"Impossible, Professor… how could the Professor ever do something like that?!"
The next evening, when they visited Hermione, they shared the suspicion with her.
Hermione's cat-like features had improved a lot. Her tail was gone, her pupils were back to normal, and only the pair of cat ears on her head and the whiskers under her nose remained.
But the moment she heard Ron's theory, she puffed up like an angry cat.
"But think about the night we examined Mrs. Norris. Even Headmaster Dumbledore needed the professor's help to interpret the dark magic," Ron said, adding new evidence and quickly tamping down Hermione's anger.
Hermione frowned, thought for a moment, and whispered, "But before the attack happened, Professor was in the Great Hall the whole time. Loads of people saw him eating cupcakes."
This time, even Harry had a solid counterargument.
"Honestly, with Professor's power, he wouldn't need to go there himself. Remember when we were hung on the office door? He did that without even being present."
Hermione pouted, frustrated at not knowing what to say.
The more she thought about it, the more the idea made sense. After all, after all their investigation, the only thing they'd figured out was that the monster in the Chamber was a basilisk. They still had no leads on who the heir was.
And Professor Fawley came from a pure-blood family—he might even have ties to the House of Slytherin.
Especially with how friendly he was toward Parseltongue and dark magic.
Out of everyone she could think of, he fit the role the best.
She just didn't want to question him because she genuinely admired him.
Ron and Harry understood how she felt—or rather, they felt the same—and both let out weary sighs.
"If it were Snape, we'd report him instantly. But Professor Fawley… maybe we should warn him?" Ron suggested.
"No way," Harry said at once. "If the professor reacts kindly, great. But if he gets angry we figured something out, this ward might end up with two more patients. Colin and the others still aren't awake. That means the professor doesn't want the heir's identity revealed yet."
Hermione rubbed the whiskers on her face, coughed up a hairball, and said, "Besides, we have no proof Professor is really the Chamber's heir. It's all just speculation."
"But we could try what we did with Malfoy—just ask him."
As she talked, she drifted into deep thought.
Harry and Ron exchanged a look, then said, "Either way, we'll wait until you're discharged."
"Yeah! Without you, we can barely do our homework!" Ron added loudly.
...
Meanwhile, Tver had no idea he'd just become their scapegoat. He was in his office tutoring—well, Neville.
He'd been doing this since the start of the school year.
And no, he truly hadn't continued researching Neville. He'd just been patiently tutoring him as repayment, given how much Neville had contributed and how much research insight he'd provided.
Fortunately, Neville was doing his best. Thanks to Tver's careful, if slow, treatment, the after-effects of the Memory Charm had improved a lot. At least he no longer had those sudden moments where his mind seemed to drop out entirely.
But because his basics were weak and his learning ability wasn't strong to begin with, it would take time for the improvements to show in his marks.
So Tver needed to help him make up the material he'd missed.
In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
"Come on, cast the Impediment Jinx on the dummy a hundred times."
Tver spoke while holding a book in his hand.
Neville, who had just arrived, set down his bag. His grip on his wand tightened slightly as he walked skillfully up to the dummy.
It was an ordinary dummy. Tver hadn't infused it with any memories; it only relied on a small reserve of magic to keep moving slowly forward.
Neville's task was to keep pushing it back with the Impediment Jinx until that magic ran out.
If every spell was cast properly, a hundred would be just right.
But after half a year of practice, he'd only gone from needing two hundred spells to one hundred and twenty. He still messed up sometimes, and the speed of his progress had noticeably slowed.
Still, the professor said that as long as he was improving, the training was working.
Neville repeated this to himself for comfort.
"Impedimenta!"
A flash of red light burst from his wand, and the dummy was shoved far backward.
Huh? Not bad for a first try today.
He allowed himself one second of pride. Usually, his accuracy only improved later.
"Keep your wand movements smooth. Don't swing with too much force," the professor's voice sounded from behind the book.
"Yes, Professor."
Neville took a deep breath and held it. It was a small trick he'd discovered—holding his breath helped him cast with more focus.
"Second attempt. Impedimenta!"
...
Tver had been watching Neville all along.
At first, he couldn't understand how someone could struggle with such basic spellwork.
To him, casting spells was as natural as eating or drinking.
Even when he first encountered magic, his adult mind and concentration made the school curriculum easy to grasp.
But after tutoring Neville, he gradually came to understand what magical talent really was.
It was simply sensitivity to magic.
Students from pure-blood families or wizarding homes usually had an advantage here.
Because they'd been around magic for years, they developed a more instinctive sense for how to use it.
But after seven years at school, these natural advantages tended to even out, and what came next depended on personal understanding.
This was why pure-blood students never claimed to be the strongest by default. Their baseline might be higher, but how far they could go depended on effort.
Neville, however, was building up this sensitivity through sheer repetition.
People underestimated the magic inside the dummies. When struck, they released all sorts of magical fluctuations.
So although Neville looked like he was only practicing the Impediment Jinx, he was actually sensing hundreds of different magical reactions.
All these sensations would slowly heighten his magical sensitivity.
And his innate talent wasn't bad to begin with. Tver was essentially reawakening it.
This method wouldn't increase his visible strength, but it would deepen his understanding of magic.
He would have a much easier time learning other spells later on.
After a while:
"One hundredth time. Impedimenta!"
The dummy stumbled back a step, then froze in place. Neville blinked in confusion.
"Professor… I think I broke the dummy," he said miserably.
"…It's not broken. Quite the opposite." Tver set down his book, an encouraging smile on his face. "You've successfully completed my test."