Hermione's temper flared at Ron's words. She'd never liked him much, especially after overhearing his snide remarks about Erwin more than once. Finally, she couldn't hold back. "What? Did I say something wrong? You're just desperate for attention! And comparing yourself to Erwin? That's ridiculous—you're not even in the same league!"
Ron's face flushed crimson. He was already on edge, and her outburst only deepened his embarrassment. The other young witches and wizards around them whispered and chuckled, making it worse. Ron, the type to dream of glory but cling to Harry Potter's fame for scraps, had long resented Erwin for stealing the spotlight—even from the Boy Who Lived.
But Ron knew better than to confront Erwin directly. He was all talk behind backs, like a rat skulking in shadows: no money, no talent, no wit. In a verbal spar, he was no match for Hermione's sharp tongue. She'd honed it through years of isolation at Muggle school, where her know-it-all attitude had earned her few friends.
Before Ron could muster a retort, Hermione pressed on, her words slicing straight to his insecurities. His ears practically steamed with rage. Snapping, he yanked out his wand. "I'll teach you a lesson!"
Hermione froze, caught off guard—she'd never dueled anyone before. But Erwin didn't hesitate. "Expelliarmus!"
Ron flew backward, slamming into the Great Hall wall with a thud. The Slytherins erupted in cheers as he crumpled, dazed.
Erwin's expression hardened. The Weasley brothers—Prefect Percy, and the twins Fred and George—rushed to Ron's side. "You alright, Ron?" Percy asked, concern etching his face.
Ron nodded weakly, his color draining. The twins grinned. "What was that, little brother? Fancy spell you've got there? Pulling your wand in the Great Hall—brilliant move!"
On the staff dais, the professors leaped to their feet. Filius Flitwick, Ravenclaw's diminutive Head, looked thunderous despite his usual cheer. He'd taken a shine to Hermione; her brilliance had racked up points for Ravenclaw all term, a rare feat for a first-year. "How dare he point a wand at a classmate!" Flitwick bellowed.
Snape sneered from his seat. "Outrageous! Threatening violence over a petty spat—in the Great Hall, no less. Hogwarts hasn't seen such idiocy since its founding. Though I doubt that Weasley oaf knows a single spell worth the name."
Professor McGonagall's lips thinned in disapproval. "Ron Weasley! How dare you? Fifty points from Gryffindor!"
Ron's blood ran cold. He hadn't earned a single point yet, and now this? The Gryffindors shot him furious glares, their house pride wounded. Even Percy winced. Ron shivered under the weight of their stares.
McGonagall turned to Erwin, her gaze softening slightly. "As for you, Mr. Cavendish—your quick action averted disaster. Thirty points to Slytherin!"
Erwin inclined his head in thanks. He'd half-expected Ron's bluff to fizzle anyway; the boy was hopeless with spells, too dim to learn even the basics. Still, better safe than sorry.
But Erwin wasn't done. He fixed Percy with a steely look. "Prefect Weasley, I'd advise you to rein in your brother. If he pulls this again, I won't hesitate to intervene—and I can't promise he'll walk away unscathed. Consider this a warning from Slytherin's prefect."
Percy swallowed hard, his face tight. He knew Ron was in the wrong. "Understood," he muttered.
Erwin shot Ron one last contemptuous glance. "Pathetic." Then, raising his hand, he commanded, "Seats! Back to the feast!"
The Slytherins obeyed in perfect unison, sinking into their benches like a well-drilled unit. Dobby, the eager house-elf, soon bustled over with platters of new dishes—rich, savory flavors that filled the air with mouthwatering aromas. The young Slytherins dove in eagerly, savoring the bold spices and hearty portions.
"This is brilliant, Prefect Erwin!" one called out between bites. "Can we have these every meal?"
Erwin chuckled. "Ask the house-elves, not me."