Erwin ran his fingers along the bookshelf, then checked them—no dust. He raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.
A frail voice piped up from behind. "Is that you, Master Erwin? You've finally come!"
He turned to find a house-elf standing there, so quietly he hadn't sensed its arrival. The elf bowed low. "Greetings, Master Erwin. Jerry, the Selwyn family's loyal servant, at your service!"
Erwin's mouth quirked. Old Tom and Jerry? Who named them—Tom and Jerry?
"You're a Selwyn house-elf? Never seen you before," he said.
Jerry nodded eagerly. "Indeed, sir. Jerry's only task is cleaning the archives. The old master forbade me from leaving or revealing myself until your arrival."
Erwin nodded, piecing it together. His father had gone to extremes to shield him from the wizarding world. In hindsight, Rivers and his crew had left glaring holes in their cover—flaws Erwin hadn't spotted until Snape's odd reaction to Rivers and Old Tom's slip-ups.
It wasn't his oversight; these two had been constants in his life for years. Even his sharpest suspicions hadn't painted them as outright saboteurs.
He plucked a book from the shelf and leafed through it. "You've been stuck cleaning here all this time?"
"Yes, Master," Jerry replied. "Jerry cleans three times a day—never slacks off!"
Erwin set the book down. "Well done. From now on, forget the archives. Return to your regular duties."
Jerry's eyes widened, brimming with tears. "Truly, sir? Jerry can work again?"
"Don't flood the place," Erwin warned. "Off with you."
The elf dabbed its eyes, bowed, and scampered away.
Erwin shook his head. House-elves and their unyielding servitude—incorrigible, but useful when obedient. Every group had its misfits, though, like those handling the finances. Soon enough, they'd remember their place.
He settled at the desk with a stack of tomes, diving in. Hours slipped by unnoticed, the pile growing steadily. Finally, he stretched, glancing at the clock—evening already.
He shelved the last book and headed out. Old Tom waited patiently by the door, a steaming cup of tea at the ready. The brew was piping hot; clearly, the butler had been refreshing it obsessively.
Erwin took the cup. Behind him, the archive door faded into the wall. "Anything to eat? Jerry's on it, I assume. And Charlotte?"
Old Tom nodded. "All arranged, sir. Shall I fetch it?"
Erwin sank into a nearby chair, the teacup warming his hand as he gazed at the ceiling. He'd head back to Hogwarts after this—time to stir things up.
That evening, in the Slytherin Head Boy's bedroom at Hogwarts, Erwin stood by the half-open window in his pajamas. A cool breeze sharpened his senses as he drummed his fingers on the sill, eyes distant.
A massive shadow glided beneath the inky lake surface. Erwin sighed. The archives had cleared up so much—too much, perhaps.
The Selwyn family's history was a treasure trove: potent spells, including ones echoing Lily Potter's talents. It boiled down to bloodline, a rare gift exclusive to their line—or at least, known only to his father.
An old parchment described it as a ritual to siphon blood power from one kin to another. That's why Erwin's magical inheritance ran so pure, rivaling the ancestors'. His own potency, amplified by his father's, had forged something formidable.
He shrugged it off. As long as no other families wielded it, he slept easy.
Erwin shut the window and turned in. Another dull day, but the real game started soon.
He slept like the dead that night, dreaming vividly—for once, without interruptions. Mornings like that were rare treasures.
Days blurred into a routine. After Potions one afternoon, Snape detained him in the dim dungeon classroom.
As the professor packed his vials, he glanced up. "Preparations, Erwin? You've swayed the Board against closing Hogwarts, but the wizarding world's abuzz with doubts."
"Soon," Erwin replied. "Next day or two, tops. Without Hermione, Draco, and Potter, though, they're fumbling blind. It's an open book, and they've got nothing. I've had Charlotte drop hints nonstop, or they'd be clueless."
Snape's lips thinned in quiet frustration. Resource shortages were a curse he couldn't lift—not yet. But the basilisk's shadow loomed, and the eve of reckoning drew near. Hogwarts teetered on the brink, and Erwin's secrets might just tip the scales.
...
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