"But this simple broth really hits the spot when slurped from a wooden bowl like this. And look at that sturdy oak table—it feels utterly authentic!"
Sunny Finch adjusted her enchanted scrying orb, taking in the scene.
The furnishings reminded her of ancient wizarding cottages from British folklore.
But then the view shifted to a faded calendar on the wall.
Sunny froze.
"Blimey, this is wizarding Britain! How on earth did he end up here?"
She leaped from her bed in the dormitory.
Dashing to the school's Divination Tower, Sunny burst through the doors. This chamber oversaw the protective wards for the entire magical community.
Inside, a few older students manned a glowing crystal compass, murmuring incantations.
Her sudden entrance startled them.
"Sunny, what's got you in such a rush?"
She snatched the compass from the nearest one.
"Any foreign magical signatures in British airspace these past two days?"
The student nodded. "Aye, this morning. Some unfamiliar aura popped up. The prefects from the Disciplinary Office checked it out but got called back by the professors!"
Sunny's eyes sparkled. "Whereabouts?"
"South, along the coast!"
She tossed the compass back and bolted from the tower, racing down the winding paths of Kunlun Academy.
She felt like an overeager fan now; she'd been tracking Erwin's exploits through whispers and scrying glimpses for ages, dying for a real encounter.
At the base of the mountain, Sunny drew her Nimbus 2001 broomstick from her enchanted satchel.
She mounted it swiftly, and it soared southward with a whoosh.
High above, concealed in a shimmering cloud ward, a group of professors and the Headmaster observed.
One professor murmured, "Are we really letting Sunny dash off like that?"
"What choice is there? It was bound to happen sooner or later."
"I figured we'd hold off until next term!"
"No helping it. Who expected the lad to pop up in Britain out of nowhere?"
"Perhaps we should notify Hogwarts?"
"Hasn't the Headmaster already sent word?"
The Headmaster, at the center, hesitated. "Er... yes, quite. I've reached out to them already!"
The professors eyed him skeptically.
"Headmaster, you did contact them, right?"
He cleared his throat. "Nonsense! After all these years as colleagues, you doubt me? Hmph, no time for this nonsense—I'm heading back!"
With a flick of his wand, he vanished in a streak of silver light toward his office.
The others exchanged glances.
"I'll wager ten Healing Potions he hasn't sent a single owl!"
"Twenty says the same!"
"Fifty!"
The bet fizzled out—no one wagered against it. Everyone knew the truth.
Back in his office, the Headmaster paced furiously.
How was he supposed to reach out? Dumbledore? They'd crossed paths once, decades ago, through Liam Trotter of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
That was ages past. Owls were finicky, and Floo calls required setup.
He racked his brain, then grinned. "There's always the direct line—Erwin himself!"
Meanwhile, Sunny hurtled southward on her broom, wind whipping her robes.
But just shy of the coastal village, she pulled up short.
Impulsive much? What would she even say upon arrival?
Pondering, her face lit up. "Brilliant!"
From her waist pouch, she withdrew a spare robe—similar to her school uniform, but bearing the Disciplinary Office's crest: a stylized wand crossed with a key.
Why she kept it? A cheeky tale from her first year, when she'd donned it to prank new arrivals. The professors had caught her, administered a stern lecture (and a few stinging hexes), and the robe had languished forgotten.
Erwin polished off his bowl of pumpkin soup, slurping the last drops.
Old Bert beamed. Flour was scarce in these parts, but hospitality demanded generosity. Seeing Erwin devour it all warmed his heart—no disdain for humble fare.
"Take a breather, lad. I'll clear these away!"
Erwin started to nod, but a prickle of awareness stopped him.
"Actually, Uncle Bert, I must be off. Other matters await. Please, take this."
A Galleon materialized in his palm with a subtle flick.
Old Bert's eyes widened. "No, no—that's far too much!"
He'd handled gold before in the village market; this gleamed with otherworldly shine.
Erwin insisted, "Don't refuse. You pulled me from the brink; this is the least I can offer. If you won't, I've nothing left to give in thanks!"
Old Bert wavered.
Sighing, Erwin pressed, "Come now, Uncle. It's a trifle to me—honestly, not worth what you imagine. Take it; I really must dash!"
Reluctantly, Old Bert pocketed it. "Fair enough. Where to? I can hitch the cart."
Erwin shook his head. "No need. We'll cross paths again someday!"
With that, he strode from the cottage, veering not toward the shore but the rugged hills beyond.
In a swirl of purple mist—Apparition at its finest—he crested the peak in seconds.
Gazing skyward, Erwin called out coolly, "Show yourself. The village is clear; no need for secrecy."
From the low clouds, Sunny descended on her broom, landing gracefully.
Erwin's eyes narrowed at the Nimbus 2001—top-notch model.
Blimey, a flying witch from the East?
She appeared about fifteen, youthful with twin braids framing a bright face.
But those eyes... they gleamed with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. Fanaticism? Adoration?
They'd never met—had they?
Sunny appraised him in turn: silver-white hair, chiseled features like a tale from wizarding lore. And the sleek black cat curled in his arms.
Her gaze intensified. This was the stuff of perfect encounters—the idol she'd followed through every rumor and glimpse!
...
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