Tver sharply caught the faint sound coming from the stairwell nearby. If it was just a patrolling administrator or professor, he could simply slip inside. But if it was someone after the same goal, that wouldn't work.
After a moment's thought, Tver decided it was safer to stay near the doorway. Looking around, he spotted a recess behind one wall and slipped into it.
The instant his body pressed against the stone, the wall stretched outward, pulling him in and sealing him within. Only a thin translucent layer remained over his eyes. A very handy piece of Transfiguration.
Once everything returned to normal, a sneaky figure appeared around the corner. Even in the dark, the oversized scarf wrapped around his head made it obvious—Quirrell. So he was in just as much of a hurry.
His movements weren't timid and shrunken as usual, but crisp and decisive as he stepped into the corridor, immediately recognizing something odd about it.
"Lumos."
His wand lit up, revealing his anxious face.
"Alohomora."
The door guarding the Philosopher's Stone could be opened with just a charm? How was that any different from Gringotts leaving its vaults unlocked? Practically begging to be broken into.
The wooden door opened so smoothly that Tver couldn't help but scoff to himself. Quirrell paused, hesitated for two seconds, then pushed it open and went inside.
From there, Tver couldn't see. His Transfiguration could only reshape the plaster surface of walls; structural walls carried the building's weight, and he wasn't capable of altering them. Pulling on one part would affect the entire structure. Only someone like Dumbledore could manage that.
He didn't have to wait long. Soon, the sounds of spellcasting and savage tearing came from inside. That had to be the Three-Headed Dog.
The legendary guardian was said to be a creature of the underworld, stationed at the gates of hell. The magical world's version wasn't exactly the same, but still far beyond what an ordinary wizard could handle.
Its resistance to magic was extremely high, making it nearly impossible to leave lasting effects with spells. Coupled with its immense strength and seemingly endless stamina, it was almost unbeatable in a confined room.
Most wizards faced it with one thought in mind: "If you can't fight it, at least you can avoid it." Luckily, Tver knew its weakness.
The fight inside gradually wound down, ending with Quirrell stumbling out in a panic.
Still, Quirrell's strength had caught Tver off guard. The films had never really shown what he was capable of. In the end, he'd just grappled with the Savior at close range and turned to ash without even fire being involved.
But just now, he had managed to hold his own against the Three-Headed Dog for a while. Aside from messy clothes, there wasn't a scratch on him. Clearly, his abilities couldn't be underestimated.
Tver muttered to himself as he pushed open the door.
The Three-Headed Dog, still fresh from the fight, was just about to curl up and rest. But before all three heads had even turned back, it spotted someone else approaching—and that someone had the gall to press a finger to his lips in a smug shushing gesture.
"Shh."
A harp suddenly materialized before its eyes and began playing on its own. The moment the beautiful music started, the Three-Headed Dog's eyelids drooped. It tried to resist a couple of times, but after nodding off twice, it finally gave in and collapsed onto the floor.
Tver moved aside the paw blocking the trapdoor. When he opened it, the space below was pitch-black, even darker than the corridor outside.
"Lumos."
A bright orb appeared at the tip of his wand, then detached at its brightest moment. In the light it cast, Tver saw a mass of entwined vines below.
Devil's Snare.
It thrived in damp, shadowy places, extending snake-like tendrils to ensnare anyone who came near, strangling them before feeding. Yet the vines seemed terrified of the glowing orb. Before it even reached them, the tendrils recoiled and parted, letting the light pass easily through.
Guiding himself with the Levitation Charm, Tver slowly descended through the Devil's Snare and landed on solid ground deep within.
Before him stretched a long, damp corridor, the sound of trickling water echoing along its walls. He must have reached the deeper underground.
Though the corridor was still dark, bright light shone ahead. With his wand still casting its glow, Tver strode forward.
Each barrier guarding the Philosopher's Stone had been set by the professors, and as a teaching assistant, Tver had no part in their creation. The Devil's Snare was unmistakably the work of Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House.
The next chamber, however, was Professor Flitwick's design. Inside, a flock of silver-white "birds" flitted about the room, their wings glinting as they flew.
This time, the door could no longer be opened with magic. The only way forward was to seize the single correct key from the flock. A broomstick had even been thoughtfully placed nearby.
Seeing this, Tver's mouth twitched.
He had spent years immersed in magical study, and with no natural gift for flying, he'd hardly ever enjoyed a proper broomstick flight.
But he had his own method.
Casting spells directly on the keys was pointless. But what if he simply used magic to catch one?
Tver scanned the fluttering swarm until he spotted it—the large, antique silver key that matched the lock.
With a flick of his wand, a small purple flame shot out, racing like a rope toward the target. At once, the keys—including the right one—scattered in alarm, as though sensing the ominous aura within the fire.
But the flame chased like a living thing, coiling twice around its target before binding it tight.
Curiously, the purple flame gave off no heat. It behaved more like an ordinary rope, securing the key without burning it.
With the key in hand, Tver unlocked the door to the next stage.
Theatrics aside, this style of protection was hard to take seriously. Still, it was an open trap. Knowing full well what it was, Tver stepped into it anyway.
The chamber beyond was a massive chessboard, its black and white pieces lined up neatly on either side, waiting for his command.
The problem was, Tver couldn't play chess.
As he had already noted, years of focusing solely on magic had left him inept at many things—especially games.
But this was within his expectations. His visit today was only to compare the actual obstacles with those shown in the film. It seemed his small butterfly effect hadn't been enough to change the setup.
Since it was getting late, Tver retraced his steps and returned to his office.
Still, the chessboard problem needed a solution. Brute force would be the simplest approach, but surely Professor McGonagall had left at least a minor warning charm. That would be hard to explain away.
It seemed he would have to learn how to play wizard chess after all.