After adjusting his robes, Erwin stepped out of his room. The prefect candidates from each year were already waiting at the door. They bowed as he emerged. "Good morning, sir," they said in unison.
Erwin nodded. "Let's go."
He led the way down the corridor, with Grodia falling into step beside him. "Sir, what about the Yaxley situation? Is there anything we can do?"
The others glanced at Erwin, eager for his lead. They were ready to owl their families and coordinate a response.
Erwin smiled faintly. "No need for now. I've got it handled. Focus on your studies—if I need you, you'll hear from me."
They exchanged looks but nodded without protest.
The morning revision session passed without incident, though Erwin noted more Slytherins joining in. The Hufflepuffs were out in force, and even some second- and third-years had sought permission from their Head of House to attend in the Slytherin common room. Erwin welcomed them all, fielding questions as best he could.
These were his contributors, after all, boosting his wizarding acclaim through their progress. Lately, though, the gains had tapered off. Under his guidance, the students had grown more self-reliant, helping each other with queries before they reached him. Erwin found it gratifying—they were thriving—but it left him a touch wistful, watching his "team" dwindle.
Still, the Daily Prophet's recent articles had elevated his profile across the wizarding world. His acclaim rose steadily each day, offsetting any shortfall from the sessions.
As the session wrapped, Erwin headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, his eyes flicking to the staff table. Dumbledore's seat was empty—he'd left for Ministry business. McGonagall and Snape were absent too, no doubt locked in debate with the officials.
And so they were, in McGonagall's office. Fudge perched uncomfortably in a chair, facing the stern professor. Snape lurked in the shadows of his black robes, his icy presence keeping Fudge's Aurors on edge. They clustered close to the Minister, wary of provoking the Potions Master's wrath.
Fudge cleared his throat. "Professor McGonagall, we're not here to cause trouble. We just need a word with young Cavendish—perhaps mediate this mess."
McGonagall's gaze was steel. "Mediate? Yaxley's assault on a Muggle is a grave offense. And you propose mediation? Is the Ministry throwing in with him now?"
Fudge's jowls tightened. "The Ministry remains impartial, I assure you—even Dumbledore would agree. I've reviewed the facts. Yaxley killed a Muggle, true, but he acted on Cavendish's behalf, as a wizarding representative. That voids the Muggle assault charge. Murder, however, stands. We've got the culprit in custody—the Yaxleys surrendered him willingly. They're prepared to apologize and make reparations to Cavendish. That's our purpose here."
McGonagall eyed him coldly. No one was fooled. This reeked of Ministry meddling to protect Yaxley. Wizarding law deemed non-magicals Muggles, full stop—harming them was forbidden. It shielded countless families, including Muggle-born students at Hogwarts whose parents could become targets. If the Ministry twisted this, those protections crumbled.
Snape broke the silence. "Why not summon Erwin and hear his side directly?"
McGonagall shot him a puzzled look. They'd agreed to shield Erwin from this, handling it discreetly and briefing him later. Why the sudden shift?
Snape met her eyes and gave a subtle nod. She sighed. "Very well. Snape, fetch him."
Snape inclined his head and swept from the room, robes billowing.
If Lucius Malfoy had pieced it together, so could Snape—his insights into Erwin ran deeper. The man's cunning had kept him alive amid divided loyalties for years. He suspected Erwin had orchestrated this, gunning for the Yaxleys. But Erwin's usual precision seemed off here; the evidence wouldn't topple them, let alone cripple the family.
Back in the Great Hall, Erwin spotted Snape at the entrance. The pieces were in place. Time to start the performance.
He set down his cutlery and rose, smoothing his robes. Slytherin eyes turned to him, then to Snape. Grodia stood abruptly. The others followed, the table falling silent.
Students from other houses paused, cutlery hovering, as the Slytherins drew attention.
Erwin waved them down. "Back to your meals, everyone. Prefect candidates, after breakfast, lead morning practice and get to classes on time. I've got business—don't dawdle."
He strode toward the doors, pausing to clap Grodia on the shoulder as he passed. "Easy now. The real show's just starting—it won't wrap up quickly. Sit."
...
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