Phineas Nigellus Black never saw it coming. Erwin fired off a Killing Curse without hesitation. True, the headmaster was just a portrait now, but couldn't the boy show a little respect? No holding back at all?
Erwin scratched his head sheepishly. "Sorry about that, Headmaster. I haven't quite got the hang of it yet!"
Phineas waved it off. "Nonsense. You've got it spot on. Believe me, plenty of dark wizards fumble it worse than you."
Erwin flushed, caught off guard. Praise already? His Killing Curse was only level three—plenty of room to improve.
Phineas eyed him with a sigh. If he didn't genuinely admire the lad—and if Erwin's words hadn't struck such a chord—he'd be plotting a one-way ticket to Azkaban. "Ever used the Killing Curse on a real person?"
"Hardly ever," Erwin replied earnestly. "Everyone knows it's an Unforgivable. One wrong move, and you're off to prison."
Phineas blinked in surprise. The boy actually understood the risks? Impressive.
"Your spellwork's sharp, technique solid," Phineas continued. "But you're overdoing the magic. Take that Killing Curse: it's a one-shot kill, impossible to block most times. No need to pour in extra power. In a duel, every drop counts—run dry, and you're done."
Erwin nodded thoughtfully.
Over the next hour, Phineas shared a trove of spellcasting secrets honed over decades as a master dark wizard. Erwin soaked it up—this was priceless, the kind of guidance no Galleon could buy.
"Right, mull that over," Phineas said at last. "I'll drop by when I can. Fire away with questions then."
Erwin rose and bowed. "Thank you, Headmaster."
A faint smile tugged at Phineas's painted lips. "I like you, lad. A proper Slytherin through and through. Word's reached me about your efforts—Slytherin's turning a corner. We need someone to steer her back to glory, and you're the man for it. Can't wait to see her shine like in my day."
The portrait faded to blank canvas. Phineas had slipped away, as only he could among the castle's paintings—free to roam at will.
Erwin had himself a new mentor.
[Congratulations, host: Phineas's guidance unlocked! Activating temporary Attack Spells draw pool. 30 free draws granted. Limited-time event with guaranteed gold reward at the end. Pool closes in one hour—draw now!]
Erwin's eyes gleamed. Just what he needed. They said the System delivered, and here it was, curse in tow. Minimum payout guaranteed? This thing was practically handing out treasures.
He pulled up the interface and swiped. "Let's see what you've got."
With gold assured, why hold back? Worst case, the finale would deliver.
[10-draw complete. Rewards distributed!]
Bombarda x2!
Glacius x1!
Levicorpus x1!
Spell Proficiency x300!
Not bad. Bombarda unleashed vicious explosions on targets, though it had a nasty habit of ricocheting wildly—could backfire like it did on Hermione when she botched Harry's wand. Glacius? A rare one, straight from her playbook against those Cornish Pixies Lockhart unleashed. And Levicorpus—Snape's invention, hoisting foes upside down by the ankle. Ironic pull.
Erwin kept going.
[10-draw complete. Rewards distributed!]
Purple glow—jackpot!
Reducto x2!
Incarcerous x1!
Stupefy x3!
Spell Proficiency x300!
Congratulations: Purple reward unlocked—Fiendfyre Gift Pack! Includes Protego Diabolica for defense and Fiendfyre to blaze the path. Keep pushing, wizard—the next Grindelwald could be you!
Erwin jolted upright, stool scraping. His gaze locked on the glowing prize.
Fiendfyre Gift Pack: Protego Diabolica shielding, Fiendfyre raging ahead.
He'd never forget those chilling blue flames from the films—Grindelwald's inferno clashing with crimson phoenix fire. Spectacular didn't cover it.
The rest? Child's playthings by comparison.
Deep down, Erwin favored Fiendfyre over even the Unforgivables. Power like that demanded leadership, not recklessness. Wouldn't want it getting the wrong idea.
Excitement surged as he claimed it. He itched to unleash hell—torch something, anything. But no. Shake it off. Hogwarts ablaze? Straight to Azkaban, bunking next to Sirius.
Breathe. Dumbledore's watch meant playing smart—build steady, no wild swings.
Still, that Fiendfyre...
A grin split his face. Even if the final draw bombed, this pack and the gold guarantee made it a steal. What more could a Slytherin want?
He snatched the rewards before the System could glitch. Only then did relief wash over him.
Casually, he triggered the last 10-draw.