Erwin rolled his eyes inwardly. It wasn't the only bookstore in Diagon Alley, but with the monopoly, prices were steep. The shops here raked in profits hand over fist.
Unlike the wand purchase, buying books, a cauldron, and other supplies went smoothly. Afterward, Erwin acquired his first pet: an owl. Hogwarts seemed to have a tradition of gifting one to new students—Dumbledore had done the same for him back in the day, suggesting the ridiculous name "Cockroach Cluster," which Erwin promptly ignored. He dubbed the bird Bobby instead, and it joined the Erwin household.
Their final stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Though Erwin already owned the Ever-Changing Suit, he couldn't reveal that to Dumbledore, so he bought the standard robes. With that, his Diagon Alley excursion ended.
Dumbledore Apparated Erwin and old Tom back to the family estate. "Well, that wraps up today's business," the headmaster said with a twinkle in his eye. "I must be off. See you at Hogwarts, Mr. Cavendish!"
Erwin nodded. "Won't you stay for dinner, Professor?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Afraid not—pressing matters await."
"Then we won't keep you. Thank you for today."
"It's my pleasure. Goodbye!" With a crack, Dumbledore vanished.
Erwin stared after him, a flicker of calculation in his gaze. Off to deal with the Philosopher's Stone? It felt distant from his immediate concerns, and immortality's allure rang hollow anyway—a false promise at best.
After a quick dinner, Erwin retreated to his room. Old Tom, meanwhile, was off with Rivers, peppering the old servant with questions about the wizarding world. Rivers knew better than to bother Erwin with it.
Now that he knew this was a magical world, his priorities would shift there. But not yet. He needed to plan carefully. His men were Muggles, armed with guns that could drop most wizards—even Dumbledore, if caught off guard by a sniper. Wizards were fragile without their magic, often no match for a fit ordinary person in a scrap.
Entering the wizarding world wasn't impossible for him. Slytherin seemed the ideal foothold—packed with pure-bloods, a network he couldn't ignore. The only hitch: Would the Sorting Hat place him there? He was Muggle-born, after all. The books hinted it respected a student's choice, though. Plenty of time to worry about that before term started.
Erwin disliked fretting over the uncontrollable. He pulled the Ever-Changing Suit from his System rewards. It started as a simple robe. Slipping it on, he faced the mirror and willed it into a sleek black suit. Perfect. Beyond shrugging off thirty percent of spell damage, it was dust-proof—never dirtying. A godsend for someone with his aversion to grime.
He smoothed the fabric, then shifted it to pajamas with a thought. Settling on the bed's edge, he reached for his Hogwarts books. But a sudden spark hit him.
Erwin bolted up, dashed to the desk, and yanked open the drawer. He spread out a file folder, laying black-and-white photos across the surface. These were the records of his parents' accident—the case that had haunted him.
He'd always investigated as a Muggle, but this was a magical world. The deaths were bizarre: no traces at the scene, everything too neat, too eerie. It gnawed at him, an obsession born of his past life as an orphan. Here, his parents had doted on him endlessly for a year before tragedy struck. Their loss left him reeling, and for years, he'd chased leads to no avail.
Now, with magic in the equation, the inconsistencies clicked. No Muggle could pull it off so flawlessly. But a wizard? That explained everything—the power, the vanishing evidence.
Why target ordinary folk like them, though? It screamed dark wizard—someone bold enough to defy the Ministry. Timeline-wise, Voldemort had fallen the year Erwin was born, same as Harry Potter. He'd overheard witches at the Leaky Cauldron chattering about Harry's enrollment this year, confirming it.
So, some rogue dark wizard? Motive? A rival family hitting back? But if they had wizards on payroll, the Cavendish—now Selwyn—family wouldn't have risen as it had. He'd be dead already. London's old families were crushed or exiled; none showed wizard ties. He'd vetted them thoroughly during those turbulent years, when feuds rarely escalated to assassinations.
Erwin massaged his temples, a headache brewing. The clue only deepened the fog. Shaking it off, he decided to let it lie. No point grinding his gears now. Once immersed in the wizarding world, he'd uncover more—spells, connections, Legilimency perhaps.
It was nearly certain: ninety-nine percent chance the killers came from that hidden realm. Following this thread, Erwin vowed silently—one day, he'd drag the full truth into the light.