A second issue had cropped up with the prototype.
The phone simply couldn't handle an overload of magical energy. It was like a device with a strict cap—push it too far, and it'd become a handheld bomb, liable to detonate at the slightest provocation.
That snag led to a third problem: recharging. Only Erwin's own magic, fused with the Communication Rune, could power it properly. He couldn't spend his days tethered to the thing, playing eternal battery pack. Without fixes for these hurdles, the invention remained little more than a clever trinket.
Yet this magical mobile was central to Erwin's ambitions in the wizarding world—a genuine game-changer. He knew firsthand how indispensable quick communication could be. Wizards, though, viewed Muggle gadgets with disdain, seeing non-magical folk as primitives stuck in the past.
Erwin recalled no one in the original tales, save Arthur Weasley, who warmed to Muggle ways. It was a subtle arrogance, born of power: once you wielded magic, the mundane seemed lesser. Even Professor McGonagall had declared that wizards needed nothing from Muggles—magic outshone their every contraption. And spells like the Muggle-Repelling Charm wreaked havoc on tech; step into an enchanted building, and your signal vanished.
No wonder satellites never spotted the wizarding enclaves.
Erwin's creation, however, was different: a wizarding phone, immune to such interference. It could revolutionize communication, cornering the market overnight. Sure, wizards had alternatives—Patronus Charms for messages, though they lagged far behind instant calls. Floo calls offered real-time chat, but lugging a fireplace everywhere? Absurd. If anyone tried that, Erwin wanted no part of the fallout.
Imagine the wizarding world hooked on mobiles. The Selwyn family, holding the monopoly, would be untouchable. Disrupt them, and you'd cut off the lifeline everyone craved. Why wait days for an owl or fumble with ethereal messengers when a phone rang instantly? Fireplaces would gather dust.
This wasn't just about galleons; it was strategy, securing influence. And the phones held deeper potential—Erwin's hunches ran wild with possibilities.
But first, solutions. The overload issue traced back to materials. Swap them for magic-conducting ones, like silver or gold, and the problem dissolved. Simpler than expected.
The recharging puzzle lingered, though. Erwin toyed with the device, mind whirring. Then it hit him: the battery.
His eyes gleamed. What if he crafted a magical core to replace it? Infuse it with enchanted materials to store vast reserves, fueling calls and functions without constant input. Better yet, it opened a new revenue stream—phone fees plus "magic top-ups," like billing for Floo powder.
Genius, Erwin thought, grinning. He'd sidestepped the drain on his own reserves and turned a flaw into profit. Of course, it meant a full overhaul: wiring swapped for wand-wood conduits, perfect for channeling spells.
One challenge down. Mass production loomed next—the Communication Rune bound to his magic alone, impossible to replicate at scale. Erwin raked a hand through his hair, stumped. Extracting his essence remotely? No dice, not yet.
He'd improvise, starting small. Flood the market with those magical batteries first; true dominance wouldn't happen overnight. For now, a working model was key to test his theories.
Erwin tapped his wand against the phone, purging the Rune and embedded charms with a swift Finite Incantatem. From his enchanted ring, he withdrew a chunk of gold, Transfiguring it into a precise battery replica. Temporary, sure—the spell would fade—but ample for trials. Permanent forging could wait for refinements.
Satisfied, he snapped his fingers and headed out, straight for the Forbidden Forest's edge.
He lingered there, patient.
What for? The stick creatures, of course—his leafy little friends, the Bowtruckles.
It didn't take long. A vibrant green sprite scampered over, leaping onto his trouser leg and clambering to his shoulder with twiggy determination. It let out a plaintive chirp.
Erwin laughed softly. "Classes kept me away, mate. Sorry about that. How've you been holding up?"
The Bowtruckle lifted the dim little wand dangling from its neck, flickering weakly.
"Out of juice? Easy fix—I brought a fresh one." He unclasped the old one, swapping it with a glowing new model from his ring. The creature beamed, batting at the light like a kitten with yarn.
"Listen, little guardian," Erwin said, "can you point me to your tree? I need a twig for my project."
The Bowtruckle bobbed its head, ready to dash off, but Erwin caught it gently. "No need to lead—just show the way."
It raised a slender leaf, gesturing into the shadows.
Erwin pressed on, the forest swallowing him whole. Afternoon light barely pierced the canopy, casting the undergrowth in perpetual twilight. Towering trunks loomed like ancient sentinels, their branches knitting a ceiling that starved the ground of sun. Flecks of gold broke through now and then, teasing the eye amid the gloom, heightening the wild, secretive air.