Snape sipped his soup, his gaze drifting casually toward Erwin and Grodia. He was already mulling over a visit to the Selwyn family to inquire about triggering a second magical surge. He'd dismissed it as mere rumor before, but now it seemed they might hold something truly remarkable.
Of course, Snape wasn't seeking it for himself. He wondered if it could benefit Erwin. As for whether the Selwyns would share it—well, if it proved useful, he'd show them respect. If they preferred otherwise, he could always apply a firmer hand. Don't ask; suffice to say, our former Death Eater had his ways.
A flicker of intrigue lit Erwin's eyes. This was his first direct encounter with Grodia's magical surge. The boy's power surpassed most peers his age, though it fell short of Erwin's own. Still, it outstripped the average first-year by a wide margin. On a numerical scale, Grodia hovered around level 2.3 or 2.4—behind Erwin, but leagues ahead of the rest.
And Grodia hadn't even graduated yet. At this rate, he could rival a Head of House by the time he reached professor age.
Erwin had checked with the System. In its magical hierarchy:
Beyond Hogwarts' four Heads of House, most professors stalled at level four—the elite Auror tier. (Some faked it better than others, but that's beside the point.) Only the Heads reached level five.
Grodia might just become the next Snape. Purely in terms of raw magic, anyway.
"Senior, you've kept that well hidden," Erwin remarked.
Grodia chuckled. "I can't hold a candle to you. In our wizarding world, only a handful of families rank among the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families. Junior, your grasp of it all is still pretty shallow."
Erwin nodded. "Fair enough—I've got a lot to learn."
Once they settled back in,
Erwin's mind wandered to these ancient pure-blood lines again. As Grodia had implied, their strength ran deeper than mere galleons. Secrets, perhaps—unique foundations that set them apart.
No matter. If secrets piqued Erwin's interest, he'd pry them loose, one way or another. Truth came from persistent digging, after all.
As Erwin dug into his meal,
Dumbledore rose abruptly from the staff table. A wand materialized in his hand, and with a deft flick, two figures materialized in the Great Hall.
Erwin's eyes narrowed. He knew them.
One towered even over Hagrid, her short hair framing a commanding presence, beside a silver-haired girl. This was unmistakably Headmistress Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
And her companion? Fleur Delacour, no doubt. Erwin recognized her from the tales—stunning, just as described, if not more so.
Surprise rippled across the professors' faces. Dumbledore inclined his head. "Headmistress Maxime, forgive my tardiness in welcoming you."
Maxime replied smoothly, "My apologies, Dumbledore. I arrive unannounced, but your prefect challenge has stirred the wizarding world—even we've caught wind of it. With the weekend upon us, I brought a student to observe. I hope we're not intruding."
Dumbledore waved it off. "Not at all. I hadn't realized it held such appeal. Please, join us."
Maxime nodded, her gaze sweeping to the Slytherin table—and locking on Erwin.
"Such potent magic. You must be Erwin."
Erwin's pulse quickened. This giant of a headmistress had pinpointed him instantly.
He rose. "Greetings, Headmistress Maxime. Erwin Cavendish, at your service."
She smiled faintly. "Hogwarts does produce remarkable talents."
From the side, Fleur eyed Erwin with evident curiosity—a blend of puzzlement and intrigue she couldn't quite place.
Erwin blinked. What was her angle? Then it clicked.
Fleur carried a quarter Veela heritage. Veela—those alluring magical creatures.
Maxime noticed Fleur's distraction. "Everything all right, Fleur?"
Fleur blinked, shaking her head. "Quite, Headmistress."
Maxime let it drop. "Then find a seat. We'll depart after the duel."
Fleur nodded and glided straight for the Slytherin bench.
Draco froze as she neared, his heart racing. Instinctively, he pinched Goyle's thigh.
Goyle yelped. "Mr. Malfoy, what was that for?"
Draco flushed crimson, snapping back to reality and realizing his blunder.
Pansy sneered. "Idiot. Absolutely embarrassing."
Draco ducked his head, stealing a glance at Erwin, dreading a reprimand for tarnishing Slytherin's name.
Erwin interjected smoothly, "Miss, that Veela allure is a force my classmates can't easily withstand. If you keep it up, you'll have them all addled."
Fleur's eyes sparkled with surprise. "As expected from the celebrated Erwin—you see right through it. So, junior, mind making room?"
Her final words aimed at Draco, who scooted aside in a flash. Poor Goyle got shoved right off the bench, standing there with a hangdog expression.
Erwin sighed inwardly. It wasn't Draco's fault, really. Even a quarter Veela charm packed a punch.
Fleur extended her hand. "Enchantée. Fleur Delacour."
Erwin shook it lightly. "Erwin Cavendish."
She beamed. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Erwin suppressed an eye-roll. As if he had a choice now. "Not at all—please. Hogwarts prides itself on hospitality, and Slytherin upholds that tradition."
Fleur settled beside him with a radiant smile, blissfully ignoring the venomous glares from witches across the hall.