NOVEL WEB Chapter 3: Solace of the Soul
Hampshire, Fawley Village.
Named after the family, this small village consisted of only about a dozen households surrounding the grand estate at its end.
The muggles residing here were blissfully unaware of the magical wizards dwelling within the estate, concealed by tall hedges. In fact, they couldn't even see the manor, shielded as it was by numerous Muggle-Repelling Charms and ancient protective magics that made it appear as just an ordinary manor even to the untrained wizard's eye.
Tver often reminisced about his childhood games in the village, vanishing under the astonished gazes of his playmates—a trick that eventually led his mother to forbid him from playing such pranks on his muggle friends.
At the tranquil entrance of the manor, there was a soft "pop" as a figure materialized, spinning into view—it was Tver, returning from afar. Before entering Britain, however, he had used an international Portkey, which, he had to admit, was far less exhausting than other long-distance travel methods.
Unlike apparition, which is akin to teleportation through space, a Portkey utilizes rapid forward motion, making it less draining on magical energy and considerably safer.
As Tver steadied himself, the manor's grand doors swung open automatically, and a tiny house-elf stood behind them, bowing respectfully. This elf, named Jeff, had large, bat-like ears and slightly bulging eyes. Jeff was dressed not in rags, but in a neat, clean white robe, marking him different from other house-elves.
"Good afternoon, Young Master Fawley, welcome home. The master and mistress have been expecting you," the elf's voice was sharp, and as he looked up, his eyes brimmed with tears.
"It's good to see you, Jeff." Tver smiled; during his early days of weakness from the cursed ring, it had been Jeff who cared for him. While it is customary for house-elves to serve wizards,
Tver, as a transmigrator, couldn't take such service for granted. After convincing his parents and Jeff, he offered Jeff a robe—a symbol of freedom, allowing him to leave the Fawley family whenever he chose.
Of course, given Jeff's affection for the family, Tver knew he couldn't drive him away even if he tried.
Jeff wiped away his tears; he should be happy about his master's return. "You've been away so long, the mistress will surely have much to say."
Mentioning this, Tver began to feel a headache coming on, wondering if his father would be of any assistance at this time. After pondering this all the way home, he concluded that his father was utterly unreliable.
"Oh, look who's here. A candidate for Minister for Magic?"
At that moment, a delicately featured woman leaned against the house's doorway, her face lighting up with an unstoppable smile. She had aged gracefully. This was Tver's mother, Belinda Fawley.
Hearing this, a robust-looking man peeked out from another direction. Upon seeing Tver at the door, his eyes brightened. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a cough from the woman beside him. Giving Tver a look that pleaded for understanding, he withdrew his head.
This unreliable man was Tver's father, Miles Fawley.
"Of course, it's a gentle, kind, beautiful, generous, and virtuous mother's son," Tver emphasized the adjectives and then playfully patted Belinda's shoulder.
"Enough," Belinda turned and walked inside, her voice quivering a bit, "my son wouldn't stay away from home for two years."
Oops! Due to his research into the curse's secrets, Tver hadn't spent even a single day at home since last summer. Family ties were significantly valued at home; during his seven years at Durmstrang, enough owls had collapsed from exhaustion circling the manor.
Honestly, though, this warm feeling was one of the main reasons he endured the race against death.
He caught up with his mother, trying to explain his rehearsed reasons, but as he stepped over the threshold, "Surprise!" His father jumped out from behind the door, waving his wand, and the ceiling instantly filled with colorful fireworks.
Jeff sprang out too, squealing, "Happy 18th birthday!"
The room, initially bright, dimmed as his mother held up a cake with twisted "18" on it. With her breath, the candles lit up, illuminating her face.
"It might not look great. I tried for days but couldn't make it as well as your father, and you better not say otherwise!" Belinda glared threateningly at Miles, who was trying to stifle his laughter.
"No, I love it," Tver whispered.
"As if you'd dare not to," Belinda laughed, then added, "Make a wish before you blow out the candles!"
Wizards don't traditionally make birthday wishes, but Tver, naive upon his arrival, had foolishly wished for a long life. Thus, birthday wishes had become a tradition in the Fawley family.
With his hands clasped beneath his chin, Tver closed his eyes and silently wished, "May my parents live a healthy and peaceful life."
Amid the expectant gazes of Belinda and Miles, he opened his eyes, leaned forward slightly, and gently blew out the eighteen candles atop the cake. With a flick of the cake, Miles skillfully caught it, but Belinda didn't even glance at her husband as she opened her arms to embrace Tver.
"Happy birthday, son!"
"Thank you, Mom, I'm very happy."
Suddenly, Tver felt a pang of guilt. The original Tver had such wonderful parents, yet here he was in his place. All he could do now was to live a life even better than the original could have, hoping to alleviate some of that guilt.
"Don't just focus on being happy," Belinda said with a mischievous smile as she released him from the hug. "As a punishment for not coming home for two years—"
Miles timely handed the cake back to Tver, "You'll have to finish the cake!"
Tver: "…"
So, during dinner, Tver sat at the dining table, tasked with eating the entire large cake by himself, while his family, including Jeff, enjoyed a meticulously prepared French feast made by his father.
As is well known, cakes are generally hard to mess up, but when they are bad, they are truly dreadful, and not something that can be fixed by mere taste adjustment.
At home, Miles was skilled at crafting exquisite French cuisine. Tver, due to his past life experiences, could whip up some dishes, and Jeff, being a house elf, was proficient in a variety of popular European cuisines.
The only exception was Belinda. She struggled even with the iconic British trio of fish, chips, and fish and chips, let alone this cake, which she claimed to have been trying to perfect for a week.
"Alright, come and try the Cheesy Baked Crab your father made," Belinda said, seeing her son's disheartened expression and knowing when to stop. She brought over the dishes originally intended for him, finally giving him a break from the cake ordeal.