Some of the oblivious first-years shoveled food into their mouths even faster amid the charged atmosphere. Blind obedience was just human nature, after all.
Once they'd cleared their plates, the golden trio exchanged knowing looks and slipped out of the Great Hall first.
The moment they hit the corridor, Draco couldn't hold back. "Hermione, didn't you warn the professors? They didn't seem fussed at all!"
"I did," Hermione said, frowning. "I tried Professor Flitwick, but he brushed it off. Told us to stay out of it—said the protections were rock-solid, and even Erwin couldn't crack them without a fight."
At that exact moment, Erwin, standing before the Mirror of Erised, let out a sudden sneeze. He rubbed his nose, smirking to himself. Someone must be gossiping about him again.
Staring at his reflection, Erwin pondered the mirror's purpose. Wasn't it meant to reveal one's deepest desires? So why was the surface blank?
A beat later, it clicked. This had to be some Legilimency-based enchantment. With his Occlumency shields up, it couldn't touch him.
As for how he'd gotten here... please. All those vaunted defenses were child's play, designed for Harry Potter's benefit. Stopping Erwin? Laughable. It wouldn't even slow a seventh-year.
He'd simply Apparated in a swirl of purple smoke, without a ripple.
Now, Erwin reached out and brushed the mirror's surface. His fingers met an invisible barrier, and his eyes lit up. Probing deeper, he pushed his hand straight through the glass's center.
In the next instant, the Philosopher's Stone dropped into his palm.
Erwin examined it with mild disinterest before flicking it back where it came from. Simple enough. Magic bent to intent—if you believed it was possible, it was.
He didn't grasp the underlying theory, but that hardly mattered. He'd secured the Stone anyway.
In the original tale, Voldemort's failure stemmed from two flaws: Quirrell's incompetence blinded him to Dumbledore's trick, and Voldemort's spectral form left him at a fraction of his power. Dumbledore had tailored this "trial" knowing exactly that. Any competent Headmaster—or a fully restored Dark Lord—could dismantle it in seconds.
Erwin shook his head in amusement and vanished with a crack. He was here to watch the chaos unfold, not steal the spotlight. Besides, he had his eyes on a bigger prize: Voldemort's legacy. No need to get his hands dirty.
Meanwhile, in the fourth-floor corridor, Hermione and her friends lingered outside the chamber housing the three-headed dog.
Footsteps echoed soon after. The Slytherin group arrived first, Draco at the helm, flanked by the shadow prefects from upper years. A handful of Gryffindors trailed behind—the snakes formed the bulk of their makeshift boss-fighting squad.
Spotting Draco, Hermione hurried over. "Draco, thanks for rounding up help!"
He waved it off. "No trouble. But listen—after the feast, Snape pulled me aside. He's got the sixth- and seventh-years in for a surprise quiz he's setting himself. We can't stick around. I brought who I could, though."
Hermione nodded without hesitation. "That's plenty. Go on with your test. We've got this."
Draco inclined his head. "Just... be careful. I'm not fully sold on your story, but it's worth checking. Don't do anything daft."
She agreed, and he shared a quick glance with Charlotte trailing him. She gave a subtle nod, and Draco turned away.
Rounding the corner, he melted into the shadows, peering back at the cluster of students. "Where's the boss? Typical—keeps us sidelined with Snape's bloody exam. Looks like we're missing the fun."
But before he could finish, a sudden pull yanked him backward. A vortex swallowed him whole, spitting him out beside Erwin.
"Your habit of badmouthing folks isn't doing you any favors," Erwin said dryly.
Draco's eyes bugged out. "My lord? How—?"
Erwin cut him off with a finger to his lips—it was his domain over Slytherin territory that let him summon Draco like that. "Quiet. Company's coming."
Draco clamped his mouth shut and crouched in the gloom. Erwin's personal Disillusionment Charm cloaked them both; even Voldemort wouldn't spot them here, let alone his puppet.
A middle-aged man shuffled toward the Mirror of Erised, moving cautiously, eyes darting for traps. He paused before it, scrutinizing every inch.
After a tense moment, he muttered, "Master, no mechanism in sight. Maybe the Stone's not here?"
Draco blinked in confusion—who was he talking to?—as a raspy, ancient voice hissed from the shadows: "Idiot, it's bewitched. Bide your time. Someone will fetch it for us soon enough."
Draco's jaw dropped, his face a mask of shock. Two voices from one body? He shot Erwin a desperate look.
Erwin just shook his head—stay silent. Draco bit back his questions. Erwin had hinted at entertainment tonight, but this? This was nightmare fuel.
Back in the corridor, the young witches and wizards steeled themselves for the plunge.
Hermione took a deep breath and pointed her wand at the door's lock. "Alohomora!"
It creaked open. She signaled for everyone to scramble through on hands and knees.
Fluffy lifted its massive heads, peering at the entrance. Then it froze, utterly baffled. The three muzzles swiveled, staring at one another in mutual bewilderment.
Hagrid never mentioned a crowd like this. The room was packed already—why were more piling in?
...
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