Erwin couldn't help but approach everything with a healthy dose of suspicion. He'd been shaped by too many online stories and videos from his past life, where nothing was ever quite what it seemed. Dumbledore was undeniably brilliant—a true legend among wizards. But brilliance often came hand in hand with cunning, and Dumbledore had that in spades.
Take Lily Potter, for instance. Erwin doubted she'd stumbled upon that sacrificial protection spell on her own. Sure, some might argue she found it buried in the Restricted Section. But if anyone knew that library inside out, it was Voldemort himself. The Dark Lord had scoured every dusty corner for secrets on Horcruxes. If such a spell existed there, why hadn't Voldemort mentioned it when he ranted about Harry's survival in the Triwizard Tournament? No, even if Lily had unearthed it, Dumbledore had likely guided her hand.
Worse still, Erwin couldn't fathom why Dumbledore never finished the job. On raw power alone, the Headmaster outmatched Voldemort by miles. At his peak, the Dark Lord still shied away from Hogwarts' gates. Dumbledore could have ended him. Yet he didn't. That left one chilling conclusion: Dumbledore knew about the Horcruxes. He'd always known. And that brought Erwin back to Lily and Harry—pawns in a grander game, with Harry unwittingly becoming a vessel for Voldemort's soul. It was all part of Dumbledore's intricate plan.
The thought sent a shiver down Erwin's spine. How could anyone trust a man who pulled strings like that? In both his lives, Erwin hadn't even reached forty, and his first one had been spent in the relative safety of a peaceful nation, dodging nothing worse than petty office rivalries. Dumbledore operated on a whole other level—more wolf than shepherd. Trusting him felt like walking into a trap with eyes wide open.
Snape, on the other hand... Gloomy as he was, Erwin knew the man from the books. His loyalty ran deep, forged in regret and unrequited love. Today hadn't yielded all the answers Erwin craved, but snippets of conversation hinted at a tangled history with Erwin's parents. Whatever it was, it made Snape seem far more reliable by comparison.
As he made his way to the Great Hall, Erwin mulled over Dumbledore's words and Snape's evasions. His parents had been wizards, that much was clear. For reasons unknown, they'd retreated to the Muggle world, sealing away their magic to avoid becoming Squibs or suffering a magical surge. Then came the attack—a powerful wizard, or perhaps a force backing him, had ended their lives. Even Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, treaded carefully around that shadow.
It was a puzzle the books never touched, and those gaps were the hardest to fill. The seal had held until recently, shattering for some unexplained reason and alerting Hogwarts. Now here he was, a first-year Slytherin navigating it all. The pieces fit, but the core mysteries lingered: Who was the enemy? What broke the seal?
By the time Erwin reached the Great Hall, his head ached from the circling thoughts. He'd arrived early; the vast room echoed with emptiness, the long house tables bare under floating candles. He sank onto the Slytherin bench, staring at the spot where breakfast usually materialized. Dumbledore had a point—the truth would surface in time. With an enemy that formidable, fretting now changed nothing. Better to focus on the present: a hearty meal to start the day.
Minutes ticked by. No platters appeared, no aroma of bacon filled the air. Erwin's stomach growled. Was this Dumbledore's idea of a "surprise"? Starvation for the early bird?
A soft pop shattered the silence. Erwin jolted upright, wand slipping into his hand in a blur. "Bloody hell!"
Starlight—or whatever magic these elves used—faded, revealing a diminutive figure with enormous ears and bulging eyes wide with fright. Before Erwin could react, the house-elf launched into a frantic wail. "I'm so sorry, sir! Dobby didn't mean to startle you—Dobby's a bad elf! Dobby will punish himself!"
With that, Dobby slammed his head against the table edge, the thud echoing like a poorly aimed Bludger. Erwin blinked in shock. He'd read about house-elf subservience, but seeing it was another matter. How was the creature still conscious after that?
"Stop!" Erwin barked. "That's enough!"
Dobby ignored him, continuing the self-flagellation amid a stream of apologies. Erwin's brow furrowed. Time for authority. "As Slytherin's unofficial first-year prefect and a Hogwarts student, I order you to halt—now!"
The elf froze mid-bang, body quivering. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, ears drooping. Erwin exhaled, softening his tone. "Easy now. It's not your fault—I overreacted. You've punished yourself plenty; I saw it. That's done. Now, why'd you pop in like that?"
Dobby peeked up, wringing his hands. "Dobby is a house-elf at Hogwarts, sir, tasked with breakfast duties! But you've come too early—the house feast isn't prepared yet. It'll be a bit longer. Dobby came to take your order for something special, straight from the kitchens!"
Understanding dawned. So this was the perk Dumbledore had hinted at—a private audience with the elves. Erwin almost grinned, but then reality hit. House-elves stuck to wizarding staples; they wouldn't whip up the comfort foods from his old life. He waved it off. "Never mind. Surprise me with whatever's handy. Just a quick bite—nothing fancy you couldn't manage."