After Tver and Grindelwald had talked for a while about Voldemort, they realized that Cynthia still had not come downstairs.
"Does cleaning a room really take that long?"
"Cynthia may not be a House-elf, but it shouldn't take her half a day to tidy up."
Grindelwald was somewhat puzzled as well. "Why don't you go take a look?"
Tver immediately set down his knife and fork.
Although Cynthia was weaker than him, she had long held the second position at Durmstrang. Even if she encountered danger, she should not have been unable to make a single sound.
So he was still somewhat worried.
The lights on the second floor were off, with only faint moonlight spilling in through the windows.
But as he approached the last step of the staircase, he vaguely heard a sound—
Someone was crying in the room.
"Cynthia?"
Tver forcefully pushed open the door. A ball of light shot rapidly into the room, allowing him to see the scene inside.
Cynthia was kneeling by the door, sobbing. Her wand was in her hand, and her whole body was trembling.
Lying sprawled on the carpet was Tver himself.
But this version of him was deathly pale, with dried blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. He was clearly dead.
The next second, Cynthia sniffed and waved her wand at "him."
"Riddikulus!"
Then "Tver" came to life, standing before her in formal attire, a bouquet of roses in his hand.
"No... sorry."
She decisively waved her wand again, and he turned into a wisp of black smoke that dissipated throughout the room.
Tver's Lumos Charm vanished with it, and the room dimmed once more. Only by the moonlight outside could he barely make out the girl's vulnerable side.
Come to think of it, this was the first