Penelope shook her head. None of this concerned her. She just wanted to study hard, graduate, and carve out a life in the wizarding world. If she could land a job at the Ministry of Magic, even better—her future children wouldn't face the mudblood slur.
Still years from graduation and untested by the magical world's harsh realities, she had no idea how tangled those simple dreams would become.
After changing the sheets, Erwin settled into bed. He mulled over his next steps. He'd laid out plenty of plans, but none fully matched his grand vision.
The magic phone was his gateway into the wizarding world, tying into everything that followed. Erwin had no interest in Voldemort's or Grindelwald's path—ruling through fear and domination. That wasn't a lack of ambition; his was far grander.
He'd studied history enough to know the truth: oppression bred resistance. Force alone sparked backlash, toppling even the mightiest regimes. Coercion failed when the rift between rulers and the ruled grew too wide.
Erwin aimed higher: rule so subtly that others praised him for it, blind to the strings he pulled. He was already on that road, weaving the Cavendish family's influence through the magical world. By the time wizards noticed their power, escape would be impossible. Touching the family would ignite chaos, unraveling everything they held dear.
He'd bind their fate to every wizard's survival. Then, any threat to the Cavendishes became an assault on all.
The thought thrilled him. It wouldn't be easy—years of careful work lay ahead. But at his age, time was on his side.
With that, Erwin drifted off.
This dream hit differently from the last two. He found himself in a dense forest, quickly realizing it was another vision. He rubbed his forehead. Bloody hell, these dreams were turning into some epic wizarding drama. Where was he this time?
Darkness swallowed everything—no stars, no moonlight. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Faint tree outlines were all that hinted at his surroundings.
Then, flames erupted skyward. A furious roar followed.
"Dumbledore, you've crossed the line! Who gave you the nerve to invade our lands? Think you're untouchable in the wizarding world now?!"
Erwin's pulse raced. Dumbledore?
He looked up. Amid the blaze, Dumbledore floated in the air, Fawkes circling him with powerful wingbeats. Flames swirled like a living inferno around the Headmaster.
Erwin gaped. Blimey, the old man could fly—and it looked brilliant.
Dumbledore's voice boomed. "Then who gave you the gall to send assassins to Hogwarts? I warned you: no matter who you are or who you're after, that school is off-limits. You broke the pact first!"
Fawkes's wings beat faster, unleashing waves of scorching heat. The sky burned crimson.
Terror gripped Erwin. Man and phoenix—they were a force of nature. No wonder the books downplayed this; it was a deluge held back.
Legendary wizardry at its peak.
A black-robed figure ascended, facing Dumbledore. "That boy can't live! The master's orders are clear: bring him in. You saved him once, Dumbledore, but not forever. Hogwarts won't shield him indefinitely!"
Flames exploded around Dumbledore. "So the Solent family wants war?"
The fire shaped into phoenixes, rising fierce and glaring at the robed intruder.
Erwin stared, awestruck. The Headmaster had presence—like the legends come alive. No wonder he was called the greatest wizard. Erwin burned to wield that power himself.
Even on the ground, the heat singed. Leaves curled and blackened nearby. If this were real, Erwin would be sweating buckets.
He shifted his gaze to the black-robed figure. Facing that inferno head-on, yet unflinching. A subtle blue glow pulsed from the wand in their grip—some protective charm, no doubt.
Erwin braced for the clash.
A dragon's roar shattered the tension. A massive beast, wings thundering, hurtled toward them.
Dumbledore's face hardened.
The dragon halted between the two, hovering. Only then did Erwin spot the rider: a man in his thirties, blond ponytail neat, clad in a sharp blue evening suit. He stood effortlessly on the creature's back.
The black robe bowed low. "Master, you've come."
The man nodded, eyes on Dumbledore. "Professor Dumbledore—it's been ages. Still looking as sharp as ever."
"Soren," Dumbledore replied coolly. "Indeed, it has."
Soren chuckled. "What's got the Headmaster in such a foul mood? Trekking all the way to Solent territory?"