Erwin and Snape reached the entrance to the Great Hall.
"Good morning, Godfather," Erwin said with a nod.
Snape gave a curt inclination of his head and turned toward Professor McGonagall's office. Erwin fell into step behind him. They traversed the corridor in silence, the only sound the echo of their footsteps.
Finally, Snape halted and fixed Erwin with a steady gaze. "Minister Fudge is here. He's a spineless fool who clawed his way to power on the backs of pure-blood families. The Yaxleys are his biggest patrons. They've spun this mess, downplaying their attacks on Muggles as mere murder and pinning it on some scapegoat."
Erwin's face remained impassive, though he nodded. He'd anticipated as much.
"You knew?" Snape pressed.
Erwin offered a faint smile. "Something like that. I've prepared for every angle, including the Yaxleys. They're a pure-blood powerhouse, after all—deep ties to the Ministry's top echelons. I never expected a clean win this time around."
Snape's brow furrowed. "If you've got a plan, that's something. But toppling the Yaxleys won't be easy. They're one of the top three ancient pure-blood families, with fingers in every pie at the Ministry. Eradicating them entirely? Near impossible. Still, the scandal's blown up big—use it to extract concessions, build your strength slowly. What you need most is time."
Erwin shook his head. "They won't give me that luxury, Godfather."
Snape paused, his expression darkening. "If push comes to shove, I'll step in. I've got potions certain people would sell their souls for—they'll think twice before crossing you. And if it comes to it, I'll handle it personally. With me in your corner, they won't dare turn on you."
Erwin met his godfather's eyes, sensing the unyielding resolve there. He let out a soft chuckle. "It's not come to that yet. My aim was never to destroy the Yaxleys outright—I know better. Trust me, Godfather. I've got this mapped out."
Snape nodded sharply. "Fine. If you need anything, you know where to find me."
Without waiting for a reply, he strode onward. Erwin followed, and soon they reached Professor McGonagall's office. The door stood ajar.
They entered to find Fudge already inside, his eyes snapping to Erwin as they crossed the threshold. The Minister had watched the prefect's duel just days ago, and the sight of that blazing Protego Diabolica had haunted his sleepless nights. It smacked of a new Dark Lord on the rise, and Fudge feared for his precarious grip on power.
He'd dispatched Rita Skeeter to tarnish Erwin's name, but she'd come back with nothing. At the time, he'd chalked it up to the boy's overwhelming skill. Now, with today's headlines, he saw the truth: at just eleven, Erwin had somehow rallied devoted followers. The realization only deepened Fudge's unease.
The Yaxleys' predicament stemmed not just from propping him up as Minister, but from his desperate need for their backing. This visit had a sharper edge—to neutralize Erwin.
Erwin dipped his head to Professor McGonagall. "Good morning, Professor."
She returned the gesture. "Morning, Erwin. This is Minister Fudge from the Ministry of Magic. He wishes to speak with you."
Erwin turned to Fudge, offering a polite smile. "Hello, Minister. I've heard so much about you, though we've never crossed paths. I was planning to seek an introduction over the holidays. You've done wonders keeping the Ministry running smoothly—giving us all a bit of peace."
Fudge's chest puffed slightly at the flattery. For a moment, the boy didn't seem quite so threatening.
He rose with a broad grin. "Just doing my duty. You're welcome anytime. I've never seen a young wizard with your talent—plenty of adults couldn't match you. That prefect duel was something else; looked like two Aurors going at it!"
Erwin's smile held, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're too kind. But I suspect this visit ties to the Yaxleys?"
Fudge nodded solemnly. "Indeed. First off, my deepest sympathies for the Cavendish family's loss—er, the Selwyn family's, I mean. Erwin, I'm truly sorry you've endured this."
Pity flickered in his gaze as he spoke. Erwin suppressed a sneer. Both of them were playing roles here—who was the better actor?
His own eyes misted over. "Rivers... we'd known each other for years. He saved my life once, helped me more times than I can count. It was my fault he tangled with the Yaxleys—went poking where he shouldn't. Poor bloke met a gruesome end, and I can't blame anyone but rotten luck. He had a wife, kids... now they're all gone. But I trust the Ministry will see justice done. After all, Minister, you're known for your fairness."
Fudge faltered, caught off guard. Erwin's words had painted this Muggle as some invaluable Selwyn retainer, perhaps even a right-hand man.
Recovering, Fudge cleared his throat. "Of course, lad. Justice will be served—the Ministry stands for fairness. The Yaxleys have surrendered the culprit; he'll be off to Azkaban shortly, facing the worst they can throw at him. I'm here to smooth things over between you and the family. If you're open to it, a sit-down might clear the air, prevent more... misunderstandings. What do you say?"
A cold spark ignited in Erwin's eyes. There it was—Fudge, the perfect Yaxley hound.
Misunderstandings? Culprit? The Daily Prophet had splashed photos everywhere; it was crystal clear. Yet here was the Minister, yapping to defend his masters.
No matter. Fudge was a bumbling opportunist, useless for Erwin's purposes. If the man insisted on playing fetch, there'd be no mercy when the time came to clip his leash.
...
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Bonus chapter progress:
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