Meanwhile, after a brief moment of confusion, Erwin began to mull over the nature of this trial. Stroking his chin, he considered a possibility. The setup felt oddly familiar—like the legendary trials in wizarding folklore, where Merlin had once tested young Arthur, pushing him to devour tomes of knowledge and forge his path through sheer intellect.
Erwin suspected this challenge was much the same: absorb these books, grasp their principles, and weave the insights together into something greater. In tales like these, time often flowed differently within such spaces, stretched out from the outside world. He felt confident in his hunch; there shouldn't be any hitches.
If that was the case, he might as well dive in. Erwin had never shied away from a good book—especially when it promised to bolster his magic. He plucked a volume from the shelf: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them . Flipping it open, a stray bookmark tumbled out. He glanced at it and flicked it aside with a shrug. Useless distraction.
As he read, his eyes lit up. This wasn't like the skimpy textbooks from Diagon Alley—it was exhaustive, cataloging nearly every magical creature, their behaviors, habitats, and even the tidbits Voldemort had once let slip about unicorn lairs. Vivid illustrations marked useful parts of each beast, with notes on harvesting and potion applications. It was a goldmine.
Erwin settled in, devouring the pages as knowledge flooded his mind.
Outside, Rowena Ravenclaw frowned at the scene. "What's this boy up to? He should be hunting clues. True wisdom is the greatest treasure—stay on task! Why bury himself in books like that?"
Her eyes widened suddenly. "Is he planning to read them all? Has he lost his way? That would drain a fortune in energy!"
Anxiety prickled at her. She raised a hand to invoke her administrative privileges and nudge him back on track. But before she could act, a hazy figure shimmered into existence in the void.
Ravenclaw's demeanor shifted in an instant, her aura crackling with authority. "Insolent fool! Who dares trespass in my domain?"
The mist coalesced, revealing an elderly man leaning on a wooden staff. His face resembled weathered bark, but his eyes burned with the fierce glint of a predator. The contrast was unnerving—a frail shell housing a dragon's gaze.
"Rowena, your fire hasn't dimmed a whit," the old man said with a chuckle.
The starlight gathering in Ravenclaw's palm fizzled out. She blinked in surprise. "Well, if it isn't you. How did you age into that grizzled wreck?"
With a light tap of his staff, the old man's form rippled. Wrinkles smoothed, gray hair darkened, and he stood as a vigorous young man. "You've lingered too long in these halls, letting the years carve you like stone. Always conforming to your age—such a waste."
Ravenclaw laughed. "Enviable gift, that. Tell me, couldn't your immortality be shared? I'd give my right arm to master it."
The young man shook his head, smiling wryly. "Time hasn't mellowed you, has it? It can be replicated, but the cost is steep. If you'd agreed back then, you might still be among us in the flesh."
She waved it off. "Spare me. Though if it meant claiming Slytherin's head on a platter, I'd reconsider. Pity it's not an option."
The young man's expression sobered. "You know why I'm here."
Ravenclaw nodded toward the study. "For the boy?"
"Precisely. I want you to let him learn undisturbed—give him every chance to grow."
"Simple enough," she replied. "Supply the energy to sustain it. That shouldn't strain you. But I'm curious: what's your angle? He's got two bloodlines stirring in him. That doesn't align with what you once promised us."
The young man sighed. "Even the mightiest falter sometimes. I picked my champions carefully, but that snake in the grass exploited a blind spot. It birthed this wildcard. Still, if it's here, it serves a purpose. As the old wizarding sayings go, fate's threads are woven tight—perhaps he's the one to unravel it all."
Ravenclaw rolled her eyes. "Spare me the mysticism. All I know is, after that rout at the hands of those cunning Muggle strategists, you've been off-kilter. If things go south, why not heed that advisor's counsel? Shed your burdens, head to the Muggle academies for a fresh perspective. Their methods might've nipped this in the bud ages ago."
A flush of discomfort crossed the young man's face. "The Muggle world—it's a ruthless beast. I've weighed your words, but their ways are too cutthroat. I won't tread that path."
She snorted. "Slytherin had you pegged: all hesitation, no bite. You'd have ended this long ago otherwise. Fine, it's your mess. But I like the lad—he's a Hogwarts boy through and through. If I pass on my legacy, he's my heir. Whatever scheme you're hatching, he stays unscathed."
The young man inclined his head. "Naturally. We want the same, Rowena. My aim's always been resolution—the gentlest way forward. No more blood on anyone's hands."
A chill edged her gaze. "Gentle, eh? Care to explain Slytherin and Godric's graves, then? Never mind—ancient history. Cough up the energy and be off. Hogwarts isn't your playground anymore. I made that clear: you're barred."
He struck his staff against the floor. A torrent of magic surged forth, funneling into the study. Mist coalesced around it, thick with power, as his form began to fade.
"I'm sorry for the old wounds, Rowena," he said softly. "I never intended them, and I'd mend them if I could. But I'm tethered here for now. Once the dust settles, I'll make it right—I swear it."
...
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