Erwin pressed on. "Nearly all descendants of pure-blood families end up in Slytherin—except those from families that have faded into obscurity. That's an enormous force, and I'm their leader. What I've accomplished at Hogwarts can't stay hidden forever. From the instant I became Heir of Slytherin, I've been a threat to certain people. Forget the distant future; just look at the Ministry of Magic. I'm a first-year now, but what happens seven years from today, on graduation day? Right now, seven first-years stand with me. They'll graduate in time, and when I'm in my seventh year, a new batch of seven will back me up. Who could ignore that kind of power? The Ministry would be fools not to fear it. In my view, that's the real strength of being Heir of Slytherin: commanding the next generation of students."
Snape fell silent, his expression unreadable.
He knew Erwin had nailed it. Slytherin would always have incoming first-years and outgoing seventh-years. As their Heir, Erwin would linger in their minds—even for those not fully loyal. After all, he was the most powerful Slytherin student in history. Under that weight, he might not inspire blind devotion, but he'd command respect. And many of those students would one day inherit pure-blood estates. If Erwin could guide them, he'd effectively steer those families.
Draco and Pansy were perfect examples. Even today's defeated challenger, Grodia, proved the point. That kind of influence was enough to unsettle powerful foes.
Snape's voice cut through the tension. "So, you orchestrated today's spectacle on purpose?"
Erwin nodded. "Exactly. The moment I took the Heir's role, restless types started chipping away at my reputation—like that Daily Prophet interview today. I can already picture the headlines: 'Ambitious Young Wizard' or 'A Potential Threat to the Wizarding World.' They won't say it outright, of course—just sly implications. If that's their game, I had to demonstrate my edge, show them I'm no pushover. It buys me breathing room."
Snape's tone turned icy. "I won't let them come for you, Erwin. If it comes to it, I'll eliminate them myself—even if it means going on the run from the Ministry. I'll sweep every obstacle from your path."
Erwin chuckled softly. "I know, Godfather. I've never questioned your loyalty. But what would that achieve? Public opinion is a beast. The Minister's a bungler who clings to his chair like a barnacle. Anyone with half a brain can see how formidable I'll become, so he'll never let me rise unchecked. Especially not with his allies among the pure-bloods pulling strings. They need to learn I'm not to be trifled with. That said, today's mess went beyond my plans. I never figured someone would actually charge into the flames."
Snape dismissed it with a wave. "No matter. If your assessment holds, it changes nothing."
Erwin agreed with a curt nod.
Snape shifted topics. "Speaking of which, what's the story with Charlotte?"
Erwin sneered. "Just an opportunist chasing her own angle. She never saw the Protego Diabolica coming—or that I'd unleash it in front of the whole school. Barring surprises, she'll seek me out soon enough."
Snape inclined his head. "Watch her closely. There's something off about her, though I can't pinpoint it. My guess? She's tied to one of the Ancient Wizarding Houses."
Erwin's brow furrowed. "What exactly are these Ancient Wizarding Houses, Godfather?"
Snape's gaze hardened. "Now that you're Heir, it's time for some truths I swore to share. But I only know fragments."
Erwin leaned in, eyes gleaming with anticipation. The pieces were finally falling into place.
Snape paused, weighing his words. Then he began. "It starts with the Ancient Wizarding Houses. In the wizarding world, there's a closely guarded secret—not a myth, but fact—whispered only among the elite: Beyond the Sacred Twenty-Eight, there are eight ancient houses. They hold unmatched prestige, commanding vast resources. These eight are the oldest bloodlines, each marked by a lotus crest in a distinct color."
His eyes flicked to the ring on Erwin's finger, emblazoned with its emblem.
Erwin glanced down at it, tracing the design.
Snape continued. "Your Cavendish family is one of them. The only other I know of is the Solent family."
Erwin froze. "The Solents?"
Memories flooded back: that dreamlike trance, his astral form drifting free, witnessing the dragon rider bearing a blue lotus sigil.
"Soren Solent," he murmured.
Snape nodded. "As your father explained, these houses carry unique duties. You're allies and rivals to the others—able to extract something vital from their heirs through arcane means. He never detailed how. If the Sacred Twenty-Eight are wizarding nobility, these eight are something more: true conduits of magic, each wielding hidden powers."
Erwin's jaw tightened. "So that's why my parents died?"
Snape confirmed it gravely. "Their deaths were tangled in shadows. You remember the era—the Dark Lord's reign of terror gripped the wizarding world. No one was safe. He fixated on Lily Potter, your mother's closest friend and Harry's mum. To shield her, they cast the Fidelius Charm. Lily wanted your mother as Secret-Keeper. But right then, your father uncovered a lead on the Selwyns. He couldn't risk drawing peril to them. So he pulled your parents out—and that left Lily exposed. The Charm failed without them. Your father then erected a mighty ward around a safe house, blocking all magic inside, but..."