Back in his office, Tver reflected on the serendipity of his research journey. Truth be told, he owed it all to Neville.
Recently, during his second magical trial, his innate talent had surged so abruptly that he completely lost control over both his magic and his will. The spells he cast were chaotic and powerless, yet they held one quality Tver had long pursued—blinding speed. So fast that even he struggled to react. Fortunately, the power was negligible; it didn't even scrape the wall. But it allowed him to grasp a faint hint of meaning behind that phrase he'd been pondering.
After days of experimenting, he could now release extremely fast flashes of light—but only that. The moment he tried to cast a proper spell, it reverted to normal, the speed vanishing entirely. So he considered simulating an environment saturated with magic to heighten his sensitivity. It was already near its limit, but he could force a brief breakthrough.
He looked around his office. This place clearly wasn't suitable.
After thinking for a moment, he decided to go to the Room of Requirement, taking the Diadem and the Hogwarts Crest with him—his intuition insisted it was the right place for verification.
The afternoon sun was just right. As he walked through the castle, accompanied only by his footsteps and muffled voices from nearby lessons, his mood eased noticeably. No longer in a rush, he strolled through corridors and staircases, greeting the professors he passed, until he reached the eighth floor.
Before Dumbledore had been taken away, some students lingered here, saying the area felt safer. Now that Dumbledore was gone, they naturally stopped coming. Come to think of it, it was precisely because he no longer needed to attend Dumbledore's seminars that he finally had more time for his own research.
Lost in thought, Tver arrived before the wall concealing the Room of Requirement.
"I need a sturdy room with nothing in it." *3
When the door appeared, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
As he'd requested, the room—roughly the size of a classroom—was completely empty. White walls, ceiling, and floor created an almost sci-fi atmosphere. But this was still magic.
Tver struck the ground experimentally. The floor only dented slightly before beginning to repair itself. He nodded, satisfied.
After countless magical tracings, he already knew the Room of Requirement drew power from the castle, and that it enjoyed the same protective enchantments—perhaps even stronger, thanks to its smaller size. There was no need to worry about breaking it.
(This is my own speculation; in canon, the room was destroyed by Fiendfyre because the castle's protective enchantments had already been broken.)
Realizing this, Tver closed his eyes and slowly opened his arms, relying purely on his sense of magic to observe the world.
In his "sight," the room became pitch black, thick as ink, swallowing him whole. But then, a blazing light like the sun burst from within him, and in an instant, white radiance filled the entire space. Magic flared around him like dancing sprites, weaving a hymn of power.
A restless urge surged through him. Guided by instinct, Tver drew his wand. He didn't know what spell to cast, nor how much magic to use. His arm lifted on its own, his wrist flicked, and an unfamiliar golden magic shot from the wand tip. The golden light spread faster than the surrounding magic, consuming the white radiance instantly.
It was so bright it felt like it burned straight into his brain.
Tver had to stop sensing magic and slowly opened his eyes.
And then he realized he was standing in a different room.
No—he knew this place.
It was identical to the room inside the Diadem.
The same bookshelves, the same dome-patterned carpet, the same desks, chairs, and cushioned stools. He already knew this room's layout mirrored that of the Ravenclaw common room.
But here, a Madam sat on the sofa—a faint smile at her lips, though her expression remained cool. Her eyes were as deep as a star-filled sea, as clear as crystal. She stroked a book lightly as she lifted her gaze.
"Welcome, young man."
Her tone was crisp and decisive, firm and authoritative, instantly reminding Tver of the school's stern, serious teachers.
"Hello," Tver bowed respectfully. "You must be Madam Rowena Ravenclaw?"
Rowena's smile widened just a touch, enough to make the expression recognizable as a smile.
"You may consider that correct."
Having learned from his encounter with Helga, Tver first carefully examined Rowena's state—like Helga, she was a convergence of life force and magic. She resembled Marvolio's current condition, though with an even smaller portion of soul, and yet she appeared far freer than Helga had been.
"I wonder if you sensed Helga, Madam. I met her in the Forbidden Forest."
Tver intentionally mentioned Helga to close the distance, softening his tone to something gentler and more relaxed. Rowena carried the dignity of a strict professor, far less gentle than Helga.
Rowena regarded him with amused curiosity.
"I did not sense her, but I have 'seen' her." She paused, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I saw her in your mind."
Tver's smile stiffened. "You can invade my mind?"
"Just as you can read the Diadem's books, I can certainly read your mind," Rowena replied, her smile tinged with pride. "The process is mutual."
"But I can't read any of your thoughts," Tver said, displeasure slipping into his tone.
His Occlumency was highly advanced, yet it had been completely useless in stopping Rowena's perception. Losing to someone of her stature would be fine—if it were only her. But what if it had been Dumbledore? Or a natural Legilimens? His line of work could not allow such a flaw in his mental defenses.
Rowena covered her mouth and laughed.
"You look quite adorable when you're angry," she said, her voice trembling with amusement. "And besides, haven't you already read every one of my thoughts?"
"Those books—they are everything I left in the Diadem, Tver. You are the first, and the only one besides me, to have read them all."