Erwin turned to face Malfoy and the other Slytherins. "You've really outdone yourselves this time. Fighting? With your fists? Blimey, I was gobsmacked when Professor McGonagall told me. Hogwarts students resorting to brawling like Muggles!"
The Slytherins hung their heads, silent as the grave.
Erwin fixed his gaze on Malfoy. "Well, Mr. Malfoy? Is this the refined behavior of the Malfoy family? The pride of pure-bloods? Some upbringing you've got there."
Malfoy stared at the floor, tongue-tied.
"Slytherin loses a hundred house points," Erwin declared. "Earn back two hundred before the House Cup ends—however you manage it. Fail, and I'll show you what real fists can do."
Murmurs rippled through the group, but no one dared speak. Deep down, they knew it was a tall order.
Erwin cut them off before excuses could form. "Now go eat. Or do you plan to make even bigger fools of yourselves standing here?"
The Slytherins scrambled to their seats, heads down, shoveling food in awkward silence.
Charlotte sidled up to Erwin, a grin playing on her lips. "You really put the fear of Merlin into those lot."
Erwin snorted. "If they knew real fear, they wouldn't have started trouble in the first place. Utterly embarrassing. Professor Snape looked ready to hex them into next week."
Charlotte stifled a laugh.
Over at the Gryffindor table, Percy watched Erwin command the Slytherins with barely concealed envy. Coming from a modest family, he craved that kind of authority. Sure, he was Gryffindor's prefect, but wrangling his house felt like herding cats. He longed for the day when everyone waited on his word before so much as touching their forks.
Charlotte leaned in. "So, continuing the prefect challenge today? Half the school's buzzing about it."
"Absolutely," Erwin replied. "I promised yesterday, and right now, I'm itching to let off some steam."
She chuckled. "Someone's about to regret crossing you. Proper Slytherin move."
Of course, Charlotte had no clue Erwin's foul mood stemmed not from the house's disgrace, but from the Slytherins excluding him from the scrap. He'd missed all the fun—watching the chaos unfold was half the thrill.
That omission irked him most.
Erwin shot to his feet, eyes locking on Marcus Flint at the far end of the Slytherin table. Flint's face was a storm cloud.
"You," Erwin barked. "Black Lake. Now."
Flint's scowl deepened. He rose slowly. "Think you've won already, Cavendish? Your arrogance will be your downfall."
With that, he stormed out. The fifth-years trailed after him like shadows.
Erwin smirked. All bark, but they'd shown up anyway.
The other students itching for a spectacle surged toward the doors. Soon, the Great Hall emptied by two-thirds.
Malfoy and his cronies wolfed down their meals to catch up.
Erwin stood, smoothing the wrinkles from his robes, and strode out. Charlotte fell in step behind him.
He glanced back, brow furrowed. "Why are you tailing me?"
"I lost the challenge," she said simply. "You're my prefect now. Following you comes with the territory, doesn't it?"
Erwin's suspicion flickered. She didn't strike him as the loyal type—more like someone angling for an angle. Lusting after his looks? Probably. He'd always turned heads; even before arriving at Hogwarts, he'd never met anyone half as striking. Save for vague whispers of some elusive "readers" from his old life, of course. Handsome faces brought complications, including unwanted admirers of either sort.
He shook it off with a sigh. Time to throw punches—or spells, at least. They headed for the Black Lake, where the prime viewing spots were already staked out by eager students.
The crowd parted as Erwin approached. He pushed through to the center, where Marcus and Cassius waited.
Marcus glared daggers, his face a mask of barely contained rage. Draco offered Erwin a sly smile.
Erwin took position to Cassius's right.
"Right," Cassius announced. "The challengers are here. Let's kick off the fifth round of the prefect challenge. Bows, if you please."
Marcus spat, "Not bowing to him. Get on with it."
A dangerous glint sparked in Erwin's eyes. This idiot was begging for it. Thank wizarding laws and Azkaban for keeping things civil—otherwise, a flash of green light would end this farce.
Cassius's brow creased. "Marcus, it's the rules."
Flint ignored him, wand already twitching.
Cassius's expression hardened. Erwin stepped forward. "I've got this, Prefect."
Cassius nodded, leaning in with a whisper. "Make him regret it, Erwin."
"Don't worry," Erwin replied, grinning. "He won't forget this anytime soon."
Cassius stepped aside.
Marcus whipped out his wand. "Cavendish, your arrogance ends here!"
Erwin inclined his head. "Understood. Now bow."
"In your dreams," Marcus snarled.
Erwin sighed. There was always one who tested limits.
His face darkened in an instant. With a fluid twist of his wrist, his wand materialized.
Magic erupted from him in a torrent, surging skyward before slamming toward Marcus like a tidal wave. When Erwin cut loose, his power was a force of nature—raw, overwhelming.
The targeted bursts pinned Marcus in place. His face drained of color.
"Bow," Erwin commanded, voice like ice.