Erwin was at Lily's side the instant her spectral form solidified. His face had paled, a stark reminder of the toll this had taken. He knew exactly what had happened: a backlash from channeling power far beyond his current limits. Even summoning just a soul like Lily's had left him utterly drained. The might of ancient magic was no joke—his mortal body simply couldn't handle it. Best to avoid this spell unless absolutely necessary.
Snape stared at her, eyes wide and bloodshot, tears carving tracks down his cheeks. "Lily," he murmured, voice breaking.
At the sound of his voice, Lily turned. Her eyes widened in recognition. "Severus? Is that you? You're... you're dead too?"
Erwin's lips twitched in a wry smile. What an odd way to greet a ghost.
Seeing his godfather lost in a storm of joy and grief, Erwin stepped in to clarify. "Hello, Madam. My godfather—Professor Snape—isn't dead. I summoned your spirit from the afterlife. He needed this."
Lily turned to him, studying his features. "That hair, those eyes... your mother's Pendragon, isn't it?"
Erwin nodded. He wasn't surprised she'd guessed. Snape had shared plenty of stories: his parents had been in Lily's year at Hogwarts, and his mother had been a close friend of hers.
A warm smile lit Lily's face. "It is you! My goodness, the last time I saw you, you were a tiny thing in the nursery ward, just like Harry. We knew then you were a blessing straight from Merlin. Speaking of which, do you know Harry? My boy—he must be at Hogwarts now. Are you a student there too? Classmates, perhaps?"
"Yes," Erwin confirmed. "Harry's my classmate—a fine Gryffindor. Let my godfather fill you in on the rest. I only brought you here because he... he carries so much guilt over you. I couldn't bear seeing him like this. Sorry for disturbing your peace."
Lily's gaze softened as she looked at Snape, who stood frozen, emotions choking him silent. Regret and apology swirled in his dark eyes.
She sighed gently. "All right, you can leave us now."
Erwin nodded and slipped out, giving them privacy. No one deserved an audience for their most raw moments, not even family.
As the door clicked shut, he caught Lily's voice, faint but clear: "Severus, it's been too long. I've never blamed you. I know everything you've done."
Erwin leaned against the wall outside the Headmaster's office, exhaling slowly. Who could rewrite the past entirely? Regret shadowed so many lives in this world—Dumbledore's, Grindelwald's, even Voldemort's. Without Erwin's interference, the original story's tragedies would claim them all.
He'd often pondered his role here. Was he just meant to savor the wonders of wizarding life? Or did fate have a deeper purpose? Staring at that closed door, clarity struck. This was it—preventing the heartbreak he knew was coming.
At least this time, Quirrell wouldn't die alone. Snape wouldn't fall either, if Erwin had any say. The others? Their fates were trickier, limited by power and circumstance. If a sacrifice brought greater good, he'd make the call himself.
Resolved, Erwin snapped his fingers. With a soft crack, he Apparated to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room.
The Fat Lady brightened at the sight of him. "Young wizard! It's been ages. Word is you're Slytherin's Head Boy now. Skipped night patrol lately? I've missed our chats."
Erwin gave a polite bow. "Good evening, Madam. Indeed it has. Growing boys need their sleep, I'm afraid—can't pull all-nighters like the older students. Prefect Draco's handling patrols. But I'd be happy to drop by during a break and catch up."
She chuckled warmly. "Capital idea. Heading in? I'll let you through—no password needed. It's your perk, and I trust you won't cause a ruckus. You're no prankster like those Weasley twins."
The portrait swung open. Erwin bowed again. "Thank you kindly."
Connections opened doors—sometimes literally. Erwin's easy charm had won him allies across houses, save for one stubborn redhead.
Christmas holidays had emptied the common room, leaving it cozy and hushed. A handful of students lingered by the fire: some in quiet clusters, others locked in a tense game of Wizard's Chess. No one buried in books—classic Gryffindor.
His entrance stirred murmurs. Slytherin and Gryffindor had clashed since the founders' days, and as Slytherin's Head Boy, Erwin was public enemy number one to these lions. He'd even dressed them down in the Great Hall twice. A few witches shot him shy smiles, charmed by his reputation, but the boys met his gaze with cool indifference. No outright hostility—that was progress.
Erwin ignored the stares, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a familiar face. A grin tugged at his lips. He wove through the armchairs and headed straight over.
...
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