Ginny barely gave it a second thought. She grabbed a quill and scribbled the first line in her notebook: "Today, I saw Erwin Cavendish! Just like Mum said, he's brilliantly talented—and so handsome! How could someone like him ever notice a nobody like me?"
With that, she snapped the notebook shut, tucked it and the quill under her pillow, and curled up on her side. Erwin's face danced in her mind, keeping sleep at bay for hours.
The next morning, a bell tolled sharply through the castle.
From the dormitories in the four houses, a wave of groans and muttered curses rose up—mostly from the first-years. Freshly arrived, they hadn't yet acclimated to Hogwarts' brutal schedule. Even the Slytherin newcomers grumbled, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
It was moments like these that highlighted the wisdom of Slytherin's hidden prefect system. Under the stern guidance of the upper-year hidden prefects—and the subtle threat of a wand's flick—the first-years slithered into the common room ahead of schedule. Yawns escaped them, but they were upright and alert.
After a quick wash, Erwin scooped up Ebony, freshly groomed and in his sleek black cat form. He stepped out of his room to find the hidden prefects lined up in the corridor, including new first-year recruit Cassandra.
As Erwin appeared, they dipped their heads. "Patriarch!"
Cassandra followed suit, her earlier arrogance shattered. Erwin's dominance had etched itself into her memory; she burned to match his strength.
Erwin gave a curt nod. "No changes this year—same rules as always. But in the next two weeks, I want Slytherin's house points back to even, plus that 150 we were short. The Slytherin Honor Badge criteria stay in place. We've got one target: the House Cup. If we lose it again, trust me—you won't like the fallout."
The hidden prefects shivered but chorused, "Yes, Patriarch!"
Erwin continued, "Good. Morning study session—move out. Charlotte, brief Cassandra on Slytherin protocols, the class schedule, and key details. If those new first-years embarrass us, Cassandra, you'll answer for it. Clear?"
"Yes, Patriarch!" she replied firmly.
Erwin strode down the corridor, the hidden prefects trailing him like a shadow.
In the Great Hall, footsteps echoed from the stairs. The hidden prefects bowed low. "Patriarch!"
Erwin acknowledged them with a nod and wove through the parting Slytherins toward the doors, the rest of the house falling in behind. Students from other houses stepped aside at the sight of the green-clad procession, a mark of respect Slytherin had earned through sheer presence.
The first-years puffed out their chests, pride swelling. They watched Erwin lead the way, black cat perched on his shoulder, his figure towering like a legend in their eyes. Slytherin's reputation rested on him—and they knew it.
...
Hogwarts weeks flew by in a haze of classes and rivalries. Before long, half a month had passed, and the first-years had settled into the rhythm.
Slytherin, meanwhile, surged ahead. In just those two weeks, they'd clawed back the 150 lost points—and added another 100 on top. Erwin allowed himself a rare smile of approval.
Gryffindor, by contrast, lagged badly—still seventy points in the red. Without a standout like Hermione, their point hauls crawled along.
In the library, the unlikely trio huddled around a long table, buried in books. Draco's eyes were ringed with shadows, his face a mask of exhaustion as he wrestled with a tome thicker than his patience.
Harry glanced up, voice low with concern. "Draco, mate—take a break. Those bags under your eyes look like you're one all-nighter from keeling over."
Draco lifted his head slowly, bloodshot eyes blinking. "I wish. You lot have no clue how brutal the Patriarch's punishment is."
Hermione shot him a sharp look. "Your own fault, really. You couldn't take Pansy in a fair fight, so why issue the challenge? And honestly, what were you doing over the holidays? Not a single page turned!"
Draco's eyes bugged out. "Hang on, Hermione—we were together the whole break! Quidditch, pranks, the lot. So how'd you ace that pre-term quiz the Patriarch set?"
She shrugged. "Simple—I skimmed the material."
Draco turned to Harry, pleading. "You too?"
Harry chuckled awkwardly. "Not quite her level. Borrowed her notes, mostly."
Draco slumped, raking fingers through his platinum hair until it stuck up wildly. "I'm knackered—properly done in. Can't go on like this; might as well throw in the towel."
Harry leaned in, changing tack. "Fair enough. Fancy chatting about something less grim? Like that Lockhart bloke."
Hermione snorted. "What's to discuss? After Erwin trounced him, I knew he was a total fraud. No idea why Dumbledore hired him—man's useless."
Harry frowned. "Give it time. The Headmaster's got reasons. Maybe Lockhart's got hidden talents."
Draco yawned hugely. "Rubbish. Dad says the git's got zero skills—rode in on his fame alone. And everyone knows the Defense post's jinxed by You-Know-Who; sane wizards steer clear. He's just chasing headlines."
Hermione perked up. "Speaking of headlines, get this: he's starting a Duelling Club. Poster went up today—tomorrow evening."
Draco grinned through his fatigue. "A dueling club? With him? Tomorrow's bound to be a riot. Can't wait to see the fireworks."
...
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