In the Slytherin common room, despite the lack of formal classes that day, a crowd had gathered: the house's boys, a handful of Hufflepuff students, and even Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. They buzzed with anticipation for a major event—the awarding of the Slytherin Order of Honor, an initiative Erwin had proposed to fuel healthy competition among the houses.
Erwin arrived fashionably late, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he noted the eager faces. He strode to the front without preamble and produced eight ornate boxes.
"Right, today marks the end of term at Hogwarts," he began, his voice carrying authority. "You've got farewells to make and trunks to pack, so I'll keep this brief. These are eight badges. One is the Slytherin Honor Badge; the other seven recognize the hidden prefects from each year. Slytherin's unspoken tradition of shadow leaders has always existed, but the school never formalized it. As Heir of Slytherin, I'm changing that. These Hidden Prefect Badges will symbolize your roles—from now on, they're official. Graduates can keep them as proof of their status."
He paused for effect. "And as a personal touch, you'll all know about the magical mobiles from the Daily Prophet by now."
Nods rippled through the room. The Prophet had splashed the story across every front page, turning the invention into wizarding sensation. Erwin's marketing savvy had ensured that.
"Present the Slytherin Medal of Honor at Cavendish Communications' launch, and you'll get a gold model—plus an annual stipend of two thousand Galleons from the Cavendish family. My treat."
"The Hidden Prefect Badges come with one thousand Galleons a year," he added.
A wave of excitement crashed over the group, especially the Slytherins who'd dashed in at the last moment. Galleons—real, gleaming Galleons—were hard to resist, no matter one's family vault.
Erwin's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Money wasn't the point for everyone, but free gold? Irresistible. His real aim was simple: stoke the fire of competition. Hogwarts was his proving ground, forging an army of capable witches and wizards. Stronger allies meant greater leverage down the line. This was a smart investment, pure and simple.
He flipped open the first box, revealing a serpentine badge of solid gold, its body studded with glittering diamonds. Commissioned from a top Muggle jeweler, it had cost a fortune—but the impact would be worth it. The pendant caught the firelight, sparkling like a coiled viper.
"You all know who earns the Slytherin Honor Badge," Erwin said, glancing at the blackboard where the leaderboard still blazed. "His name's been up there for weeks. Let's hear it for Hermione Granger!"
Cheers erupted, though the Ravenclaws' applause was half-hearted. A Slytherin prize going to an outsider? Absurd. But the snakes held their tongues; months of shared studies had earned Hermione their grudging respect through sheer grit and brilliance.
Blushing but beaming, Hermione hurried forward. Erwin handed her the box and badge. "Congratulations, Hermione. You earned this."
"Thank you, Erwin," she replied, her eyes shining. "It means a lot."
He shook his head. "No thanks needed—you outworked everyone."
With a nod, she stepped back, clutching her prize.
Erwin turned to the downcast Slytherins. "What's this? Heads hanging already? We lose gracefully, but we never quit fighting. I warned you Hermione was a force—watch out, or she'll claim your legacies. She has that badge because you didn't push hard enough."
Fists clenched around the room; his words hit home.
"These awards happen every year," he continued. "Hermione's set the bar. If you don't want her hoarding all seven, prove yourselves next term."
The threat of a Ravenclaw dominating Slytherin's honors lit a fire under them. No self-respecting snake could stomach that.
Pansy Parkinson gripped her robes, glaring at Hermione. "Next year, it's mine," she muttered fiercely.
Hermione caught the look and met it head-on, her lips curving into a determined smile. "I'll be back to defend it."
Pansy's snort echoed like a challenge, though whether it was about badges or something deeper, no one could say.
Erwin then unveiled the seven remaining boxes, each holding a Hidden Prefect Badge: serpents wreathed in swirling mithril clouds, evoking mystery and stealth.
"First up: Blaise Zabini for the first years."
As one of Erwin's earliest allies, Blaise's growth had been meteoric. Frequent consultations with Erwin had honed his skills, turning potential into prowess. After the Yaxley downfall, Erwin had offered him their enterprises, but Blaise declined.
"I've cut ties with them," he'd said firmly. "When I'm ready, the Zabini name will stand as a Cavendish vassal in its own right—no shadows from the past."
The room watched as Erwin pinned the badge on Blaise, who accepted it with a nod of quiet pride. One by one, the other recipients stepped forward—shadow prefects from sixth through first year, their faces alight with validation. Whispers of future ambitions filled the air as badges were distributed, each a tangible mark of influence.
By the end, the common room thrummed with renewed energy. Erwin's gesture had bound them tighter, turning rivalry into rocket fuel. As the group dispersed into the fading afternoon light, one thing was clear: Slytherin's ambitions had only just begun to uncoil.
...
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