The black-robed man bowed even lower. "I'm sorry, Master. That was presumptuous of me."
Soren asked, "How many Acolytes are willing to pledge loyalty to the Solent family?"
"Not many," the man replied. "The Acolytes are mostly old die-hards, still loyal to Grindelwald. We can only work through their families—no more than that."
Soren nodded. "Take it slow. If they were easy to infiltrate, they wouldn't be Acolytes."
The man inclined his head. "And what about that Cavendish boy?"
"Dumbledore's protecting him now, so we can't touch him directly," Soren said. "But others can. Let the Yaxley family handle it."
"Should we offer them some assistance? I'm afraid they might not manage. The Cavendish family may have faded from the wizarding world, but they still have connections—and now a pure-blood house loyal to them."
Soren laughed. "Yaxley? Of course they can't take him down easily. The boy's intriguing. If he folded to them without a fight, he wouldn't deserve the title of Cavendish heir. One of the four greatest families—it's something to anticipate! I can't wait to meet him. The seal inside him isn't fully broken yet, so we can't kill or approach him. Let's stir up some trouble... and a bit of sport."
The man hesitated. "His growth is too fast. Could he become a threat?"
Soren's voice turned icy. "What? You think I'll lose?"
"No, of course not, Master!" the man said hastily.
Soren waved him off. "Go. Make the arrangements."
The man withdrew swiftly.
A medal materialized in Soren's hand, its silver serpent brand glinting in the fireplace's glow.
"Protego Diabolica," Soren murmured. "Interesting. Grindelwald, have you sensed it too?"
The dragon coiled nearby lifted its head, fixing its gaze on him.
Soren's expression twisted in agony, a shadow flickering in his eyes.
"I understand, sir," he gasped. "I'll do it—quickly. Please, stop!"
Moments later, his face smoothed, though a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
Time passed in silence.
When Erwin opened his eyes, it was well past midnight. He'd missed dinner entirely.
This left the Slytherins on edge, but Grodia had assured them Erwin was likely recovering from a potion. No unrest stirred in the common room.
At the staff table, several professors exchanged concerned glances. Afterward, Snape pulled Grodia aside to check on Erwin, only relaxing once assured he was fine.
Erwin snapped his fingers, vanishing from the Ravenclaw common room. Now for his reward: Slytherin's hidden trove.
He reappeared deep in the Slytherin dorms, facing a blank wall. The map in his mind placed the secret chamber just beyond.
How to enter?
As he pondered, the ring marking him as Heir of Slytherin glowed. A pull tugged at his magic, drawing it into the band.
A serpentine shadow uncoiled from the ring and lunged at the wall.
A swirling vortex erupted, yanking Erwin through.
Dizziness faded, and he found himself in a dimly lit chamber—straight out of some ancient tale, all stone and shadows.
"Blimey," Erwin muttered. "Did they model this after a secret vault from the stories? Voldemort must've looted it clean."
So the Dark Lord had claimed Slytherin's legacy already?
A voice echoed from a statue at the far end. "You know of the Chamber of Secrets? Are you of Slytherin blood?"
A translucent figure detached from the statue, hovering in the air.
Erwin's pulse quickened. Salazar Slytherin himself?
He was sure he'd only thought those words. How had the founder heard?
Slytherin regarded him with a sly smile. "No need to puzzle it out. It's advanced Legilimency—or a subtler application. Pity you're not ready for such arts yet. That Gryffindor oaf never grasped magic's deeper layers."
The words sparked a memory: Queenie Goldstein, an Acolyte whose Legilimency pierced distances, outstripping even Dumbledore's.
From Erwin's diadem, Rowena Ravenclaw's form emerged, her face thunderous.
"You blasted snake, Salazar!" she snarled. "At last, I see you again!"
Slytherin recoiled, panic cracking his poise. "Rowena, let me explain!"
Her expression was glacial. "Explain? Save it for Helga. I'm here to settle a score—don't cross me. Midnight's starlight favors me; you're outmatched!"
She flicked her wrist, unleashing a streak of shimmering light that slammed into Slytherin, hurling him back.
Erwin blinked, caught off guard as the founders clashed without warning.
Slytherin ducked behind his statue. "Rowena, please—calm down!"
Another bolt of starlight followed, and Erwin realized: the midnight summons wasn't coincidence. Ravenclaw had come to humble Slytherin.