Seeing the students' pale faces, Tver gave no explanation. With a wicked grin, he waved his wand.
"Right then. Leave your books on the desks. Everyone grab your wands and step back."
The students suddenly realized they could speak again, though none dared to raise their voices as before. Instead, they huddled in small groups, whispering anxiously.
"Can we just run away now? Go ask Dumbledore for help?"
"With so many of us here, Professor Fawley wouldn't dare do anything, right?"
"He said he wouldn't kill us, but that doesn't mean he can't make us lose an arm or something!"
They moved into the open space at the back. Tver stood facing them, about fifteen feet (roughly four and a half meters) away.
"Don't worry. This is a simple duel—me against all of you."
With a flick of his wand, the ground softened beneath their feet like mattresses, and a thin membrane shimmered around them, enclosing the entire space.
Some students reached out to touch it, finding it resilient yet gentle, cushioning their fingers. The discovery eased their fears. The professor wasn't truly planning to flatten them.
"As you can see, the ground has softened. Even if you fall, it won't hurt. The membrane around us is also for your protection."
Tver raised his wand in a duelist's salute.
"Defeat me, and not only will your points be spared, but your two Houses will each gain twenty extra—"
"Stupefy!"
A red beam shot out from the crowd, streaking toward Tver. Roger Davies's confident voice followed close behind.
"Professor, the duel has begun, hasn't it?"
Tver only chuckled, flicking his wand to deflect the Stunning Spell with ease.
"Not bad. When facing a strong opponent, ambush—or rather, surprise—is your only real chance of victory."
"But you must always be ready for retaliation."
Davies froze. Before he could react, ropes lashed out, binding him tightly, and in an instant he was dangling upside down from the ceiling.
"Instead of standing there like a fool."
Davies's cries rang through the air as the other students gripped their wands tighter, palms slick with sweat.
Still, once someone made the first move, the rest soon followed.
Besides, Professor Fawley was only eighteen—not much older than them. How strong could he really be?
In a rush of noise, the students unleashed spells in a chaotic barrage, multicolored lights flashing across the classroom.
The various charms struck the barrier and fizzled out harmlessly.
"I'm glad you've found your courage," Tver called over the chaos, "but don't just stand there while casting. Not even a pig would be that stupid! You've got plenty of space—use it!"
He flicked his wand again, and another student—this time a girl who hadn't moved an inch—was hoisted into the air. At least she was tied right-side up.
The students fumed, but the lesson was clear: movement was crucial. Yet with constant running, their aim suffered badly.
Tver barely needed to defend himself. A step here, a sidestep there, and the spells missed. All the while, he demonstrated exactly how proper positioning should look.
"Don't hesitate when casting. The faster you strike, the quicker you can follow up, even if the first spell misses.
What, you're too scared to fight with full strength? Do you think this is playtime for toddlers?"
With a casual flick, he deflected an incoming curse while casting a binding spell that snagged two students at once.
"That was a clever tactic—two pressing from the sides to force me into position, one focusing on offense. But don't forget defense. Otherwise, you're just pigs running naked!"
"Professor, pigs don't wear clothes."
"Then are you telling me you can't even cast basic shielding spells?!"
An Impediment Jinx swept across the floor, sending the Weasley twins and a student named Lee Jordan flying. The barrier caught them gently, but they still ended up dangling helplessly in the air.
Tver's biting words only stoked the students' frustration. But now, discipline began to emerge from their chaos.
Some focused on offensive spells, others tried to intercept the writhing ropes, and the rest moved to force Tver's position, working together to disrupt his movements.
"Very good. It seems you've grasped the basics of outnumbering your opponents, but you've forgotten the most crucial point—"
The students froze, then heard Tver call out the first incantation.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
It was the Levitation Charm, a simple spell they had learned back in first year. Yet they felt no sensation of floating, nor did they see anything rise.
A heartbeat later, a crushing weight pressed down on every cell of their bodies.
The young wizards who'd studied Muggle science immediately recognized the feeling.
Gravity had intensified.
Except for the students already dangling from the ceiling, the rest were forced flat onto the softened floor, unable to so much as move a finger.
Tver carefully controlled his magic output, just enough to pin them down before methodically lifting each one up to hang from the ceiling.
If anyone had walked in on the scene, they might well have thought he was indulging in some unspeakable kink.
So Tver closed the door.
He pulled up a chair, sat down, and looked over the spectacle with satisfaction.
"Frankly, I'm disappointed in you." He shook his head.
"Your grasp of magic is pitiful. Over and over it's just Impediment Jinx and Disarming Charm. Only your basic casting form shows any merit."
"But as for technique—you have none. You just stand there throwing spells. Remember this: combat isn't a turn-based exchange of blows. It's instant. Life or death."
"And worst of all, you're nothing but a scattered mess. You only realized the need for teamwork after I spelled it out for you."
"Someday, you'll face opponents far stronger than yourselves. In that moment, your first thought should be cooperation. If you scatter, you'll just be picked off one by one."
"This wasn't just a loss—it was failure on top of failure. I'd have an easier time dealing with a herd of pigs than with you."
Tver listed fault after fault, and the more he spoke, the more furious the students became.
Though they were bound, their mouths were still free. Naturally, they had plenty to say in return.
"You're the one being unfair, Professor!" George kicked his legs weakly.
"If we'd had enough practice and worked together, we'd have had you hanging instead!" Fred swung angrily in his bindings.
The rest of the class shouted their agreement.
Losing wasn't the problem—Tver was a professor, after all. No one expected a bunch of third-years to win against him. There was no shame in that.
But his insults were unbearable. To be called pigs again and again—didn't he know pigs were the least magical of all creatures?
The students fumed, muttering complaints under their breath, careful not to go too far after their earlier lesson.
Then, a faint, weary voice spoke up.
"I think I'm about to have a stroke. Could you please put me down first..."