Grodia shook his head with a wry smile. "Yes! I lost!"
He glanced up at the two massive purple flames coiling like dragons above Erwin's head, a flicker of envy in his eyes. Then, without a word, he dropped to one knee, gripping his wand in both hands and raising it high.
"As promised, Lord Erwin Cavendish! Grodia Selwyn, on behalf of the Selwyn family, swears fealty to you. Where your wand points, the Selwyn family's strength will follow!"
In the stands, old Selwyn rose slowly, tapping his cane against the stone floor. He bowed his head slightly.
Yaxley watched the display, a cold flash in his eyes. "Old Selwyn, you're playing with fire."
The elder ignored him, keeping his gaze lowered in anticipation of Erwin's reply.
Erwin's brow furrowed deeper. The Selwyns weren't bluffing—this was real.
Old Selwyn's voice cut through the tension. "Grodia! Pledge your loyalty to Lord Erwin!"
The crowd gasped at the declaration. In this charged atmosphere, everyone grasped the implications immediately.
Dumbledore shifted, ready to intervene, but old Selwyn anticipated him. "Headmaster Dumbledore! This is Selwyn business, and we'll bear the consequences. In the name of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, we invoke the ancient oath. Today's events remain an internal affair for the Selwyn family. No blame will fall on any party, win or lose. Witnesses, please stand as such."
A sharp glint crossed Dumbledore's eyes. He sank back into his seat. Pure-blood traditions ran deep: once the ancient oath was called in the name of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, even the Ministry couldn't meddle. It was a nod to their storied autonomy, the very foundation of their influence.
Lucius Malfoy rose first. "In the name of the Malfoy family, we bear witness."
Emboldened, the other pure-blood heads exchanged glances and followed suit.
"In the name of the Greengrass family, we witness the pure-blood oath!"
"In the name of the Flint family..."
"In the name of the Travers family..."
"In the name of the Shafiq family..."
The surviving houses chimed in one by one. At last, only Yaxley's patriarch remained seated, his face a mask of reluctance. But with the momentum against him, he stood grimly.
"In the name of the Yaxley family..."
He had no choice; defying a pure-blood oath would unite the others against him. The Sacred Twenty-Eight, in theory, stood as one.
Grodia rose with a faint smile and approached Erwin.
Erwin frowned. "Senior, this isn't necessary."
Grodia chuckled. "It is my honor, my lord. I offer you my loyalty!"
Without pause, he stepped into the Protego Diabolica ring. The purple flames licked at his robes but left him untouched.
Erwin stared in astonishment. Grodia had truly committed—no hesitation, no second thoughts.
The shield's magic was whimsically subjective, hinging on the mutual intent between caster and passer. As with so much in the wizarding world, it bent to the heart's truth: believe it works, and it does.
Grodia knelt once more, wand held aloft. "My lord!"
Erwin didn't waver. He took the wand, inspected it briefly, then tapped Grodia's forehead gently.
"I, Erwin Cavendish, in the name of the Cavendish family, accept your fealty. And in our name, I offer you and yours my protection."
From the stands, Draco Malfoy eyed Erwin enviously. "Reckon I could pass through that fire? I feel dead loyal to Prefect Erwin."
No one answered. He turned to find Hermione and Harry lost in thought.
Draco scratched his head. "Oi, where's Pansy?"
A sharp cry echoed from the opposite stands. "Pansy, what in Merlin's name are you doing?"
It was her father, the Parkinson patriarch.
Pansy paid him no mind. She strode to the fire's edge. Before Erwin or anyone could react, she dove straight in.
The purple blaze swallowed her whole.
The Parkinson head leaped up, face pale with worry. But Pansy emerged unscathed, a fervent grin lighting her features. She hurried to Erwin and knelt, taking his hand to rest it on her head.
"My lord! Pansy Parkinson pledges her allegiance!"
Erwin blinked, caught off guard. What had started as a duel was spiraling into a full-blown loyalty rally?
Pansy's bold move sparked a chain reaction. In the stands, Blaise Zabini—who bore Erwin's Dark Mark—didn't hesitate. He plunged through the flames and knelt beside her.
Yaxley slammed his staff down, veins bulging. "That wretched cur! How dare a bastard swear to another? The ungrateful sod deserves his wand snapped!"
Old Selwyn shot him a venomous glare. "Touch Lord Erwin's followers, and you make an enemy of the Selwyns. Fancy that, do you?"
Yaxley sneered. "Others might cower, but not me. Old fool, don't blunder. You know who's backing me. You're the one courting death."
A new voice interjected from across the way. "What if we throw in the Parkinsons?"
Yaxley whipped around. It was Pansy's father, standing firm despite his reluctance. His daughter had gone and complicated everything; with so many eyes on them, disowning her now would mean using a scapegoat and facing backlash. The Parkinsons were tied to Erwin whether he liked it or not.
Draco watched Pansy's fervor, a spark igniting in his chest. He itched to charge forward and test the flames himself.