Erwin had once thought Voldemort was the mightiest dark wizard in the tales, but after stepping into this world, he realized the man paled beside Dumbledore and Grindelwald. It baffled him—why had Dumbledore gone to such extremes to defeat Voldemort, who seemed almost pitiably weak? In the end, it took sacrificing Lily to bring him down. Yet as Erwin delved deeper into this reality, the truth sharpened into focus.
Voldemort wasn't weak at all. He was a force of nature.
According to the System's framework, Voldemort wielded level-six magic—legendary tier. Dumbledore and a fully realized Grindelwald, by contrast, operated at level seven, epic in scope. Erwin could sense the chasm between those tiers: vast, unbridgeable without extraordinary means.
Voldemort had seemed diminished, but once Erwin grasped the Horcruxes' true cost, horror set in. If Grindelwald was right—that Horcruxes mutilated one's innate talent and magical reserves—then both he and Dumbledore had paid a steep price for their pursuits. Even Ravenclaw had implied their unscarred selves would rank among the Four Founders. The soul-splitting ritual wrecked wizards from the inside out.
And then there was poor, noseless Tom Riddle. Excluding Nagini, which Erwin had claimed, he'd lost six Horcruxes already: the diary, the Gaunt ring, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem—and Harry Potter himself. That slashed his potential by more than half. Yet even crippled, he'd shattered every ward and shield from Hogwarts' staff and students with a single Killing Curse.
In his prime? The wizarding world would have crumbled.
So, was Voldemort truly the greatest dark wizard? Heaven help anyone who doubted it now. Erwin shuddered at the realization. A man who couldn't even conquer a school was this formidable. Without his fear of death driving the Horcrux madness, he'd have razed everything long ago. Now? Bald, broken, talentless, brainless. A tragic shell.
Erwin almost pitied him—his old teacher. Could he still forge that infant body without Nagini's venom? Probably. Voldemort always found a way.
After a quick wash-up, Erwin collapsed into bed and drifted off. A soft breeze slipped through the cracked window, stirring the curtains. He groaned in his sleep, brow creasing in discomfort, face twisting. His hair flickered wildly between black and silver-white. An unnatural energy pulsed around him.
Little Black, curled at his feet, bolted upright, eyes fixed on Erwin with worry. Starlight shimmered, and the spectral Ravenclaw emerged from Erwin's forehead. She regarded him solemnly. "Odd state, isn't it?" she murmured. Little Black's fur stood on end, a low growl rumbling as he met her gaze.
Ravenclaw raised her hands placatingly. "Easy. I'm not here to harm him. Neither are you. He's my heir, after all—carrying our legacy." But the dog didn't budge, claws scraping the sheets, poised to pounce.
She sighed. "Fine, I'll retreat. Guard him well." With a swirl of light, she vanished back into his mind. Only then did Little Black unwind, padding over to nuzzle Erwin's hand with a warm lick. The touch seemed to soothe him; his hair settled to silver-white, breathing evening out.
Satisfied, Little Black returned to his spot and dozed off.
In the shadows, moments later, Erwin's eyes cracked open. "System, Harmonize," he whispered.
[Harmonization active. The current level balances four forces at maximum capacity. Proceed with caution, host.]
Erwin massaged his temples in silence. The strain was mounting—someone was closing in. A steely resolve hardened his gaze. He had to accelerate. Escaping the board wasn't enough; he needed to shatter the player too. For now, survival meant pushing harder.
Staring at the canopy above, his thoughts raced like Fiendfyre. Too many schemes, not enough rest.
Monday dawned bright and clear. In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, fifth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors fidgeted, eyes glued to the door. The bell tolled, and it swung wide. Erwin strode in.
The Slytherins leaped to their feet. "Head Boy!" A few Gryffindors, caught off guard, followed suit, cheeks flushing.
Erwin waved them down. "At ease, everyone. Sit."
They settled, and he approached the lectern, idly thumbing the textbook before snapping it shut. "Fifth year—O.W.L.s looming. I've reviewed your marks. Leaving aside other subjects, your Defense grades are dismal. Barely an A for most, even some of you snakes." He shot a pointed look at the Slytherins, who ducked their heads. The Gryffindors squirmed, many not even scraping that.
"You lot were primed for a leap this term," Erwin continued. "But Lockhart's... lessons? We all know how that went. Sticking to the syllabus won't cut it anymore. Since McGonagall roped me into this, I'll see you lot toughen up and boost those scores. So, new approach today."
Curious glances darted his way. Erwin's smile sharpened. "Books down, wands up. Follow me."
...
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