Unlike Erwin's self-assessment, however, Grindelwald's final verdict to Dumbledore was precisely the opposite conclusion.
"But you clearly still possess sufficient strength to cast additional spells," Dumbledore observed with obvious puzzlement after hearing the legendary dark wizard's surprising assessment. "Why do you genuinely believe Erwin emerged victorious?"
Grindelwald shook his head slowly, offering no immediate verbal explanation.
He was silently recalling the distinctive power signature he had unmistakably sensed emanating from Erwin during those final crucial moments—a crushingly oppressive sense of mortal danger that transcended mere magical force.
It wasn't simply overwhelming raw power or superior technique. It represented something far more fundamental: a form of suppression operating at the very deepest source level of magic itself.
Seeing Grindelwald's determined silence and distant expression, Dumbledore wisely chose not to press the sensitive matter further.
He simply instructed the exhausted wizard to rest and recover properly, then departed the office to attend to other pressing administrative matters.
Once finally alone in the quiet office, Grindelwald moved slowly to the window overlooking the grounds. He retrieved his cup of cooling black tea and downed the entire contents in one long swallow, then exhaled slowly and heavily.
"Erwin," he murmured quietly to the empty air surrounding him, "you've successfully mastered the Power of Death, haven't you? That's the only possible explanation for what I sensed."
His voice echoed somewhat hollowly in the empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, receiving no answer but his own thoughts.
At the very top of Hogwarts Castle's highest tower, Lady Rowena Ravenclaw stood gracefully by a narrow window, her translucent form barely visible in the afternoon light.
The considerable magical commotion throughout the grounds had certainly not escaped her acute notice and sensitivity.
Though she had originally materialized intending to speak privately with her daughter Helena about personal matters, the precise moment Erwin and Grindelwald had begun their intensive duel, she had immediately sensed the massive surge of competing powers.
She had observed the entire confrontation with great interest from her elevated vantage point. She had witnessed the dramatic ending with perfect clarity despite the blinding light.
Most significantly, she had detected a brief, fleeting fluctuation of extraordinarily unusual energy passing through Erwin's magical signature during that final climactic moment—a distinctive power she instinctively recognized on some fundamental level, yet simultaneously couldn't quite fully understand or categorize.
"The Power of Death..." Rowena whispered thoughtfully, her elegant brow furrowing with concentration. "Erwin, precisely when did you manage to master that particular force? And what exactly are you all plotting in secret? Why deliberately hide such significant developments from me specifically?"
She experienced a rare, unpleasant sense of genuine frustration at being excluded.
As one of the Four Founders and a key participant in the broader magical conflicts, she absolutely should have been privy to such crucial secrets and developments. Yet somehow everyone involved seemed to be systematically keeping her isolated and uninformed.
She genuinely hated this uncomfortable feeling of being deliberately kept outside the operational loop.
But she also recognized she couldn't directly confront Erwin about her suspicions and demand explanations.
She knew him far too well by now to expect that approach would yield useful results. He would simply offer that infuriatingly polite smile of his and reveal absolutely nothing of substance while seeming perfectly cooperative.
Forcefully suppressing her mounting doubts and irritation, Rowena deliberately reminded herself of her own fundamental nature and capabilities.
She was Ravenclaw—the legendary witch of supreme wisdom and intellectual mastery. She absolutely did not passively wait for answers to be conveniently handed to her by others. She actively seized control of narratives and uncovered hidden truths through her own investigation and deduction.
Her penetrating gaze lingered thoughtfully on the distinctive crest of Ravenclaw House emblazoned on a nearby tapestry.
Then, reaching a decision, her ghostly figure dissolved smoothly into cascading starlight, flowing purposefully toward the Slytherin common room to begin her investigation.
In Erwin's dormitory, Charlotte had politely departed to attend to other responsibilities, leaving him alone to complete his recovery in peace.
His magical reserves had nearly returned to full capacity by now. The Philosopher's Stone's restorative properties were genuinely miraculous for rapid energy regeneration.
He glanced up alertly as Lady Ravenclaw materialized elegantly in a graceful swirl of starlight and magical energy.
"Your Majesty," Erwin greeted her smoothly, showing no surprise at her unexpected appearance. "You've returned from your observations."
"I have indeed," Rowena replied, allowing a subtle hint of regret to color her melodious voice. "A genuine pity I apparently missed witnessing the absolute climax of your impressive performance firsthand."
Erwin chuckled softly, dismissing the implication. "There was genuinely nothing particularly theatrical to perform, Your Majesty. I was merely academically curious about the true extent of Lord Grindelwald's combat capabilities and magical strength."
"He is formidable indeed," Rowena admitted readily. "If his natural magical aptitude and development hadn't been unfortunately hindered during his formative youth by various circumstances, he quite possibly might have mastered the Power of Death decades ago."
Erwin remained diplomatically noncommittal about that assessment. "Perhaps that's accurate. As the old legends and proverbs remind us, every apparent misfortune carries hidden blessings within it."
Rowena looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression, clearly unfamiliar with that particular idiom's phrasing, but Erwin deliberately didn't elaborate or explain the reference.
Instead, he rose smoothly from the bed, stretching slightly.
"Shall we proceed to the Great Hall for the evening meal, Your Majesty? Or would you perhaps prefer to rest and recover your own energies first?"
"I will rest within the Crown's protected sanctuary," Rowena decided after brief consideration. "There exists no safer location for me anywhere in this castle or beyond."
She dissolved once more into flowing magical essence, her consciousness flowing directly into the obsidian crown that rested perpetually on Erwin's brow.
The phantom manifestation of the ancient artifact flashed briefly across his forehead before settling seamlessly back into his mind and magical core.
Erwin made his way down to the Great Hall at a leisurely pace. As he entered through the main doors, the overwhelming buzzing chatter of hundreds of excited students immediately washed over him in an almost physical wave.
Every conversation throughout the massive room seemed focused exclusively on discussing the legendary duel with Grindelwald, voices filled with breathless excitement and genuine awe at the unprecedented spectacle they'd witnessed.
At the entrance, Charlotte waited patiently for his arrival as expected. She stepped forward gracefully as he approached her position.
"My lord," she greeted formally, dipping into a practiced curtsey.
"Charlotte," Erwin responded gently, a slight smile touching his features. "I specifically told you there was no need to wait here for my arrival. You have other responsibilities."
"Attending to your needs is precisely my duty, my lord," she replied smoothly, reaching out to straighten an imperceptible wrinkle in his robes with practiced, efficient movements. "And fulfilling that duty represents one of the fundamental reasons I exist and serve."
Erwin smiled warmly but chose not to argue the point further.
Charlotte had adapted to her complex role as his formal First Hand with remarkable speed and competence.
Aside from her initial motivations for accepting the position, she was performing the multifaceted duties absolutely flawlessly—arguably executing them as skillfully as even Vinda Rosier or Bellatrix Lestrange managed their own similar roles.
As they entered the Great Hall proper together, a sudden, dramatic silence fell across the entire assembled student body like a physical blanket.
Hundreds of eyes turned simultaneously toward Erwin's distinctive figure, expressions displaying complex mixtures of profound admiration, genuine awe, and in some cases barely concealed fear.
At the Slytherin House table, the prefects and assembled students rose as one coordinated unit, their collective voices echoing powerfully off the magically enchanted ceiling high above.
"First Hand!"
The formal greeting was absolutely thunderous in its synchronized intensity.
Erwin acknowledged the display with a simple wave of his hand, taking his customary seat at the head of their house table with casual grace.
Only after he was properly seated did the Slytherins finally settle back down themselves, though their eyes remained fixed on him with unmistakable fervent loyalty and devotion.
Observing this remarkable display from their own positions at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, younger wizards from various traditionalist pure-blood families felt a strange, sharp pang of something uncomfortably close to envy.
They whispered urgently amongst themselves, watching the spectacle with conflicted expressions.
"Is it just me," one muttered quietly, "or is the First Hand's dedicated following a bit... excessive?"
"It's admittedly rather dramatic," another student admitted somewhat reluctantly, "but you absolutely have to acknowledge... it's genuinely impressive in its own way."
"I honestly don't entirely understand why," a third voice murmured thoughtfully while staring at the Slytherin table's coordinated display, "but I'm actually somewhat jealous of that kind of unified loyalty. I wonder what would happen if we attempted treating our own Head Student, Sunny Finch, with similar formal reverence?"
The other wizards seated nearby couldn't help but seriously consider the intriguing idea, finding it oddly tempting in ways they couldn't quite rationally explain.
Sunny Finch, whose supernaturally acute hearing had caught their whispered speculation despite the distance, turned around slowly in her seat with a deceptively sweet smile that somehow managed to be genuinely chilling.
"Please, go right ahead," she encouraged them, her voice light and pleasant but carrying unmistakable dangerous undertones. "I sincerely encourage you to try implementing that idea. I'll personally kill every single one of you if you actually attempt it."
The boys at her table immediately paled dramatically and fell into absolute, terrified silence.