However, this spared Erwin the effort.
He turned to the group. "Then I'll leave it to you, Patriarch Macmillan, to liaise with Tom later. I'm looking forward to a fruitful partnership with your family."
Old Bulstrode slumped back in his chair, his face drained of color. He knew his time was up. Five families had attended the meeting, and now three had turned against him. Only the Bulstrode and Fawley families remained loyal.
Old Bulstrode glanced at Patriarch Fawley, seeking reassurance. Fawley met his eyes with a steady nod. He had no children at Hogwarts to worry about—what could Erwin possibly hold over him?
Fawley fixed his gaze on Erwin, waiting for the inevitable threat.
Erwin met it squarely, noting the man's defiant expression. He chuckled. "You must be Patriarch Fawley."
"Indeed," Fawley replied coolly. "But don't think you can bully me, Cavendish. Your family may be riding high now, but no one's untouchable. I'm the last of the Fawleys. I've got nothing left to lose. If you come for me, expect my parting shot to sting."
Erwin laughed outright. "No threats here, Patriarch Fawley. Just an old friend eager to catch up with you."
Fawley eyed him suspiciously as the conference room door creaked open.
Vinda Rosier stepped inside.
Fawley's eyes widened in shock. "Vinda Rosier?"
Vinda gave him a measured look. "Hector, you've aged."
Fawley's face flushed with emotion. "Is your brother still with us?" Vinda asked.
Hector shook his head. "He died two years back."
Vinda sighed. "A shame. I'm here to see if the Fawley family still honors our history. Why side against the Acolytes' new master?"
Hector froze, his gaze snapping to Erwin in disbelief. "The Acolytes' new master?"
Though Erwin had held the title for months, the Acolytes and the German Ministry had kept it under wraps. This was its first whisper into British wizarding circles.
Vinda continued, "When your brother was Minister, Lord Grindelwald showed mercy. He spared your family despite calls to make an example of you—all because of our old ties. And now you repay that with betrayal?"
Hector stammered, "I had no idea Mr. Erwin was the new master! Without Grindelwald, we'd have been erased. Even during the Dark Lord's reign, the Acolytes shielded us. We owe you everything—I swear it."
Vinda nodded curtly. "Good to hear."
She fell silent then, taking her place behind Erwin like a sentinel.
Hector's expression twisted with conflict. He turned to Bulstrode. "I'm sorry. I can't stand with you anymore." Then, to Erwin: "Patriarch Erwin, my apologies. I'll make this right. Good day."
Erwin inclined his head. "Take care, Patriarch Fawley."
Hector approached Vinda, offering a respectful bow before exiting. Vinda glanced at Erwin, who gave a subtle nod. She followed, no doubt to reminisce with a rare surviving peer from their era.
Erwin's attention shifted to Old Bulstrode, still sagging in his seat, defeat etched into every line.
"Patriarch Bulstrode, why linger? It's getting late—shouldn't you be preparing? Or has the Bulstrode name grown so bold it can thumb its nose at a Cavendish pure-blood feud?"
Old Bulstrode rasped, "If I beg forgiveness now, is it too late? Take our fortune—everything."
Erwin rose and approached. "You know that's not how this ends, Patriarch Bulstrode. In three days, the Cavendish family declares war on yours. Use the time to smuggle out a direct heir if you can. Though... I recall you have only one left: Millicent Bulstrode, our fellow Slytherin."
"Spare Millicent," Bulstrode pleaded. "She's in Slytherin—like you. Loyal. She looks up to you!"
Erwin's tone hardened. "Slytherin never lacks admirers or devotees. Fetch your granddaughter while you can. Give her a proper farewell."
With that, he turned and strode toward the door. Old Tom swung it open, and Erwin passed through without a backward glance.
"You can't!" Bulstrode's voice cracked from behind. "She's one of us in Slytherin! It was my doing—take me instead!"
Erwin didn't break stride, leaving the room and the man's desperate cries.
Old Bulstrode collapsed fully, as if a decade had been shaved from his life in moments. The other patriarchs watched in pitying silence, grateful their own missteps hadn't drawn Erwin's full wrath.
Outside, Charlotte fell in beside him. "Sir, shall I handle Millicent Bulstrode when we return?"
Erwin shook his head. "No point. Old Bulstrode won't abandon her—he'll try to extract her. A death off-campus is the kindest mercy."
Charlotte nodded, her expression unchanging. She wouldn't waste breath advocating for Millicent; it would only mark her as naive. Erwin's leniency came from utility or entertainment, nothing more. Millicent was decent enough—Hermione's intended Polyjuice target in the old tales, foiled by a cat-hair mix-up. But Slytherin ties meant nothing here. This was a clan-ending blood feud; Erwin left no loose ends, no simmering threats. Blame her luck, or her bloodline.
As for his reputation? Erwin had positioned himself squarely as the righteous avenger once more.
...
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