Dumbledore had barely finished speaking when another wave of magical energy swept through the room. He didn't even have time to react before it engulfed everything, rippling out across the entire castle.
His expression darkened. "Auror-level magic! Heads of the Houses, return to your houses at once. Evacuate all students and maintain order!"
Professor McGonagall and the others nodded grimly and hurried off. Dumbledore frowned at Erwin's door. How could a first-year suddenly wield power like that?
Snape's scowl deepened. "What's happening here?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps a bloodline surge?"
"His parents never mentioned anything like this," Snape retorted.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with uncertainty. Meanwhile, inside the room, Erwin's ears rang with the System's chime.
[Magic level has reached level 3!]
As the notification faded, the wild magical energy within him settled. Erwin was drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. Bloody hell, that was just a diluted magic-boosting potion? What would the full-strength version do?
He blinked open his eyes—and froze. The room looked like a tornado had torn through it: furniture overturned, books scattered, curtains in shreds.
Shaking his head, he pulled up the System panel via the Erwin Communication System. There, under his stats, a new line glowed.
[Magic Level: Level 3]
"System," Erwin muttered, "how do these levels work?"
[Magic levels are a System metric for your convenience—reference only! Level 1: Underage wizards. Level 2: Adult wizards, or top seventh-years. Level 3: Standard Auror. Level 4: Elite Auror. Level 5: Professor-level, like Hogwarts staff. Level 6: Legendary, e.g., Voldemort. Level 7: Epic, e.g., Dumbledore or peak Grindelwald. Level 8: Mythical, e.g., the founders. Level 9: God-tier, e.g., Death itself.]
Erwin nodded, piecing it together. He wanted to dig deeper, but the door creaked open. Dumbledore and Snape strode in.
Erwin straightened quickly. "Professors? What brings you here?"
Snape glided forward like a shadow, his hand clamping onto Erwin's shoulder before he could blink. "Don't move. I need to check your magical reserves."
Erwin tensed but held still. Snape had always treated him with an odd protectiveness. After a tense moment, Snape withdrew, shaking his head.
Dumbledore exhaled softly, then chuckled. "Mr. Cavendish, you're already making waves on your first day. Quite the stir you've caused at Hogwarts!"
Erwin blinked innocently. "I don't follow, sir."
"Because of that magical surge, every first-year is waiting outside the castle right now," Dumbledore explained with a wry smile.
Erwin's eyes widened. He glanced at his panel—wizarding acclaim was climbing fast, already past 1,100 and still ticking up. A lucky break.
"Sorry, Headmaster," he said. "I had no idea."
Dumbledore waved it off. "No harm done, lad. Fancy me sorting this mess for you?"
Erwin hesitated. "Wouldn't want to impose."
"Nonsense." Dumbledore raised his wand with a flourish. "Reparo!"
The room shimmered, debris flying back into place as if time had reversed. Erwin marveled at the effortless magic.
"Thank you, sir," he said, bowing slightly. "And sorry again for the trouble."
"Rest up," Dumbledore advised, eyes twinkling. "Tomorrow's Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. She's strict—no exceptions, even for promising young wizards. Don't be late."
"Noted. Good night, Professors."
Once they left, Erwin's brow furrowed. Something felt off—ninety-nine percent suspicious. Dumbledore hadn't probed into the surge at all, and Snape's concern was unusually warm. For the old headmaster, that was out of character.
Was there more to his background? The Sorting Hat's odd reaction, the professors' attitudes... Maybe he wasn't just some ordinary newcomer. A lost heir to a pure-blood line? But the Cavendish family wasn't among the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
He resolved to dig into Selwyn history later. Exhausted from the train ride, Erwin washed up quickly and collapsed into bed, drifting off without a care.
Unbeknownst to him, his surge had upended the castle. Older students used spells to restore their dorms with ease, but first-years struggled, fumbling with basic charms. Whispers spread from Slytherin: the new boy, Erwin Cavendish, was behind it all. Resentment simmered among the young witches and wizards on his very first night.
The next morning, Erwin stirred early, stomach growling. Spoiled by house-elves back home, trekking to the Great Hall alone felt like a chore. He dressed and stepped into the common room—only to find it deserted.
Odd. These wizarding kids were up with the birds. He shrugged and headed out, the castle's moving staircases already shifting underfoot.