well as the clarity and practicality of your plans.
The idea of equality for magical creatures is one I have always hoped to promote. If you would not object, I would very much like to maintain an ongoing correspondence with you, so that I may better understand your admirable ideas.
Newt Scamander."
Finally.
Tver looked at the letter, delight flickering in his eyes.
Ever since Fleur had expressed her longing for equality, he had known that the wizarding world's reaction to that article was far from as calm as it appeared.
In fact, Professor Burbage had long cultivated a number of wizards who were interested in these ideas.
Although Burbage had now shifted her focus to Muggles, that did not mean those wizards had lost interest in the concept of equality.
So Tver had decided to wait, to see when the second and third responses would arrive.
What he had not expected was that the first catch would be such a big fish.