A surge of passion ignited in the chests of the Slytherins. It spread like wildfire, sweeping through the common room in an instant. Excitement crackled in the air, every young wizard buzzing with unbridled energy.
Erwin surveyed them with quiet satisfaction. How innocent they were—Slytherins or not, this age had a certain wide-eyed charm. They were easily led, their pure hearts eager to chase ideals, no matter how elusive. It was the allure of untapped potential, the spark that could drive a lifetime of ambition. Erwin knew he'd found his calling.
"I'm sure many of you already know," he began, his voice steady. "I raised the idea of morning and evening study sessions with Professor McGonagall. I get it—plenty don't understand, and even more are grumbling. You're thinking I'm stealing your sleep and free time. Fair enough; I don't hold it against you. Not everyone will see my point right away. But I'll shoulder the backlash, because only through relentless effort can we—and Slytherin—grow stronger. One day, Slytherin's glory will light up the entire wizarding world!"
Erwin tilted his head toward the ceiling, eyes glistening with emotion. His face blended exhilaration with the quiet ache of misunderstanding.
The Slytherins' eyes welled up. Their prefect had sacrificed so much, enduring their resentment without complaint. Now it clicked: everything he'd done was for them. For Slytherin.
A single tear traced down Draco Malfoy's cheek—the boy who never hesitated to call on his father for aid.
"Prefect Erwin!" Draco burst out. "I get it now—I'm sorry. I swear on the Malfoy name: I'll work harder, grow stronger. For Slytherin! For you! For everything we've sworn to protect!"
The others chimed in swiftly, pure-blood heirs invoking their family oaths amid the swell of gratitude and fervor.
Erwin nodded, stepping forward to clasp Draco's shoulder. The once-arrogant boy dipped his head in respect—a rare sight.
"I believe in you," Erwin said. "Every one of you is Slytherin's pride. Years from now, I'll look back on this and be honored to have been your prefect. You're the best we've got. With you here, Slytherin's legacy will endure forever!"
Draco felt a rush of strength flood his veins. The others straightened, invigorated. Erwin's brilliance outshone even the strongest Firewhisky, and to hear him claim pride in leading them? It was intoxicating.
"Right," Erwin said, clapping his hands. "Time for class. True Slytherins are never late."
They nodded eagerly, parting to let him pass first.
From the stairwell, two figures watched the scene unfold, catching every word.
Charlotte's lips quirked into a smile. "Fascinating," she murmured. "No wonder you're the successor. A natural leader—I can see why they waited four years for someone like you."
She watched Erwin lead the Slytherins out, then turned to her fourth-year companions. "Come on, let's head to class."
Another observer lurked nearby: Gemma, the seventh-year shadow prefect and Slytherin's official head. A fellow seventh-year stood beside her.
"You're just going to let this slide?" the student asked. "Erwin's got more sway in Slytherin than you do now!"
Gemma chuckled. "What did you expect? He earned it through the prefect challenges, climbing step by step. Anyone who masters those rules has to be him."
"You're awfully calm. Not worried he'll topple you?"
"It's bound to happen," Gemma replied. "His magic's formidable. I hold my own with more spells and quicker reflexes, but once he catches up... he'll crush me."
"Seriously? If you'd had another year as a second-year, you could've claimed the role!"
Gemma shook her head. "Exactly—I'm no second-year prodigy. Erwin's a born unifier. In seven years at Hogwarts, I've never seen Slytherin this tight-knit. We're ambitious, sure, but our pride makes us sloppy, divided. We should dominate the houses, yet we don't because of it. With Erwin? I see our green banners flying alone in the Great Hall come end of term—for years to come."
"So I'll have a new boss before graduation? Fine, but I draw the line at calling a first-year 'prefect' for long."
Gemma grinned. "You might be stuck with it all year. Now, class awaits."
She descended the stairs. Her companion froze, eyes widening as the implication hit.
Wait—Erwin wouldn't challenge Gemma by semester's end? And from Gemma's tone, he couldn't win anyway?
That meant a first-year leading the seventh-years soon?
"No way, Prefect!" he yelped, scrambling after him. "Fight back!"
Meanwhile, Erwin strode toward the Charms classroom, the Slytherins trailing in perfect formation—two neat rows, silent and resolute. They moved like an honor guard, eyes fixed ahead, more pilgrims than pupils.
The other houses gawked as they passed. Had Hogwarts turned military overnight? No one had sent the memo!