Dennis was unexpectedly lively in private. Even though Tver was a professor, it didn't stop him from skipping ahead, happily taking the lead.
"Professor, I just saw reporters and photographers over there!"
"Mmh."
"Does that mean there'll be photos taken, or even interviews?!" His eyes lit up with excitement, as if he were the one about to become a Champion.
"Maybe. But if the reporters are already here, coverage is a given," Tver replied casually.
Classes were still in session, and the castle was unusually quiet. Their voices echoed clearly through the corridor.
Dennis looked momentarily deflated, but quickly perked up again.
"By the way, if you really become a Champion, won't the tasks be especially dangerous?"
By then, under his guidance, Tver had already spotted the open classroom door ahead.
"Why do you think that?"
"Well, because you're competing! If the tasks are still designed for students, wouldn't they be boring for you?"
"…Possibly."
It really was classic Gryffindor. Their focus was always different from the other houses.
"Oh." This time, Dennis sounded genuinely disappointed.
After escorting Tver to the door, he gave a polite little wave and jogged off.
Tver stepped through the open doorway.
The classroom was relatively small, nothing like the large lecture hall he used for theoretical lessons.
To clear a wide open area at the front, most of the desks had been pushed toward the back of the room.
Three desks, however, had been placed side by side in front of the blackboard, covered by a long piece of velvet.
Behind them were five chairs. Ludo Bagman sat upright in one of them, smiling as he looked around the room.
Cedric was chatting with Fleur, though Fleur seemed distracted, clearly lost in thought. From time to time, she shook her head absently in response to Cedric.
Viktor stood alone in a corner, watching the lively scene with a detached expression.
Rita's personal photographer fiddled with the black camera in his hands, though his gaze kept drifting toward Fleur.
Madam Maxime and Karkaroff exchanged half-hearted remarks, their eyes moving back and forth between the Champions, as if weighing their own contestant against the others.
Ever since Tver decided to enter the competition as a performance contestant, Karkaroff had been in a foul mood. In his eyes, Tver clearly possessed formidable strength, yet still chose to follow Dumbledore's arrangements. As a result, he had sulked like a child and barely spoken to him for quite some time.
"Why are you just standing there?" a voice suddenly spoke from behind Tver.
He didn't need to turn around to know it was Dumbledore. Before he could respond, however, Bagman stood up and walked over to them.
"You've finally arrived. We've all been waiting for you. Of course, I'm not rushing you, Mr. Ollivander."
Tver turned and realized that Ollivander, Britain's most renowned wandmaker and one of Europe's three great masters, was standing behind him.
"Long time no see, Mr. Ollivander."
"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Fawley. I remember you quite well," Ollivander said, a gentle smile appearing on his aged face.
He offered no further explanation and instead looked back at Bagman.
"So, are all the Champions present?"
"They're all here…" Bagman glanced around the room. "Ah, right. Potter is still being interviewed by Rita."
As he spoke, he started toward the classroom's broom cupboard, but Dumbledore stepped ahead of him.
"I'll take care of it, Ludo. You get everyone ready."
Bagman shrugged indifferently and led Ollivander toward the open space at the front of the classroom.
"Everyone, the wand inspection is about to begin. Champions, please return to your places. And judges, please take your seats over there so we can ensure the fairness of the proceedings."
He pointed to the chairs that had been set out for them. The Champions' places were near the doorway.
Just then, Dumbledore came out with Harry, Rita close behind. She was clearly displeased, but the moment she caught Tver's even colder look, she instantly shrank back, neck drawing in as if she wanted to disappear.
"Excellent. Shall we officially begin the wand-testing ceremony?" Bagman asked, glancing to Dumbledore for confirmation.
"Let us begin." Dumbledore guided Harry to the Champions' position, then sat down with the judges.
Tver moved to the doorway as well, with Rita trailing after him in small, careful steps, and came to stand beside Viktor.
"What was that article about the Confederation meeting over the summer?"
His eyes were on Fleur and Ollivander as her wand was examined, but Rita still felt the pressure in his voice like a weight.
"I… I thought you'd like that kind of piece… I referenced a lot of Professor Burbage's articles… and mine wasn't even as direct as hers…"
Rita stumbled over the words, rushing to explain.
"But!" Tver ground his teeth. "It was still too direct!"
"Do you have any idea how many Dumbledore supporters there are in the Confederation?"
"They didn't skip the convention because they weren't qualified. They stayed away because the next generation they've raised is already enough to become the most celebrated wizard in their country!"
"And because you had to trample one person to praise another, they've all misunderstood me!"
Of course, it hadn't actually been that serious. If anything, it had led to Tver meeting even more old monsters of the wizarding world by sheer coincidence.
Like the examiner who had once overseen Dumbledore's tests. Every country's magical community had a handful of people like that.
At their age, they might only handle the most basic affairs, but their influence was immense. Even the Confederation's senior members, old enough to be Tver's grandfathers, would still have to address them as "Professor."
Still, when he criticized Rita, he had to make it sound severe. Otherwise, she'd keep taking liberties and writing whatever she pleased.
Rita had been scolded into silence, or more accurately, she didn't dare say another word.
Viktor, meanwhile, gave Tver a strange look.
He seemed to understand what was being said, and yet also looked like none of it had sunk in.
But—
"Tver, you're up."
"Oh, thank you."
Noticing everyone's attention turning his way, Tver's expression shifted smoothly into a smile.
"Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Ollivander."
He handed over his wand without hesitation.
"Ah, yes… this wand." Ollivander accepted it with quiet feeling and lifted it slightly, letting the sunlight streaming in from outside catch on it so everyone could see it clearly.
Harry and the others had seen their professor's distinctive silver-white wand before, but it wasn't until today, until this moment, that they noticed the unusual, mysterious patterns running along it.
It looked as though countless golden threads had been wound around the wand in an intricate spiral, wrapping it tightly.
"Aspen wood, dragon heartstring, eleven and a quarter inches. I remember perfectly the moment I placed it in your hand."
Ollivander held Tver's gaze.
"Because it was the last aspen wand ever sold from my shop."
"Aspen? I've never heard of that as a wand wood," Karkaroff said, leaning in with interest.
"Because there's precious little of it left," Ollivander replied. "Even I haven't heard of any wizard using one in recent years. This is likely the last I'll ever be able to find."
"Is it powerful?"
"That depends on what you mean by 'powerful,' Professor Karkaroff." Ollivander inclined his head slightly.
"Aspen wands are exceptionally steadfast. They are loyal only to their owner. Of course, that's because the witches and wizards they choose tend to be just as steadfast in will and purpose."
"They're more easily drawn than most to exploration and to new orders. You could even call it a revolutionary's wand."
"In the eighteenth century, there was a dueling club called the Silver Spears, and it accepted only aspen-wand holders."
"Unfortunately, there are fewer and fewer people that aspen will choose."
"You make it sound so dramatic. I thought it was a wand that boosts the wielder's strength," Karkaroff said with a dissatisfied curl of his lip.
Ollivander had looked so solemn that Karkaroff had assumed Tver's strength came from having some unusually powerful wand.
So it was unusual, yes, but in terms of helping someone's raw power, it might not even compare to his own blackthorn wand.
"There are many wands that can amplify power," Ollivander said evenly, "but for a wizard, unshakable will is the true sign of strength."
Unlike with the other Champions, he didn't have Tver perform any spells. He simply returned the wand at once.
"Wouldn't you agree, Tver Fawley?"
Tver took it back and smiled faintly.
"The wand chooses the wizard, but the wizard also chooses the wand. Wouldn't you say so, Mr. Ollivander?"
Ollivander's aged face brightened at once, his body even hunching slightly with delight.
"Indeed. I never expected someone so young to understand that."