Erwin pondered the two talent points for a moment before assigning them both to his common spellcasting talent. After all, mastering spells quickly was key to building his strength in this world.
With a mental nudge, he summoned his System and opened his status panel.
[Name: Erwin Cavendish]
[Age: 11]
[Identity: Current head of House Cavendish, current Hogwarts first-year]
[Talents:]
[Transfiguration: 3/10]
[Common Spellcasting: 6/10]
[Talent in the Dark Arts: 9/10]
[Potions: 6/10]
Ancient Magic: ?/10 (Unlocked; requires special means to access)]
[Magical Creatures: None]
[Special Skill: Magic Reserves (Gold)]
[Spell Mastery Cards: None]
[Items: 3x Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans | 2x Magic-Boosting Potions (Basic) | 1x Grindelwald's Puppet | 1x Ever-Changing Suit | 1x Mysterious Egg]
[Wizarding Acclaim: 50]
Erwin nodded in satisfaction. His System's setup was solid so far. The random rewards could sit safely in its inventory until he claimed them—no risk of loss or theft. Non-reward items couldn't be stored there, though, which meant no instant personal vault. Still, it was better than nothing.
He closed the lottery interface with a mental shrug. The newbie draw had been entertaining, but capping it at ten pulls felt stingy. Typical of this System, he supposed—generous in bursts, but never overly so.
Finishing his black tea, Erwin heard footsteps returning. Dumbledore entered, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.
"Mr. Cavendish, sorry to keep you waiting."
Erwin rose quickly. "Not at all, Professor. Did the exchange go well?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite. And you? Managed to sort out your currency?"
"With your introduction, it was straightforward. The goblins showed me every courtesy."
"Excellent. Then let's be off."
Erwin followed the Headmaster out of Gringotts, emerging into the bustling heart of Diagon Alley. Wizards and witches hurried past, owls hooting from perches and shop windows glittering with enchanted wares.
Dumbledore paused at the alley's edge. "A young wizard's most vital tool is his wand. It might well serve him for life. Shall we find yours?"
Excitement stirred in Erwin's chest. In his old life, a wand equated to a trusted blade or pistol—essential, intimate. He nodded eagerly.
The Headmaster led him down the cobbled street to a narrow, dusty shopfront squeezed between brighter storefronts. A faded sign above the door proclaimed: Ollivander's—Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Erwin's pulse quickened. This was the gateway for every wizard, the spark of magic made personal.
Dumbledore gazed at the sign, a wistful smile softening his features. "I remember my first visit as if it were yesterday. I was your age, wide-eyed and full of dreams. Time flies, doesn't it? Leaves you wondering where the years went."
He blinked, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. Erwin bit back a sigh—elders and their fondness for nostalgia. But he kept his tone warm. "No apologies needed, Professor. Memories are the real treasures; they cut deep but endure."
Dumbledore's eyes lit with approval. "Wise words, Mr. Cavendish. And well put. Now, in we go—you'll meet the wand that chooses you."
He pushed open the door, a bell tinkling softly overhead. Dust motes danced in the dim light as they stepped inside, the air thick with aged wood and faint magic. Shelves towered to the ceiling, crammed with narrow boxes that seemed to whisper secrets.
A creak echoed from above, followed by the scrape of a ladder. Mr. Ollivander emerged from the shadows, his silvery hair wild, eyes like pale moons fixed on the newcomers.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said, surprise lighting his gaunt face. "It's been ages. What brings you back?"
"A pleasure, as always, Garrick," Dumbledore replied. "I've a promising young wizard in need of his first wand."
Ollivander's gaze shifted to Erwin, appraising him with sharp curiosity. He descended the ladder with agile grace and approached the counter.
Erwin inclined his head politely. "Good afternoon, sir."
"Such refined manners," Ollivander murmured, tilting his head. "And from which family do you hail, young man?"
"Cavendish," Erwin said steadily.
Ollivander frowned. "Cavendish? Not a name I recall from the old rolls. Foreign pure-bloods, perhaps?"
Erwin shook his head. "Not quite. But you'll hear of us soon enough—I'm here to make my mark in the wizarding world."
Dumbledore's eyes flickered with interest, though he said nothing. Ollivander paused, then broke into a sly grin. "Bold words from a first-year. I like that. Your name?"
"Erwin Cavendish."
"Erwin, then. Dominant hand?"
Erwin lifted his right. Instantly, a tape measure uncoiled from the counter, zipping around him like a lively serpent. It noted his height, arm length, then—oddly—his shoulder width and inseam. Erwin suppressed a raised eyebrow. What did his build have to do with wand compatibility? Arm span made sense, but this?
The tape finished and flopped onto the counter. Ollivander beamed. "A fine, balanced frame, Mr. Cavendish. Ideal for precise casting."
Erwin's mouth quirked. Was wand selection a tailoring session in disguise?
Ollivander scribbled notes, then retrieved a long, slim box from behind the counter. He opened it reverently, drawing out a wand of polished ash, its handle smooth and unadorned.
"Give this a try," he said, handing it over. "Ash with dragon heartstring core—ten and a half inches, springy. It favors the bold and resolute, those with a determined heart and unyielding courage."
Erwin grasped it, feeling the wood's cool weight. He gave it a casual flick.
A jet of raw magical energy burst from the tip, slamming into the floorboards nearby. Wood splintered with a sharp crack, shards flying as a scorch mark bloomed.
Erwin's brow furrowed. The wand felt... off. Like it was pushing back, reluctant to yield its power. Not his.
He returned it promptly. "I'm afraid it doesn't feel right, sir. There's resistance."
Ollivander snatched it up, undeterred, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt. "Not to worry—wands are picky creatures. The right one will sing for you yet."