Phineas fell silent for a moment.
"Actually, I haven't the foggiest," he admitted.
Erwin stared at him, stunned.
What had he just heard? This old headmaster didn't know either?
Phineas continued, "It's an ancient Slytherin legend, really. You might have come across the tale of the four founders' legacies? Hogwarts lore says each left behind something profound after founding the school."
Erwin nodded. "I've read about it. The exposed one is Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets—people have died there. It's taboo now."
Phineas inclined his painted head. "I've heard whispers in the other portraits, but what if the Chamber isn't his true legacy?"
Erwin's eyes widened. "Not Slytherin's real inheritance?"
"Legend claims the four founders started as middling wizards in their day," Phineas explained. "Then they acquired something—nobody knows what exactly—that elevated them to the pinnacle of power, letting them build Hogwarts. Rumor has it they hid this true power here. Slytherin himself devised the hidden prefect trials, passing them down to every Head of House by word of mouth. Pass the challenges, and you claim his genuine legacy."
Erwin frowned. "What about the other houses? They don't have hidden prefect trials."
Phineas shrugged. "No idea. The founders' secrets wouldn't come cheap, would they? Though I've caught wind of something intriguing: Dumbledore may have unlocked Gryffindor's full legacy. Who knows if it's true—he's never breathed a word."
Erwin nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks, Headmaster."
Phineas waved a dismissive hand. "No need. Besides, the portraits are buzzing that you've bested a fifth-year hidden prefect. Only two stand between you and the end. You're closest to uncovering it all. If you do, share the tale—I'm dying of curiosity myself."
Erwin chuckled. "You have my word."
"Fair enough. I popped in to check on you anyway. While I've got time, show me your spellwork. That Muggle contraption of yours packs a punch, but you're a wizard at heart."
Erwin's interest piqued. Was the old Slytherin offering pointers? Phineas had risen to headmaster from Slytherin graduate during Hogwarts' stormiest era. The man must have mastered depths of the Dark Arts—even if Erwin's mind leaped there unbidden. No wonder the Slytherins' influence lingered; it had a way of twisting even the upright.
"Headmaster Phineas," Erwin said, "would you teach me some spells?"
"Spells? Aren't the ones you're cramming sufficient?"
"The enemies after me are ruthless—they want me gone. I need proper defenses, something lethal if it comes to it."
Phineas's eyes gleamed. "Dark Arts, then?"
Erwin rubbed his nose, choosing his words. "Headmaster, I don't see spells as black or white. They're tools for survival, like a Muggle sword—deadly, yes, but not inherently evil. It depends on the hand that wields it."
A sly grin cracked Phineas's stern face. "Well said. You're a true Slytherin, lad. Shame there wasn't someone like you during my tenure. You'd have swayed the others to my proposal."
Erwin blinked. "Proposal? What kind?"
"Nothing grand—just retooling Defense Against the Dark Arts into straight Dark Arts instruction. All that defensive posturing's useless if you never face the real thing."
Erwin nearly choked. No wonder Phineas was history's most reviled headmaster. Durmstrang would have suited him better—a place that embraced the shadows. Even they drew the line at Grindelwald's excesses, though.
Phineas sighed, lost in reminiscence. "Hogwarts was too soft, fixated on shielding against darkness without embracing it. My idea got shot down. Pity."
Erwin's mouth twitched. The man's logic was as unyielding as his reputation.
"Enough nostalgia," Phineas said briskly. "You want the Dark Arts? Prove your mettle first. What do you know?"
Erwin nodded. "A fair bit. Give me a second."
He snapped his fingers, and they vanished, reappearing on the Black Lake's shore. With a quick flick, Erwin scooped a hefty fish from the water, then Apparated them back to his dormitory. He laid the creature on the floor and drew the heavy curtains for privacy.
Wand raised, he murmured, "Avada Kedavra."
A jet of purple light erupted, striking the fish. It went rigid in an instant, life extinguished without a twitch.
Erwin frowned inwardly—why did his Killing Curse manifest as purple? All his spells carried that eerie hue these days.
Phineas gaped. "Your foundation's this solid already?"