Hampshire, Fawley Vilge.

  The vilge, named after the family, was small. Aside from the rge manor house at its edge, it consisted of barely a dozen homes.

  Moreover, the inhabitants were all Muggles, completely unaware that the manor house, encircled by tall hedges, was inhabited by wizards.

  Or rather, they couldn't even *see* the manor.

  The property was shielded by a multitude of Muggle-Repelling Charms, as well as ancient protective magic, so even a wizard would only perceive it as an ordinary estate.

  Tver remembered fondly how he used to run off to py in the vilge as a child, vanishing before the astonished eyes of his pymates.

  After several such instances, his mother had forbidden him from teasing the Muggle children any further.

  Before the serene manor gates, a soft "pop" sounded, and a figure materialized with a swirling motion.

  It was Tver, returning from his long journey.

  Before entering Britain, he had first used a Portkey for international transport.

  Admittedly, Portkeys were more efficient for long-distance travel.

  Unlike Apparition, Portkeys didn't rely on spatial magic, but rather a type of high-speed flight magic.

  Therefore, Portkeys were less draining on magical reserves and inherently safer than Apparition.

  As soon as Tver stood firm, the manor gates swung open automatically, revealing a diminutive house-elf standing behind, bowing respectfully.

  The elf possessed rge, bat-like ears, and his eyes protruded slightly.

  This was the Fawley family's house-elf, Jeff.

  However, unlike other house-elves, he wore a clean, white tunic.

  "Good afternoon, Master Fawley. Welcome home. Master and Mistress are waiting for you," the house-elf's voice was shrill, and his eyes welled up with tears.

  "It's good to see you, Jeff," Tver said, a smile gracing his features. When he first touched the ring and his body was weak, Jeff had been the one to care for him.

  Although house-elves were expected to care for their masters, Tver, being a transmigrator, could not accept such service as a matter of course.

  So, after convincing his parents and Jeff, Tver gave Jeff a tunic. He was free to leave the Fawley family at any time and become a truly free elf.

  Of course, given Jeff's devotion to the family, Tver couldn't drive him away even if he tried.

  Jeff wiped away his tears, Master's return should be a cause for joy.

  "Mistress will be talking for quite some time with you being away for so long."

  At this, Tver's face fell. He wondered if his father could offer some assistance.

  He pondered the matter all the way here, only to conclude that his father was entirely unreliable.

  "Well, look who it is, a prospective Minister for Magic?"

  A woman with delicate features leaned against the front door, her smile irrepressible. Time had been kind to her, leaving few marks.

  This was Tver's mother, Belinda Fawley.

  Hearing this, a gentle-faced man poked his head out from another direction. Seeing Tver at the door, his eyes lit up.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but a cough from the woman beside him stifled his words.

  He gave Tver a look that said, *Good luck to you*, before retreating.

  This unreliable figure was his father, Miles Fawley.

  "It's me, your kind, virtuous, gentle, lovely, generous, and demure son."

  Tver emphasized the earlier adjectives, then massaged Belinda's shoulders ingratiatingly.

  "Oh, please," Belinda retorted, turning to walk inside, her voice tinged with mock sadness, "My son wouldn't stay away for two years."

  Oh no!

  In pursuit of the curse's secrets, Tver had not returned for even a single day of holiday since st summer.

  For some reason, his family pced immense importance on familial bonds. During his seven years at Durmstrang, the pile of owl delivered letters and packages could encircle the manor twice.

  But, in truth, this warmth was something special to him.

  Especially with the constant feeling of racing Death, the warmth of family was what kept him going.

  So Tver didn't want to ruin this familial bond and become indifferent.

  He hurried after his mother, intending to offer the carefully prepared expnation, but as he crossed the threshold—

  "Surprise!"

  His father leaped out from behind the door, brandishing his wand, and the ceiling erupted in a shower of colorful fireworks.

  Jeff darted out from the side, exciming, "Happy 18th Birthday, Master!"

  The brightly lit room suddenly darkened as his mother produced a rge cake, adorned with a crooked "18," the candles flickering to life with a puff of breath, illuminating her face.

  "It might not be very pretty. I tried for days, but I couldn't make it as good as your father's, but you can't say that out loud!" Belinda threatened, gring at Miles, who was smirking in the corner.

  "No, I love it," Tver said softly.

  "You wouldn't dare not to," Belinda replied. She started ughing herself. "Before you blow out the candles, remember to make a wish!"

  Wizarding birthdays didn't typically involve making wishes, but Tver, unaware when he first arrived, had foolishly wished for a long and healthy life.

  From that day forward, birthday wishes became a Fawley family tradition.

  Csping his hands beneath his chin, Tver closed his eyes and silently whispered.

  "I hope my parents live healthy and happy lives."

  Under the expectant gazes of Belinda and Miles, he opened his eyes, leaned forward, and gently blew out the eighteen candles.

  Almost as soon as he extinguished them, Miles skillfully caught the cake. Without giving her husband a gnce, Belinda opened her arms and embraced Tver.

  "Happy Birthday, son!"

  "Thank you, Mom. I'm happy."

  A pang of guilt struck Tver. The original owner of this body had such wonderful parents, yet he was taking his pce.

  All he could do now was strive to be better than the original, to atone for his guilt.

  "Don't get too happy yet," Belinda said with a mischievous smile, releasing him from her embrace. "As punishment for not coming home for two years—"

  Miles returned the cake at that moment. "You have to eat the whole cake!"

  Tver: "..."

  And so, at dinner, Tver sat at the table, forced to single-handedly devour the entire cake, while his family, including Jeff, indulged in the eborate French cuisine his father had prepared.

  As everyone knew, the upside to cakes was that they generally couldn't taste that bad, but once they did, then they were horrible, and not in a way one's taste could solve.

  Miles was known for his exquisite French dishes. Tver, because of his previous life, could whip up Chinese food, and Jeff, as a house-elf, was well-versed in popur European dishes.

  The only exception was Belinda, who couldn't even manage Britain's famous trio: fish, chips, and fish and chips. So forget about the cake that she spent a week learning to make.

  "Alright, come try the Baked Cheesy Crab that your father made," Belinda said, seeing the dejected expression on her son's face. Knowing when to stop, she brought over the dish originally intended for him.