Achieving victory in a duel against older students without resorting to the Dark Arts was no simple feat. Erwin couldn't just unleash a barrage of spells and turn the common room into a battlefield—doing so would land him in Azkaban by dawn. Without forbidden magic, his spell repertoire was limited, and his reserves were running low after sizing up the Slytherin prefects.
From his earlier observations, Erwin figured he could hold his own against a fifth-year at best, provided he stuck to clean magic. The Unforgivable Curses were off-limits in this hypothetical, but if he bent the rules, these overconfident upperclassmen wouldn't stand a chance. Still, Erwin wasn't short on options. Precision in a few key spells could turn the tide—after all, even Harry Potter had faced down Voldemort with little more than Expelliarmus in their final showdown.
Right now, Erwin's go-to moves were straightforward: the Shield Charm for defense and the Disarming Charm for offense. Master those, and they formed a solid foundation. The real issue was his magical reserves, which paled compared to the prefects' deeper wells of power.
Then it hit him—the two cheap magic-boosting potions he'd won in his last lottery draw, tucked away and forgotten in his System inventory. He pulled out the pair of murky black vials, staring at them with a grimace. An unwelcome image flashed in his mind: a hag-faced old witch cackling over a cauldron of bubbling sludge, stirring with a ladle nearly as tall as she was.
Erwin shivered. Could he even stomach this? It looked more like poison than potion.
"System," he muttered, "are you sure this won't do me in?"
[Rest assured, host. This is a System product—quality guaranteed. No issues. Down it in one go for maximum effect!]
With a deep breath, Erwin uncorked the first bottle and sniffed cautiously. No acrid stench assaulted him; instead, a subtle, almost pleasant aroma wafted out. His eyes widened. "Ah, they've laced it with some Muggle flavor enhancer," he realized, chuckling to himself. It tasted surprisingly decent—like a watered-down treacle tart, innocent enough.
He paused, waiting for the rush. Nothing. Shaking his head, he grabbed the second vial and swigged it down without hesitation. This time, the effect hit like a Bludger.
Magical energy surged through his veins, boiling over as if his body were a kettle left too long on the fire. His face flushed hot, and he clenched his fists, struggling to contain the torrent. The power raced wildly, threatening to spill out.
[Magical reserves increased! You've reached the threshold for System magical energy materialization. Activating now!]
[Current Magic Level: Level 2! (Rising steadily!)]
[World's Highest Magic Level: Level 9!]
Erwin forced down the chaos long enough to whisper, "Highest level? That's Dumbledore, right?"
[Dumbledore's magic level is 7.]
Stronger than the Headmaster? But before he could press further, his focus slipped. The magical energy rebelled, erupting from him in an uncontrollable wave. It blasted outward, upending furniture and shattering goblets in the Slytherin common room. The first-years, who had just nodded off in their dormitory chairs, were flung across the room before they could even yelp.
Wails and shouts filled the air as the disturbance rippled through the lake-view windows, the greenish light flickering wildly.
Moments later, footsteps thundered from the corridors. Professors burst through the entrance—McGonagall, Flitwick, and the others—wands at the ready. The air shimmered with a soft pop, and Dumbledore appeared at the doorway, his half-moon spectacles glinting.
Snape was first inside, his face a mask of fury. The common room was pandemonium: chairs overturned, tapestries torn, and students scrambling for the exit like rats from a sinking ship. They didn't know the cause, but instinct drove them toward safety.
"Quiet!" Snape bellowed, amplifying his voice with a flick of his wand. "Prefects! Evacuate the students—now!"
The hidden prefects snapped to attention, herding the younger ones out in orderly lines. Only the first-years lagged, wide-eyed and confused.
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Where's Cavendish?"
Cassius glanced around frantically. "Professor, it felt like the surge came from his room!"
Snape's jaw tightened. "Get the first-years out. Everyone else, upstairs."
The professors ascended swiftly, converging on Erwin's door. Dumbledore's brow furrowed as residual magic crackled in the air. "A magical surge? Here? And this power... it's as potent as a seventh-year's on the cusp of graduation."
Every wizard experienced a magical surge once in their life—a wild outburst when uncontrolled magic wreaked havoc, typically around age five or six as innate power first awakened. Schools like Hogwarts taught control from there on, preventing repeats as magic grew steadily under guidance.
But Erwin's surge was artificial. The potions had flooded his system too quickly, overwhelming his novice grasp and triggering a second eruption.
Snape gripped his wand tighter. "Will he be all right?"
Dumbledore raised a hand calmly. "No need for alarm, Severus. It's just property damage—nothing fatal. It'll burn itself out shortly."
Inside the room, Erwin wrestled the energy back under control, sweat beading on his forehead. The surge peaked and faded, leaving him drained but invigorated, his magic humming with newfound depth. He slumped against the wall, heart pounding. That had been too close.
Downstairs, the professors exchanged uneasy glances. McGonagall pursed her lips. "A first-year causing this? We'll need to investigate immediately."
Flitwick nodded vigorously. "Indeed! Such raw potential—and at his age!"
Snape shot a sharp look toward the door. "Potential or not, if he's meddling with unstable potions, heads will roll."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly behind his spectacles, though his expression remained grave. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Retrieve young Mr. Cavendish and sort this out properly."
As the door creaked open, Erwin emerged, looking sheepish but unharmed. The Headmaster's gaze met his, a mix of curiosity and quiet amusement flickering there. No hehe from Dumbledore yet—but the old wizard clearly sensed more to this than a simple accident.