Vinda eyed Erwin sharply. "You know Protego Diabolica?"
Erwin caught on immediately. So that's why she was here—for the spell.
Who had leaked the news? It was barely a day since he'd used it, and already someone was at his door. Or was there a deeper link between Grindelwald and Protego Diabolica?
He had to hand it to his instincts; they'd nailed the truth right away.
With her motives clear, Erwin felt a wave of calm. Everyone knew Vinda ran with the villainous crowd, while their rivals flew the banner of righteousness—Dumbledore's lot. It was almost comical: a Dark Lord wielding a defensive powerhouse like Protego Diabolica, while the greatest wizard toyed with an offensive beast like Fiendfyre. Absurd, really.
But since Erwin knew the spell, he was clearly no ally of the light side. That made him safe, for now.
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Vinda tilted her head. "Did you figure it out on your own? Or did someone show you?"
"No one taught me," Erwin said. "Protego Diabolica's famous in the wizarding world. I hold the Founder in high regard—Grindelwald—so I picked it up."
Vinda's world was refreshingly straightforward: Admire Grindelwald? You're in.
Sure enough, her face brightened with a genuine smile at his words.
"Excellent. A promising young wizard. Founder, you say? I can feel your sincerity. If the stars align, I'll pass it along to him myself. I haven't properly introduced myself—Vinda Rosier."
Erwin played his part flawlessly, widening his eyes in feigned surprise. "Vinda Rosier? Forgive me, ma'am—I didn't realize. My apologies. If it's not too much trouble, could I invite you inside for a drink?"
She shook her head. "No need. Hogwarts blocks Apparition, and I hate the hassle. Listen, lad: Never put yourself in harm's way. Stay sharp."
Erwin nodded solemnly. "Understood, Madam Vinda. I'll keep that in mind. Shame I can't leave the grounds—otherwise, I'd show you proper hospitality in London."
Vinda inclined her head. "Plenty of time for that. I came for you, actually. Or more precisely, the Founder wants to meet you."
"Grindelwald?" Erwin asked.
"Yes," she confirmed. "He's intrigued by anyone who masters Protego Diabolica. Get lucky, and you might even train under him. It'd shape your entire path."
Erwin hesitated. "I'm stuck at school, though. Can't just dash off, especially abroad."
She paused, then shrugged. "Holidays, then. He likely never dreamed a kid your age would crack it. I'll report back."
Erwin bowed slightly. "Thank you, Madam Vinda. I'm eager to meet him. Guidance from the Founder would be the pinnacle of my career."
Her smile widened, her gaze warming. The more she studied him, the more she warmed to the boy—devoted, talented, loyal. He was a natural fit for the Acolytes, a heaven-sent recruit for her master.
Vinda had swept in like a storm and vanished just as quickly, her visit reduced to a simple summons. She'd planned to whisk him away by force, but his quick thinking—citing school rules and international travel—had nipped that in the bud.
Once she was gone, Erwin let out a long breath. The Black Rose lived up to her reputation: more formidable than Snape or any Head of House. Raw power that demanded respect—and a twinge of envy.
Glancing at the Acolytes' ranks, then the Death Eaters', and finally his own ragtag crew, Erwin couldn't help but sigh. What a sorry state.
He didn't yet grasp that he commanded real strength: Old Tom, a match for Vinda in cunning; Rivers, the bumbling fool who was anything but. Their covers ran so deep, even Erwin couldn't pierce them.
Watching her final swirl of Apparition fade—promising contact from Germany—Erwin turned back toward the castle. The library could wait; his mind was already racing ahead to the meeting with Grindelwald.
What was the old man's angle? Friend or threat? Erwin couldn't read it yet. No obvious motive for hostility, but caution was key. What if?
Bailing on the summons? Out of the question. If he ghosted Grindelwald, Vinda's next visit wouldn't be so cordial. Erwin would face down the second-greatest wizard alive, and that was a duel he couldn't win.
Before he could hash out a strategy, his dormitory door creaked open. Muffled voices spilled out.
"It's fine, Harry. We'll just wait for the Headmaster to get back."
"But is this okay? We're in Mr. Erwin's room without asking!"
"No worries—the Headmaster won't mind a little thing like this. Just don't touch anything. We'll sit tight."
A head of platinum-blond hair poked through. Erwin's expression soured.
Draco spun around, spotting him on the bed. His grin evaporated.
"Draco Malfoy," Erwin growled, "who said you could break into my quarters?"
Draco paled. "S-sir, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to. We needed your advice, but you've been swamped. I figured waiting here was best! It won't happen again, sir—promise!"
The boy looked properly rattled, caught off guard.
Erwin sighed, waving him in. "Fine, get in here. You too, Harry."
They shuffled inside, standing awkwardly like scolded first-years—which, in a way, they were.
"Spit it out," Erwin said. "What's the crisis now?"
Harry shifted. "It's Hagrid, sir. He's hatched a dragon. Draco reckons if anyone finds out, he'll end up in Azkaban. We've tried talking sense into him, but no luck. Hermione sent us to you."