Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that even possible?"
Erwin grinned. "Why not give it a try? What if it works? You've got nothing to lose."
She nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. But from what you've said, Ravenclaws are all academic geniuses. I'm worried I won't keep up."
Erwin rolled his eyes. Good grief, he thought. Miss Know-It-All, afraid of falling behind? The girl who uses a Time-Turner to cram is fretting over this? What a joke.
"You don't need to worry," he said aloud. "Wizarding schools aren't so different from Muggle ones—just swap the subjects. Plenty of young wizards aren't half as studious as Muggle kids. A wand won't turn a slacker into a scholar overnight."
"But I'm from a Muggle family," Hermione pressed. "Shouldn't wizarding kids get a head start with magic at home? What if I'm miles behind?"
Erwin chuckled inwardly. She must've been British through and through in another life—ambitious types like her don't grow on trees in places like America. "Trust me," he said. "Once you're in, you'll see half those pure-bloods can't even cast a basic spell. Not everyone's a prodigy like me."
Hermione laughed. "Modest as ever!"
"Just facts," he replied with a wink. "Cavendish stock runs true in any world."
She studied him for a moment. If anyone else had boasted like that, she'd have dismissed it as arrogance. But from Erwin? It just... fit.
He checked his watch. "Train's nearly at the station, Miss Granger. Time to change into your robes. Shall I step out?"
"Mr. Cavendish," she said dryly, "I shouldn't have to answer that."
Erwin shrugged. Not like it's a sure thing anyway. No trust these days. Still, he turned and stepped into the corridor, back to the compartment door, waiting patiently.
Hermione glanced at his retreating figure, a small smile tugging at her lips. She changed quickly.
A minute later, the door creaked open. "All set," she said. "Your turn. I'll keep watch."
Erwin shook his head. "No need."
Puzzled, she frowned. "You're not changing?"
With a snap of his fingers, his Muggle suit shimmered and morphed into formal wizard's robes. Delicate purple lotus emblems bloomed on the cuffs, threaded in silk.
Hermione's jaw dropped. "A spell? What's the incantation? That's brilliant—can I learn it?"
He shook his head. "Afraid not. It's a charmed garment, not proper magic."
Disappointment flickered across her face. "Oh. Well, that's something."
Her gaze lingered on the emblem. "What's that? It's stunning."
"The Cavendish family crest," Erwin explained. "Purple lotus. Symbol of resilience."
She beamed. "A lotus? How elegant."
In truth, Erwin had puzzled over it himself. Lotuses evoked a mystical elegance rather than standard British heraldry—purple held a unique allure here. It had struck him as oddly out of place when he first saw it, like a relic from another era. But he'd shrugged it off; family quirks were family quirks.
The Hogwarts Express began to slow, brakes hissing as it pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Through the window, the castle's turrets loomed against the darkening sky, a silhouette of spires and stone.
Erwin's lips curved into a smile. Hogwarts. At last.
They disembarked amid the bustle of students. Hagrid's massive form towered on the platform, lantern swinging from one ham-sized hand.
Hermione stared, wide-eyed. "Blimey, he's huge!"
"In the wizarding world, get used to the unusual," Erwin advised. "This is just the start. Stow the awe, Miss Granger—Sorting's next."
She nodded, squaring her shoulders.
From another carriage, Draco Malfoy emerged, pale eyes locking onto Erwin. A mix of fear and fury flashed there, raw and unchecked. The memory of their train scuffle still stung; he'd only just regained his composure in his compartment. Who does he think he is? Draco fumed silently. My father's on the school board. He'll hear about this. He'd pen a letter that very night—Erwin would regret crossing a Malfoy.
Erwin caught the glare and turned, meeting Draco's gaze steadily. The boy flinched and dropped his eyes.
A sly smile played on Erwin's lips. Little Mr. Malfoy hasn't learned his lesson yet. Time for a proper reminder, perhaps. The Malfoy patriarch was the real prize, after all—far trickier than this pampered brat. Erwin wouldn't let him slip away easily.
Hagrid clapped his meaty hands, the sound booming like thunder. "Right, then! First-years, group up in fours and follow me. Boats to the castle!"
The lake crossing passed without incident, the black water lapping at the boats as Hogwarts grew larger, its windows aglow like welcoming eyes. Hagrid handed the first-years off to Professor McGonagall at the castle entrance, then lumbered away with a wave.
Up to that point, Erwin had assumed the night would unfold smoothly—until Neville Longbottom stooped to retrieve his errant toad, Trevor, from the flagstones. The professor's face darkened like a storm cloud.
Erwin stifled a grin. So the plot barrels on. The only twist? No sign of Malfoy needling the Weasleys or Harry Potter. Perhaps the train thrashing had left a mark—psychological scar tissue.
McGonagall led them into the Great Hall, her tartan robes swishing. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the starry night sky, candles floating overhead in a golden haze. Senior students lined the house tables, whispering and craning necks with gleeful anticipation.
Erwin could read their minds. Wizards loved a good prank, and the Sorting Hat was prime entertainment. No one spoiled the surprise for newbies—no warnings about the old hat's whims or the cheers that followed. Watching first-years blanch as it was plopped on their heads? Priceless, year after year. Even if it meant a dash through a sudden downpour, they'd sooner shred an umbrella than share the secret.
The hall thrummed with energy, the air thick with roast beef, laughter, and that electric buzz of beginnings. Hermione gripped her skirt, nerves jangling. Erwin stood tall beside her, ready for whatever the Hat decreed.
Hogwarts wasn't just a school—it was a stage, and the curtain was rising.