Erwin finally pieced it together. "He's telling the truth. I've wondered about this for ages. Logically, your headmaster has exceptional aptitude and he's of age—his magic should have advanced much further by now. But he hasn't reached our level. Now it makes sense: it's because he split off his Horcruxes!"
That explained why, in the System, Grindelwald's talent rated only a dozen points, yet Erwin's own had soared so high. But then a chilling realization hit him.
Good heavens—his dear mentor, Voldemort, had split so many Horcruxes and still wielded such potent talent in the Dark Arts, even mastering the Killing Curse to perfection. How stratospheric had Voldemort's talent been before the divisions? Was he aiming for the stars?
Grindelwald continued, "That's why I'm warning you: this path can't be copied. Even if you possess that raw talent and fancy trying it, I couldn't lead you back to the Isle of Avalon. And even if you could find the place, I wouldn't advise it!"
Erwin nodded, his enthusiasm cooling. Hearing Grindelwald's caution, he shelved the notion of granting magic to his family through such extremes. Besides, his talent points simply weren't up to the task.
Then Grindelwald paused, as if struck by a memory. "That said, I once read about an Elixir of Awakening. It's rumored to awaken magic in those without it—though I can't vouch for its truth, and the recipe's long lost anyway. Just a passing thought!"
Erwin's eyes gleamed. An Elixir of Awakening? A spark of possibility. If true, and his godfather's search for ingredients panned out—assuming the components weren't impossibly rare—he might yet bestow magic on every Cavendish. Imagine a family boasting two thousand wizards!
He filed it away, eager for his godfather's updates. Slim odds, perhaps, but hope was better than nothing.
"By the way," Erwin asked lightly, "what did you use as the Horcrux vessel? Something sturdy enough for two souls must be remarkable."
Grindelwald shrugged. "Nothing special—a childhood toy."
Erwin blinked, caught off guard. A toy? He delved into his enchanted ring and withdrew a rather absurd-looking doll.
"This?"
Grindelwald's eyes bulged as he snatched it, inspecting the faded stitches on its back. "This is it. I tore it as a boy. How did you get it?"
Erwin frowned, the same question nagging him. Why was this doll in his possession—or rather, why had the System yielded it as a reward? Hadn't it been offered to the gods long ago? Where had the System sourced it?
Grindelwald fixed Erwin with a piercing gaze, a flicker of comprehension in his eyes, but he held his tongue.
Erwin was still mulling the doll when a thunderous dragon's roar shattered the air. A voice boomed: "Erwin, why didn't you mention you were coming to Germany? I planned to invite you to the Solent estate!"
Erwin's brow furrowed. Grindelwald noted, "Sounds like trouble."
"Your Majesty, we'll continue this later—I'll check it out," Erwin replied.
Grindelwald inclined his head. With a snap of his fingers, Erwin vanished.
Grindelwald stared at the empty space. "So it was all true," he murmured. "Dumbledore, you've won this round."
Outside the castle, Soren Solent perched atop a massive dragon, hovering in the sky. A smug smile played on his lips, the serpent mark on his chest glinting in the sun.
Erwin materialized mid-air. The dragon beneath Soren halted, sensing a soothing aura from the newcomer. It strained toward Erwin, drawn irresistibly close.
Soren's smile faltered. He glanced down, channeling the contract's power through their bond. The dragon froze, its advance checked.
Erwin clocked the beast's reaction—his talent for speaking to dragons was at work. But Soren had overridden it? "The Solent family's dragon-riding prowess is impressive," he remarked.
Soren dipped his head in mock courtesy. "Greetings, Erwin Cavendish. Our first proper encounter! I expected we'd cross paths in the British wizarding world, not here in Germany."
Erwin grinned. "Does the venue matter? As long as we settle our business, that's what counts."
Surprise flashed in Soren's eyes, quickly masked. "Quite. Care to visit? I've extended an invitation to the Solent home."
Erwin demurred. "I enjoy a good visit, but I'm already a guest elsewhere. Share your address, and I'll drop by unannounced."
Soren shook his head. "That would be rude. Come to mine first—I'm sure Mr. Grindelwald won't object!"
Erwin laughed. "Speaking for your host? That's poor form. A servant remains a servant; etiquette still eludes you."
Ice entered Soren's gaze—he loathed reminders of the lower families' servant status. His smile evaporated. "I'll remember that. My first lesson: extending hospitality to you."
"Rushing in? See, more bad manners," Erwin shot back. "Why feign gentility? A lackey can't play lord."
The words hung in the air. Soren's wand materialized in his grip.
Just as planned, Erwin seized his amethyst wand, ready for the clash.
...
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