After settling the Malfoy family issue, Tver finally got a moment to breathe. Marvolio and Cynthia, however, were a different story—they'd been run off their feet.
Because Sirius Black had escaped.
Every Auror in the Ministry had been dispatched to hunt him down, and the ever-reliable Dawlish was no exception. The Ministry's workload skyrocketed overnight, forcing Cynthia into exhausting, back-to-back overtime shifts.
Fudge had initially wanted to keep the whole thing quiet until Black was safely back in custody. But he underestimated both the reporters' instincts and the level of chaos caused by an event serious enough to send every Auror into the field.
The moment journalists learned Azkaban had suffered its first breakout in history, they didn't need any prompting—nearly every newspaper plastered the story everywhere. Even the usually nonsensical The Quibbler joined the frenzy, though its reporting remained as ridiculous as always. They described Black as the lead singer of a pop band who'd been thrown into Azkaban as a scapegoat by the Ministry.
In any case, the Ministry was under tremendous pressure. After being criticized over the Chamber of Secrets incident, they desperately needed a win to restore their reputation.
Unfortunately for them, not even Marvolio—and certainly not Tver, the transmigrator—had any idea where Black was now. And even if they knew, they weren't planning on telling the Ministry.
Tver didn't feel particularly strongly about Black one way or the other. If anything, the deaths of Harry's parents involved several people: Snape leaking the prophecy, Dumbledore's failure to act as Secret-Keeper himself, Pettigrew's betrayal. Black's arrogance was only one sad thread woven into the tragedy.
Given Voldemort's unstoppable rise at the time, even without switching Secret-Keepers, the Potters might not have been protected for long. If blame had to be assigned, it belonged solely to Voldemort, the one who committed the crime.
...
"Can't you at least predict where Black is hiding now?"
Marvolio suddenly appeared and collapsed into the seat across from Tver, completely exhausted. Cynthia managed to maintain a semblance of poise, though the fatigue on her face was hard to miss.
"I already told you—I don't do predictions."
Tver, as comfortable as if he owned the place, picked up the teapot and poured them each a full cup of Pumpkin juice. He even pushed over his own biscuits for them.
The house actually belonged to Cynthia. Located in the London suburbs, it had been home to Tver and Marvolio for the past while. Jeff sometimes stopped by to clean, which made Tver feel perfectly at ease living here.
Besides, at his own home, his parents were always off enjoying their time together anyway. He'd rather stay here, read, and enjoy afternoon tea. He finally understood what Luna had meant before the banquet—just go with the flow.
Marvolio didn't even complain about the overly sweet Pumpkin juice this time. He picked up the cup and drained a huge gulp. Cynthia took a small sip, then suddenly realized there was a dash of restorative potion in it. She immediately switched to tiny sips, yet somehow still finished almost as quickly as Marvolio.
"But didn't you predict Black would break out?"
Marvolio set down his empty cup and tapped the table, waiting for Tver to pour him more Pumpkin juice.
"I... never mind. I can't just know anything I want through prophecy," Tver said, sounding helpless.
Marvolio pursed his lips in annoyance.
Cynthia quickly finished her cup of Pumpkin juice and, trying to cover her embarrassment, hurried to change the subject.
"By the way, I heard Fudge is relying on Malfoy again. Apparently he even wants to give him a position at the Ministry."
Tver poured more Pumpkin juice for them at an unhurried pace, making sure to refill his own cup as well.
"Don't worry. Lucius's actions were on my instruction. Fudge still has several years left as Minister, so it's necessary to maintain a friendly relationship."
"And besides, you two can stage a little tit-for-tat with Lucius in the Ministry."
"That way, Lucius gains more of Fudge's trust, while the two of you establish an image of opposing the pureblood families. Fudge will be thrilled to see that kind of internal rivalry among his subordinates."
"Tsk." Marvolio swiped a biscuit from Tver's hand with a look of admiration. "Another trick learned."
"But aren't you worried Lucius might turn on us? Our influence hasn't fully grown yet."
Tver didn't mind the question. He picked up another biscuit.
"Right now he's like this biscuit, held firmly in my hand. As long as he's not completely foolish, he won't betray us—at least for now."
"Of course he's still watching, waiting for the situation to become clear before placing his real bet. But he won't do anything to disrupt things."
"That's exactly how the Malfoy family has survived to this day."
With that, he tossed the biscuit into his mouth.
Marvolio and Cynthia exchanged thoughtful looks.
"No wonder my original self relied on and despised the Malfoys at the same time. Smart people like that are the hardest to control, but you have no choice but to use them."
"Then how do we make sure he stays on our side?" Cynthia asked.
"That's what we're about to work on next."
Tver smiled slightly and leaned back in his chair. Sunlight spilled through the parasol above, falling across his face.
"Remember those antiques at Malfoy Manor that no one would buy? Jeff has already helped sell part of them."
Marvolio immediately made a disdainful face.
"Who would buy that junk? It's completely useless."
"Wizards wouldn't, of course. But what about Muggles?" Tver narrowed his eyes smugly.
"Muggles?" Marvolio froze for a moment.
"Even if Muggles would pay good money for them, what use is Muggle currency to the Malfoys?"
Cynthia, who had far more experience in trade, instantly thought of several possibilities.
"Not necessarily. Gringotts uses up the Muggle currency it exchanges every year."
"Plenty of raw materials—food, fabric, and so on—are purchased from the Muggle world and then sold to wizarding merchants in exchange for Galleons."
"No, no, no. If we only sell antiques, we'll eventually run out. That's why I had Jeff use the money to acquire a company."
Tver took out a small box and placed it in front of them.
Cynthia pursed her lips, feeling a flicker of jealousy because the box was decorated with the face of a beautiful woman.
Marvolio picked it up carelessly. The box, slightly larger than a palm, was rather delicate, though such refinement meant nothing to him.
"What is this?"
"It's a face mask—one that's about to become wildly popular."
"And what exactly is a face mask?"
"..."
Cynthia, however, understood Muggle products.
"A face mask is a type of skincare item Muggles often use. It makes their faces smoother and fairer."
"Fairer?"
Marvolio touched his own face without thinking. What he disliked most about his current appearance was how it lacked ferocity.
It did not match his aesthetic at all.
"What would anyone want with that kind of softness?"
This time, Cynthia was the one who looked confused, staring at Tver.
With the looks the three of them had, they certainly didn't need anything like this.
Or rather, the wizarding world already had magical ways to keep one's skin fair and soft—it just depended on whether you wanted to use them or not.