Erwin cursed under his breath.
Are you an idiot? Huh? You've slapped me in the face twice now! Did you have to dangle this ridiculous reward right here, right now? You did it on purpose, didn't you? You complete fool!
[The host has lost composure! The host may choose not to claim the reward, and the System may revoke the title!]
"Heh? Equip the title—immediately!"
[Title successfully equipped!]
*Mmm, it smells delicious!*
Erwin turned slowly, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
Charlotte, leading the group, felt a chill run down her spine. She quickly bowed her head, avoiding his gaze. Erwin's presence felt even more commanding now, an unspoken authority that demanded respect.
The other Slytherins followed suit, their heads lowered in deference.
Erwin nodded, pleased. *That's more like it.*
He scanned the crowd. First- through fifth-year students filled the ranks—loyal now, after his displays of strength. The sixth- and seventh-years lingered on the fringes, unsubdued for the moment. Erwin hadn't challenged them yet.
To him, it felt like a game: climb the ladder, topple each boss in turn, and watch their followers switch sides. But it wasn't just brute force; they'd recognized his true power, his right to lead.
In that instant, Erwin grasped why Slytherin embraced these brutal prefect challenges. Prove your dominance through sheer strength, and the throne was yours. The law of the jungle ruled here—the strong claimed everything. He couldn't help but admire it.
"Let's go," Erwin said.
The Slytherins parted like a sea, forming a path. He strode through the center, Charlotte and the former secret leaders trailing behind. The rest of the house fell in step, a unified front.
Onlookers from other houses scrambled aside, unwilling to block the procession. Slytherin's cohesion burned brighter than ever.
The older Slytherins exchanged uneasy glances, a flicker of recognition stirring within them—like seeing their own potential futures in the march.
The Gryffindors, who'd been trading blows with the Slytherins moments before, scattered like startled birds. None dared stand in their way, half-convinced the group might trample them flat.
From the shadows, Snape watched Erwin lead the charge, his dark eyes distant.
A voice cut through the gloom behind him. "Truly remarkable! I've never seen Slytherin rally like this."
Snape didn't turn. He knew that measured tone all too well. A sneer curled his lip. "What, Headmaster Dumbledore? Slipping into your delusions again? Don't forget—he's a Cavendish."
Dumbledore's voice remained calm. "I know, Severus. You needn't be so guarded. I harbor no ill will toward the boy. I'll protect him—it's the least we owe his family."
Snape's laugh was bitter. "Really? You swore the same to Lily. And look what happened—she's dead. Because you trusted the wrong people. That's what killed her."
Dumbledore faltered. "I'm sorry, Severus. I never intended— I couldn't have foreseen—"
"Enough!" Snape snapped, cutting him off. "Spare me your excuses. You said the same about the Cavendishes' parents. We both know the horrors he's up against—far worse than Voldemort. I warned you not to let them leave Hogwarts. But you promised protection, insisted nothing would go wrong. They trusted you, just like Lily. And you let them down."
Dumbledore fell silent, the weight of the words hanging heavy.
Snape's voice turned to ice. "Now you circle their son like a vulture? I won't let you manipulate him, Dumbledore. It's my debt to them. Even if it's you, cross that line and I'll draw my wand without hesitation. Don't test my resolve."
"I haven't, Severus," Dumbledore replied softly. "Not once."
Snape scoffed. "Is that right? Then explain why you interrupted me that day, spilling the truth to Erwin yourself. Were you so eager for him to despise you? Or just covering your tracks? You can't deceive me, old man."
Dumbledore sighed. "I know you don't trust me. But time will prove it."
With a snap of his fingers, he vanished.
Snape stared at the empty space, his expression dripping with disdain. Trust Dumbledore? When it came to Erwin, never. The man had too much blood on his hands.
He flicked his robes and glided away.
Before entering the castle, Erwin caught the exchange from the corner of his eye—Snape and Dumbledore, locked in heated whispers. A spark ignited in his gaze.
Things are more tangled than I thought. His probe of Dumbledore had backfired.
Erwin wasn't impulsive; he'd built the Cavendish legacy through calculated risks, not blind leaps. He knew the Headmaster's dual nature all too well from the books. On one hand, a heroic figure who'd toppled Voldemort, sacrificed everything for the wizarding world's peace. Inspiring, really—enough to bring a tear to the eye.
But Dumbledore was cunning, a master manipulator who'd mentored dark wizards like Voldemort and bested Grindelwald himself. He had a nose for threats to the light, especially from Slytherin, the house that birthed so many shadows.
Someone like Erwin—pushing boundaries farther than Tom Riddle ever had—would set off every alarm. That's why he'd stirred the pot, escalating the prefect challenges to probe the old man's limits.
Yet Dumbledore hadn't intervened, hadn't even approached. No warnings, no summons. It baffled him.
Does he truly not fear I'll become the next Dark Lord? Or is there a deeper game afoot?
Erwin had given himself a full year to conquer Slytherin's hierarchy. Instead, he'd stormed to sixth year in days, just to gauge the Headmaster's reaction. So far, silence. Whatever came next, he'd be ready.
...
Another 5 chapters down! We are moving at lightning speed, but we aren't at the top yet.
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—MrGrim