Dumbledore set aside the sweets in his hand and fixed Snape with a steady gaze. "Sit down, Severus. No need to rush—I know what you're going to say. But you understand as well as I do that Hogwarts' admissions aren't ours to dictate. The castle chooses its own students and sends the acceptance letters. All we do is sign them."
Snape's voice was sharp. "Don't pretend otherwise. If you don't sign, the boy won't get his letter. He won't set foot in Hogwarts at all."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "True enough. But do you really think he can stay hidden forever? The magic inside him demands an outlet. Without it, he'll become an Obscurus—and you know the devastation that brings. It's beyond our control."
Snape's frown deepened. "We promised them we'd keep him out of the wizarding world!"
Dumbledore shook his head. "This isn't in our hands. His bloodline has sealed his fate, just like his parents'. They fled the wizarding world to escape theirs, but look how that ended. Do you believe he can do better? Even if he avoids Hogwarts, they'll find him eventually. He's too brilliant, too much like a beacon. When they do, he'll be defenseless. Why not let him come here? At least then, if that day comes, he'll have the power to fight back. He might even achieve what no one's managed before."
Sorrow flickered in Snape's eyes. "He was their only child—their last hope. They wanted him to live quietly, and they died for it. I couldn't even protect him to honor their wish."
Dumbledore sighed. "This isn't your fault, Severus. It's the path his blood demands. I'll never forget what they did for us. I swear, as long as I draw breath, no harm will come to him."
Snape met his gaze. "Even from them?"
Dumbledore's expression hardened. "Especially from them. No one touches a Hogwarts student. No one touches Erwin. That's my vow—and like you, I carry the weight of regret for this boy."
Snape released a long, stale breath. "Remember that promise. If it comes to it, I'll die before he does. It's the least I owe."
Dumbledore's tone lightened slightly. "That day won't come. You'll all live—mark my words. Now, head to the Slytherin common room. The shadow prefect selections are about to start. Without you there, it could turn chaotic. That boy takes after his parents; he's no shrinking violet."
Snape offered no reply. With a swirl of his robes, he swept from the room.
Once alone, Dumbledore sank back into his chair. The portraits on the walls fell silent for a moment.
Then one stirred. "Is it him, Albus? The Cavendish boy?"
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes. Erwin Cavendish."
The portrait sighed. "You're playing a dangerous game. You must know what the name Cavendish signifies—and what happens if those fanatics learn he's entered our world. You're inviting trouble to Hogwarts' doorstep. Compared to them, the Dark Lord was child's play."
Dumbledore said nothing. A subtle light glinted behind his half-moon spectacles. Of course he knew. But choices had been made. From the instant he'd laid eyes on Erwin, he'd sensed it: the boy would succeed where others failed, ending the Cavendish curse in this generation. It was the only way to save his life.
His gaze drifted to a corner of the office, where a portrait hung beneath a gray cloth cover. He approached it, hand rising, then paused. With another sigh, he turned away.
...
In the Slytherin common room, the new seventh-year prefect, Gemma Selwyn, addressed the gathering. "Let me explain the shadow prefect system. Slytherin isn't like the other houses—we're all pure-bloods here, and we prize strength and ambition above all. Even I can't run things single-handedly, which is why we have shadow prefects. One per year, the strongest in their class. At the start of each term, anyone can challenge them. They get the same privileges as regular prefects. Now, meet Slytherin's shadow prefects."
She began with the second-years. "Barton Dru—second-year shadow prefect."
"Third-year: Miles Burke."
"Fourth-year: Charlotte Teresa." Erwin glanced her way; she was a sharp-eyed girl, clearly another prefect.
"Fifth-year: Marcus Flint. He's also our Quidditch captain."
Erwin noted Flint's burly frame—intimidating, even among Slytherins.
"Sixth-year: Cassius Selwyn."
"And that's me—Gemma Farley, seventh-year shadow prefect and head of Slytherin house prefects."
Erwin studied her. She radiated power, her magical reserves far surpassing most wizards his age. Was Selwyn one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? Undoubtedly. A formidable talent.
Gemma continued. "Keep those names in mind. Now, it's time to select the first-year shadow prefect. We choose by strength alone—pure duels, one-on-one. The last one standing claims the title. So, first-years—who's stepping up first?"
Though she addressed the group, her eyes locked on Erwin. Word of his train escapades had spread like Fiendfyre: the new boy who'd disarmed half the compartment single-handedly. As a shadow prefect hopeful, he'd be a fool to sit this out.
Perfect chance to build some wizarding acclaim, Erwin thought.
He strode forward, parting the crowd with quiet confidence, and took center stage. With a casual flick, his wand appeared in his hand. He pressed it to his chest in salute, bowing slightly.
"Everyone, I'm Erwin Cavendish. Since no one's volunteering, I'll go first."