Erwin tapped the table once more.
Dobby popped into existence with a crack.
The house-elf bowed low. "Sir! Dobby is here to serve you! What can Dobby do for you?"
Erwin smiled. "Those pumpkin pasties of yours—they're a hit! Why not teach the other elves the recipe? We could add them to every table. Good things are worth sharing, after all."
Dobby hesitated, then beamed. "Of course, sir! But... to the other houses as well?"
The surrounding students froze.
Was he really announcing this favoritism so openly? What about the rest of them?
Erwin chuckled. "Absolutely. We're all in this together—might as well enjoy the feast as one."
Dobby nodded eagerly. "Right away, sir! It's Dobby's honor!"
Erwin waved him off. "Go on, then. Get to it."
With a snap of his fingers, Dobby vanished.
Students from the other houses shot Erwin grateful looks. The scent of fresh-baked pumpkin pasties lingered in the air, teasing their senses. They'd been eyeing the treats for weeks, and now Erwin was sharing the wealth.
They didn't quite grasp that house-elves served Hogwarts, not just one family. Still, their thanks poured in freely, and no one batted an eye at the oddity.
Outrageous, but effective.
Soon after, Dobby coordinated with the other elves, and platters of pumpkin pasties appeared at every house's table. Students devoured them with gusto, the flaky, spiced filling winning over even the pickiest eaters. Professors weren't immune; several quietly requested their own batches to sample.
Erwin hadn't anticipated his simple request sparking a menu overhaul. Little did he know, these humble additions would one day delight some very unexpected visitors. But that's a tale for later.
Satisfied and stuffed, Erwin let out a contented belch. It had been ages since he'd indulged like that—the pasties were irresistible, though he knew better than to overdo it.
With dinner winding down, he craved some excitement. Erwin rose from his seat, drawing every eye in the Great Hall. Anticipation hung thick in the air; they all sensed what was coming.
Except for one student, whose stomach twisted with dread. That was Miles Burke, Slytherin's third-year hidden prefect.
Erwin strode along the Slytherin table to the third-years' section, stopping before Miles.
"Greetings, Senior Burke. Erwin Cavendish, first-year hidden prefect, hereby issues a prefect challenge!"
Miles sighed inwardly. The moment had arrived.
He knew he was outmatched. Erwin's Expelliarmus would slice through any defense he mustered. But forfeiting without a fight? That would be mortifying.
Miles stood. "I accept."
Cheers erupted from the crowd. This was prime entertainment—the clashes they lived for.
Cassius Selwyn jumped up, "Brilliant! Same rules as before. Meet us by the Black Lake!"
Slytherins surged toward the exit, with students from the other houses hot on their heels.
Up at the staff table, Snape scowled. "I'll handle this."
He swept from the Great Hall like a bat in flight.
Professor McGonagall turned to Dumbledore. "Shouldn't we join him?"
Dumbledore popped the last bite of treacle tart into his mouth, savoring the sweet tang. Far superior to those wretched Cockroach Clusters, he mused. He was half-tempted to summon another round.
"No need," he replied calmly. "Snape can manage. Though if you're curious, by all means go. Erwin's shaping up to be Slytherin's next true prefect."
The other professors filed out, drawn by the spectacle. Hogwarts was magical in every sense, but the routine could grow stale. A good duel spiced things up.
Once alone, a spark lit in Dumbledore's eyes. Perfect.
He snapped his fingers, and a house-elf appeared with a fresh plate of treacle tart, steaming hot. Dumbledore tucked in with gusto, his appetite as hearty as ever.
By the Black Lake's shore, a throng of students had gathered. The professors' presence kept things orderly, claiming the prime vantage points while leaving the center clear.
Erwin and Miles faced off amid the circle, wands at the ready.
Miles's grip tightened on his wand, palms slick with sweat, face pale with nerves.
Erwin, by contrast, lounged with post-meal ease. He twirled his wand idly between his middle and ring fingers—a pose straight out of dark legends—looking utterly at ease.
Miles swallowed. "Erwin, I know my limits. You're probably better than me. But I need to see just how far the gap is."
Erwin's smile widened. "You're too humble, Senior. As a pure-blood, you've got the edge in experience. Show me what you've got."
Miles blinked. "You know my background?"
"Of course. You're quite the name around here."
Precisely, Miles hailed from the Burke family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood lines. His mother was Muggle-born, though, making him a half-blood by blood status. The Burkes had fallen on hard times, with her as their sole heir, and their old prejudices had crumbled under necessity. No one batted an eye at outsiders anymore. They were barely clinging to pure-blood status anyway.
Miles, not taking the Burke name through his father, simply nodded. He bowed to Erwin, who returned the gesture. They paced back to their marks.
Cassius raised his hand. "Begin!"
Erwin struck first. "Expelliarmus!"
Miles countered swiftly. "Expelliarmus!"
His spell outpaced from before—faster, more forceful. The red jets collided midair with a crackle.
But Erwin packed more punch. The explosion shoved the impact closer to Miles.
Erwin didn't pause, firing another Expelliarmus on the rebound.
Miles's eyes widened—he couldn't track it.
"Protego!"
His Shield Charm flickered up, but it was sloppy, too thin to hold. The disarming spell pierced through.
Miles flew backward, wand sailing into the grass as he hit the ground hard.