While Slytherin and Ravenclaw caught up on old times, Erwin had already slipped back to his dormitory. He turned the Founder's Ring over in his hand, studying it closely. Slytherin had called it the second piece of his legacy, so it had to hold more than met the eye. Erwin had only uncovered its control over the Serpent Shadow so far, but even a novice could tell Slytherin's heirlooms weren't that straightforward.
He paused, considering. The Heir of Slytherin's challenges always revolved around raw power, and Slytherin himself prized strength above all. This ring must amplify that somehow. A curse, perhaps?
With a snap of his fingers, Erwin vanished into the Room of Requirement. Owning two fragments of Hogwarts made getting around the castle a breeze—not true Apparition, but something smoother, like teleporting by sheer will. Any corner under his influence was his to claim, hidden chambers included.
Inside, he conjured a spell practice room lined with dummies. He flicked his wand at one. "Expelliarmus!" The dummy's wand flew from its grip. Nothing unusual. He reset it and tried again, this time with darker intent. "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green erupted, hurling the dummy across the room in a splintered heap. Erwin's eyes widened. He'd found it. Checking his System panel, he confirmed the spike: proficiency gains were up by about fifty percent, and the curse packed extra punch.
So, the ring boosted spell power and accelerated learning—ideally suited to the Dark Arts, from what he could tell. Erwin grinned; it was exactly what he needed to speed through the non-verbal Killing Curse. He shot Slytherin a mental salute. Brilliant.
Satisfied, he dove into drills. His duel with Grodia had exposed a flaw: he knew plenty of spells, but chaining them fluidly? Not yet. Grodia had the edge there. And power wasn't just dark curses—everyday spells could be lethal in skilled hands. Take Molly Weasley, who'd bested Bellatrix with nothing fancier than household charms. It wasn't raw might; it was precision, knowing when to layer spells for maximum impact. That's where Erwin fell short.
His path forward was clear. Advanced magic offered marginal gains over what he already wielded. Boosting his magic reserves? He was at Auror level now, a match for most professors, but Snape-tier power would take years of natural growth. No thanks—he'd rather bank on a lucky draw come Christmas, when his wizarding acclaim would peak.
That left honing control and combos, like stacking cards in a high-stakes game. A lone spell was fine, but the right sequence multiplied the devastation. It demanded live practice, though, and partners weren't easy to come by.
Professor Snape crossed his mind—perfect for a scrap. But Erwin dismissed it fast. Sparring was one thing; risking his godfather? Unthinkable.
Quirrell, then. The professor should be stirring soon. But first, Erwin needed to secure him a safer lair. No sense in his mentor getting caught in the crossfire.
He shook off the worry and refocused. Overthinking bred complications. Better to drill.
Meanwhile, on a dim London street, Vinda Rosier wandered, eyeing the shop windows with idle curiosity. "Muggles innovate at a blistering pace," she murmured. "Soon, there'll be no shadows left for wizards to hide in."
From the gloom, a ragged vagrant lunged, brandishing a Muggle gun—the Great Equalizer, they called it. "Halt! Empty your pockets, or else!"
Vinda's expression hardened. She eyed the crude weapon, sensing the lethal intent humming from its barrel. A Muggle toy threatening a witch like her? Astonishing.
In the shadows, the man caught a glimpse of her face. Time had etched faint lines, but Vinda's beauty endured, her poise magnetic. Even Grindelwald and Dumbledore paled in comparison when it came to allure.
His eyes bulged, a sleazy smirk twisting his lips. "Heh, jackpot! Never figured I'd snag a looker like you. Come on, into that alley. Nice and easy—no funny business, or this thing blows your pretty head off. Move! Before those Selwyn pricks catch wind and ruin the fun!"