My Damned Desire to Win

Twer was unaware of the students' praise—or rather, he had no time to pay attention to them.

He had run into a small problem.

The students had thought highly of the battle in class, considering it the most valuable combat lesson they had ever experienced.

But some professors saw it differently, especially Professor McGonagall, who was known for her rigour.

"I am not questioning your methods. In fact, I am pleased that Hogwarts has gained another professor skilled in combat."

Professor McGonagall considered her words before continuing.

"But I hope you can take the children's abilities into account. Hanging them up like that was really..."

She thought for quite a while but could not find the right word, so Twer supplied one for her.

"Unsightly?"

"Exactly, unsightly," Professor McGonagall said, nodding heavily. "Simply tying them up would have been fine, but hanging them from the ceiling could easily make parents think our school is physically punishing students."

Twer was about to explain when Dumbledore spoke first.

"It is all right, Minerva. Twer's method is quite interesting." He pointed with his right hand at the delighted students. "As you can see, the students rather enjoy it."

"As for the parents, I think that once they see their children growing stronger, they will not mind such a minor issue."

With the headmaster having spoken, Professor McGonagall said no more. After all, if complaint letters arrived, they would only be sent to Dumbledore.

Still, Twer offered a brief explanation, lest anyone think he had some peculiar preference.

"I only use that punishment with third-year students, to let them experience the brutality of combat."

"First- and second-year students, forgive me for saying so, are still far from meeting the standard for actual combat. At most, they can play games."

Professor McGonagall smiled awkwardly.

The school term had only just begun. It was only natural for first-year students to be weak; if they were strong, that would be cause for suspicion instead.

But second-year students, after a year of study... honestly, Professor McGonagall felt that their level was not much better than that of first-year newcomers.

Thinking of this, she cast a subtle glance at Quirrell, who moved timidly and kept darting his eyes away.

It was because professors like him occupied the Defence Against the Dark Arts post that Hogwarts students could not learn anything useful.

Fortunately, Albus had come to his senses a little this year and hired an additional assistant—such an outstanding one at that.

But thinking of that rumour, she could not help worrying.

Twer would not last only one year before being forced to leave the school as well, would he?

Twer's hand paused around his wineglass. What had he said? Why was Professor McGonagall looking at him with such concern?

Professor Flitwick had not thought that far ahead.

"Twer, you teach combat, but the students have learned very few spells so far. How are you going to teach them?"

Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms were actually closely connected.

Charms taught students new magic, while Defence Against the Dark Arts taught them how to use that magic to deal with dangers that might arise in daily life.

That was why older students found Defence Against the Dark Arts easier to learn—they knew more magic.

But Twer only taught students below the third year, which was why Professor Flitwick worried that his lessons would not be as varied as those for older students, causing the students to become dissatisfied with him.

Twer had long been prepared for this.

"I will mainly teach them spellcasting techniques in class, along with different applications of magic they have already learned."

"If you do not mind, I will also teach them magic that is useful in combat."

"Of course not," Professor Flitwick said with a cheerful smile. "I wonder whether you are skilled in Transfiguration. It is also quite useful in combat."

Professor McGonagall's attitude toward Twer became even friendlier, as though she feared that after this year, she might never see him again.

So when she heard that, she turned and joined the conversation.

"I certainly would not mind Twer teaching the students how to apply Transfiguration. To be honest, many students do not understand Transfiguration's applications in combat. They always think it is rather useless."

Twer was also rather helpless about that view. Aside from masters of Transfiguration, few people realised the enormous role it could play in combat.

As it happened, his teacher was a master highly proficient in Transfiguration. Although his teacher often criticised him for valuing dark magic over Transfiguration, his attainments in Transfiguration were still beyond those of ordinary wizards.

He just did not know how skilled Dumbledore was in this regard—the man reputed to be able to become the world's greatest using Transfiguration alone.

Noticing Twer's gaze, Dumbledore turned and raised his glass to him. His blue eyes were as clear as a baby's, yet even a Legilimency master like Twer could not see through him.

"I, too, look forward to seeing Transfiguration put to broader use—not only in combat. If Twer has need of it, perhaps we could exchange ideas?"

"I would not dare call it an exchange," Twer hurriedly said, raising his glass in return. "Before you, I am only a student."

Thus, after dinner, Twer followed Dumbledore to the headmaster's office.

It was still the same room as last time, with the same furnishings. The portraits still regarded him with faintly scrutinising gazes.

"When one grows old, one tends not to like change." Dumbledore sat behind the long table, a smile of anticipation on his face. "Tea, or pumpkin juice?"

Twer sat calmly opposite Dumbledore. "Pumpkin juice again, please. I seem to have fallen in love with the drink."

The moment he finished speaking, the bottle of pumpkin juice on the long table suddenly sprouted four legs and happily trotted over to him.

The cup had been Transfigured from a bottle cap, small and exquisite, its surface covered in patterns like drifting clouds.

Watching this, Tver smiled as if he had expected it.

So this was an opening show of strength.

"Still, I prefer a larger cup. You don't mind, do you?"

Without waiting for Dumbledore's reply, the cup continuously lengthened into a goblet. Then the bottle's neck bent down on its own, pouring out fragrant pumpkin juice.

Dumbledore's smug smile froze at once.

Wordless, wandless magic, combined with difficult Transfiguration—he had shown off this trick specifically to impress the young professor.

He did not want Tver to become arrogant at such a young age just because he possessed extraordinary strength.

Yet Tver immediately responded with wandless, wordless magic of his own, Transfiguring something on top of Dumbledore's Transfiguration.

It was practically nested Transfiguration, and Dumbledore was the one being nested.

But the pumpkin juice did not pour for long before it suddenly stopped.

Because Tver's Transfigured goblet had turned back into a smaller cup. If it kept pouring, it would overflow.

"I just remembered—we've only just finished dinner. It's better not to drink too much pumpkin juice."

Damn this competitive streak of mine.

Dumbledore looked smugly at Tver, whose face had darkened.

"It's fine. I'm still young. My digestion's good." Tver's smile grew even smugger.

The cup changed back again.