Sunday dawned cloudy, a perfect veil for quiet schemes. For Erwin, it marked his first true day wielding authority as chief prefect—legitimate this time, after the shadowy maneuvers of the past.
He stirred in his bedroom at Selwyn Manor, the dim light filtering through heavy curtains. Hunger gnawed at him; last night's exhaustion had left no energy to summon a house-elf for supper. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and launched into his weekly ritual: inventorying his arsenal.
His magic reserves brimmed full. The backup sources in his enchanted pouch were topped off. And the firearms tucked away? Ammunition stocked and primed.
Security in spades. Yet Erwin, ever cautious, felt it wasn't quite enough. He longed for the day he'd reconnect with his mother's distant kin and smuggle in some cutting-edge Muggle tech—reliable, low-maintenance firepower to bolster his edge. The Triwizard Tournament loomed large; he needed every advantage.
A holiday jaunt to the Continent might do the trick. Scout for gadgets, build his confidence. The game was far from won.
Meanwhile, far across the sea in the mist-shrouded peaks of Japan, the Mahoutokoro School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hummed with early activity. This elite academy, rival to Hogwarts in prestige, trained the next generation of Eastern wizards in ancient arts long thought lost to time.
On the central courtyard, students in flowing wizard robes gripped enchanted parchments, their magical quills scratching furiously. In unison, they incanted, "Attack!"
The parchments ignited mid-air, erupting in controlled bursts of flame that lit the gray morning.
One boy grumbled, "We drill these charms daily, but when do we ever use them for real?"
His friend snorted. "Blame the professors. Ages ago, they hunted down every rogue creature—wall-climbers, flyers, the lot. No threats left but each other. We're punching air out here."
"Sounds cushy," another piped up. "I've heard tales from abroad. At Hogwarts, those beasts mingle with students! Imagine the practice."
"Paradise," the first agreed, eyes gleaming. "Daily duels with pixies and such."
The chatter died as a hush fell over the group. All eyes turned to a figure at the courtyard's edge: a young woman in a pristine white robe, her face marred by fresh bruises, murmuring to herself.
"Senior Sister Sunny?" someone whispered.
"Has to be—only she wears the white robes."
"Caught in another scrape?"
Word spread like Fiendfyre. "Heard she snuck into the Potions Master's laboratory last night. Pilfered vials of potions for a midnight snack. He caught her and laid into her—screams echoed half the night!"
A shiver rippled through the crowd. "Classic Sunny Finch. You don't cross the Head of Discipline or the Potions Master lightly. But her knack for wards? Unmatched. They say she bypassed two layers of protections before getting nabbed—swiped a whole satchel of potions!"
"Small wonder the Headmaster took her on personally," another added. "If we hadn't lost so many old spells to the dark times, she'd unravel any ward. In a real scrap, her barriers would make us untouchable."
Sunny overheard the murmurs and scowled, touching her swollen cheek. "Stingy old bat. Just a few potions—did he have to wallop me like that? When the Headmaster returns, I'll give him an earful. Though... what a waste." She fished a Decoy Detonator from her pocket—the "gift" from her irate mentor. "All that for this rubbish? Useless trinket."
She pulled out a two-way mirror instead, its surface etched with elegant, ancient runes—a relic worth a fortune in Knockturn Alley alone.
As she admired it, light rippled across the glass. Her eyes widened. "Knew that codger was hiding something good. Let's see what we've got."
Channeling her magic, she traced a finger over the mirror. Energy—raw and potent—flowed from her, igniting the artifact.
An image shimmered into view. It sharpened on a young man with striking white hair, his features sharp and intent.
Sunny's breath caught. "Blimey, he's fit. British? That hair's stunning—like fresh snow."
She leaned closer, peering at the scene. Erwin moved with purpose, his aura crackling with power. "And such deep magic reserves! With our ancient Eastern arts faded, we build strength slowly, like the Europeans. Potions to boost it? Lost to history ages ago. But this lad—my age, yet brimming with it. Has the West cracked the code on magic-enhancing potions?"
Excitement sparked in her eyes. This could change everything.
Unseen high above, in a veiled chamber of clouds woven by spells, a circle of elders observed. The central figure, the Headmaster, broke the silence. "The seed is sown. Time for the next phase."
A grizzled elder hesitated. "Headmaster, is this wise? We've raised Sunny from a girl. Do we drag her into this now?"
The Headmaster's gaze remained steady. "Fellow elder, the stars align inexorably. No force can halt it. That boy needs every ally we can muster for survival. Our forebears foresaw this in the omens."