Time flew by at Hogwarts, with the holidays drawing near. The week had been relatively calm inside the castle walls, though a few key events stood out.
First, Ron Weasley slunk back to school, escorted by a flustered Mrs. Weasley. She made a point to visit Erwin, offering profuse apologies for her son's earlier outbursts. Erwin, ever gracious, waved it off with a forgiving smile. Deep down, he knew Ron's downfall stemmed partly from his own manipulations—and he felt a twinge of guilt toward the Weasleys, mixed with simple disdain for the boy.
The reconciliation was touching, if ironic. The once-tight trio of Harry, Ron, and Hermione had fractured, leaving Draco Malfoy as Harry's unlikely new confidant. Erwin couldn't help but chuckle at the twist: a pure-blood scion like Draco, raised on tales of blood supremacy, now chumming it up with the Boy Who Lived and a Muggle-born genius. It was progress. Pure-blood elitism was a dying creed, and Erwin planned to hasten its end. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns outnumbered pure-blood wizards by far, and eroding the old families' grip was key to reshaping the wizarding world. Draco's budding open-mindedness was a win all around.
Ron's return didn't improve his lot. Isolated and scorned, he shuffled through the halls with his head bowed, enduring sneers and whispers. Only his brothers—Fred, George, and Percy—bothered with him. Harry, still riding high on his newfound respect for Erwin, kept his distance, his heart heavy but his loyalties clear. As Erwin had predicted, staying at Hogwarts only amplified Ron's sense of betrayal and loneliness.
Erwin spared him little thought. Ron was a spent resource, milked dry of usefulness. The only lingering value was in Ron's occasional approaches, which let Erwin play the magnanimous mentor to onlookers. But that role was fading; Erwin no longer needed the facade. As for Ron spilling secrets—like Erwin's sharper edges—no one would buy it. He'd likely already vented to his family, but the Weasleys dismissed him as the black sheep. Good kids didn't lie, after all; troubled ones did. It was a classic parental blind spot. Erwin's carefully crafted image was ironclad—they'd never doubt him. He'd anticipated every angle before acting, and even if Ron somehow pulled out a Pensieve one day, fear would seal his lips.
The second notable event was Professor Quirrell's brief absence. He returned without his ridiculous turban, sporting a smug grin and an uncharacteristic swagger. Students gossiped idly about the change, but Snape took it as a red flag. He summoned Erwin to his office for a grilling. Erwin laid it all out plainly. Snape listened in silence, suspecting some scheme afoot, but offered no interference. He'd back Erwin's plays, as always—especially since Erwin had asked him to stand aside.
The third stir came from Slytherin's common room, where students' grades were skyrocketing under focused group study. Word spread, inspiring Hufflepuff badgers and Ravenclaw eaglets to join in. Soon, young witches and wizards from all houses crammed in, turning it into a buzzing hive of revision. Erwin welcomed the enthusiasm—these were his future allies, after all. Space quickly became an issue, though. After a quick huddle among the Heads of House, they commandeered a larger classroom for joint morning sessions across the four houses.
Erwin oversaw the whole operation, with prefects handling the Charms segments. The results were explosive: grades soared under his guidance, igniting fierce house rivalries. The hourglass scores hit record highs, with Slytherin pulling ahead but the other three neck-and-neck. Second place swapped hands five times in a week. Students buzzed with competitive fire, while professors grinned ear-to-ear, predicting the best O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results in Hogwarts history.
But while the castle thrummed with academic rivalry, the wider wizarding world churned with unrest. The Yaxley family vanished overnight. Their manor burned to ash—literally, as curious investigators found only faint traces of residue. Diagon Alley shops and other holdings were hit hard, gone within days. Even married Yaxley women weren't spared. It was a coordinated strike by the Malfoy, Parkinson, and Selwyn families, orchestrated at Erwin's direction.
The scandal dominated headlines for a week. No Yaxley survived in wizarding society; they'd been erased. The feat showcased the Selwyn family's reach—a Muggle-rooted powerhouse toppling ancient pure-bloods. Terrifying, yet invigorating. The Daily Prophet chronicled it all, amplifying Erwin's words from the fray. He emerged as a bold reformer, battling corruption for the wizarding world's sake. What started as a brutal purge twisted, through savvy spin, into a crusade for renewal. Erwin's star rose, earning him waves of wizarding acclaim.
He'd penned the follow-up piece himself, framing the narrative just so. Rita Skeeter's reports tallied the influx: dozens of unaffiliated wizards pledging to the Selwyns, drawn by the promise of a new order. Christmas loomed, but change was already in the air.
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