Your Arsenic, My Honey

Tver finally felt relieved.

Yes, he planned to return to Britain and become an assistant professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Britain's only—and finest—school of magic: Hogwarts.

Come to think of it, this was hardly an easy or comfortable job. It could even be called the profession with the second-highest danger rating.

Second only to the parents of transmigrators.

If he remembered correctly, among the seven Defense Against the Dark Arts professors over the seven years of the story, one spent the rest of his life at St. Mungo's, two ended up in prison, and five died.

Yes, five.

The extra one, Moody, had merely been impersonated by someone using Polyjuice Potion, and he eventually went to meet Merlin as well.

Accidents happened so often that it was hard not to suspect how dangerous this subject was.

But for Tver, it was a case of too many debts to worry about one more. It would only add a little more flavor to his death.

When he was eleven, he had stumbled upon a ring by accident.

Unfortunately, the ring carried powerful Dark magic that could have instantly destroyed his young life.

Fortunately, he had transmigrated at that moment, and he had his own cheat as well.

It was a badge.

The badge was merchandise he had bought in his previous life. On it was the crest of Britain's most famous wizarding school—Hogwarts.

A large H stood in the middle, surrounded by a lion, snake, eagle, and badger, with a line of motto beneath them.

"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus."

[Don't tickle a sleeping Draco (wrong).]

Translated, it meant: Never tickle a sleeping dragon.

He had no idea why the badge had transmigrated with him, but as his life force drained away, it suddenly surged with power and resisted the corrosion of the Dark magic.

That power was not strong, however. It could only barely keep him alive. The Dark magic still clung to him, sucking away his life like a parasite lodged in his bones.

But the moment he saw that ring, he knew what it was.

One of Voldemort's Horcruxes!

Having watched the films, he knew that even Dumbledore and Snape, two wizards considered among the very best in the wizarding world, had been unable to break the Dark magic upon it.

Dumbledore, hailed as the greatest white wizard, had ultimately chosen death precisely because the Dark magic on it was so difficult to remove.

He made the decision at once. He abandoned the Hogwarts acceptance letter that had arrived for him and begged his parents to send him to Durmstrang, the school famed for its study of Dark magic.

Fortunately, his family was fairly prominent, so he enrolled at Durmstrang without difficulty.

Over those seven years, he had continuously relied on his research into Dark magic and the badge's protection to successfully delay the date of his death.

He had also discovered the badge's greatest secret.

As long as his understanding of magic grew stronger, he could increase the badge's power and thereby make up for the damage the Dark magic dealt to his lifespan.

It was like a swimming pool, filling with water on one side while draining on the other—except the water was his life.

But last year, his strength reached a bottleneck. It no longer grew as rapidly as before, and the badge's power gradually faded as a result. Half a year later, its power vanished completely.

The Dark magic instantly reached its tentacles toward his life, and the pool began to drain without being refilled.

Faced with his life slipping away like flowing water, Tver used his seven years of knowledge about Dark magic, along with a little help, to barely condense the curse into a tiny point for the time being.

Thinking of this, he raised his hand and looked at his right wrist. There was a small black dot there, with a thin line extending endlessly from each end.

When those lines met, his life would come to an end.

At this rate, he had two years left.

That was also why he had fought so desperately to apply for a teaching post at Hogwarts. Because this year, a miraculous stone would be stored within the school.

A stone that granted immortality.

As for why Defense Against the Dark Arts, that was entirely because it was the only subject that hired teachers from outside every year.

Even so, Tver's status as a Durmstrang student still made that person wary.

If he had not changed his request to an assistant position, he would probably have had to waste another three years.

So, to Tver, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts assistant professor was one man's poison and another man's honey.

Looking back on the past seven years, it had felt as though he had been racing the Grim Reaper. Every day, he desperately absorbed every kind of magical knowledge; every night, his mind devised more efficient methods of study.

It had also earned him an indescribable title at Durmstrang.

Panda War God...

After leaving this place, no one should call him by such an embarrassingly cringe-worthy title anymore, right?

Tver happily took out a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote his reply. A moment later, the letter was folded without a single unnecessary crease.

But Mr. Owl did not appreciate such neatness. When the letter was tied to his leg, he twisted twice, then pecked Tver's hand as though in complaint before flapping his wings and flying toward the distant snowy mountains.

Sorry. I'll make it up to you next time I get the chance.

Tver's good mood remained unspoiled. With a light wave of his wand, the two neatly packed suitcases on the ground became weightless, then floated like feathers toward the open wallet in his hand.

The moment it touched the wallet, the trunk seemed to compress instantly and flew inside with crisp efficiency.

An Undetectable Extension Charm had been secretly cast on the wallet, making the space within it even larger than this dormitory.

Under wizarding laws in any country, using this spell on personal belongings was illegal.

But if a wizard didn't break a few laws, could they still be called a wizard?

Tver cast one last lingering look around the room. After locking seven years of his life inside it, he left with ease.

"So, you've graduated at last?" the elderly man in the portrait by the staircase suddenly said.

He was Durmstrang's second headmaster, the one who had introduced dueling and war magic into the curriculum. The gladiatorial arena before the castle was his masterpiece, and even within his frame, he insisted on sitting on stone steps.

"Yes, Mr. Monte. Thank you very much for your help over these past seven years."

Tver stopped. Though Mr. Monte sometimes reported his mischief to the headmaster, he had also helped him every time he snuck out at night.

"That idiot Karkaroff failed to keep you. It's Durmstrang's greatest loss!"

Even as a portrait, even with the appearance of an old man, he could not hide his fiery temper.

"It's my own issue. I need to study my magical skills more deeply and explore different kinds of magical knowledge if I'm to reach greater heights."

So that I can survive. Tver left those unspoken words unsaid.

"I heard you went to teach at that school?" The old man's mood came quickly and went just as quickly.

"Yes, but only as a teaching assistant."

"Well, then. All I can wish for you is that you don't wear yourself out too much. Sometimes, stopping lets you see more clearly." Monte gave Tver a meaningful wink.

Since last year, Monte had said those words to Tver every time they met. Yet whenever Tver pressed him for more, he would fall silent.

So Tver merely shook his head, bade him farewell, and said goodbye to the school as well.