Aragog hissed urgently, "Removing all the venom from the sac would kill me! You can't do that!"
Erwin smiled, his expression bright amid the gloom of the Forbidden Forest.
"But what does your death have to do with me? Still, you've been cooperative today, so I won't push too hard. Just fill these aluminum barrels, and we'll call it even. I'm a generous sort, after all."
Aragog exhaled in relief, pushing aside the fresh loss of another child to Erwin's wand. It could always breed more.
Soon, waves of Acromantulas took turns squeezing out their venom. The barrels filled steadily. Fresh Acromantula venom was a rare commodity, worth a fortune on the black market.
Aragog rasped, "Now you can leave."
His voice carried a faint weakness; producing that much venom took its toll.
Erwin tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Leave? But you haven't filled these buckets yet!"
Aragog hesitated. "We have. They're full."
Erwin waved his hand, vanishing the barrels into his enchanted pouch. "Oh, my mistake—I wasn't clear. I've got more here!"
Another flick, and twice as many barrels materialized on the damp ground.
Aragog's eyes gleamed with fury. "You—"
Erwin's smile vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "Me? What's the problem?"
Aragog swallowed his rage. "Nothing. Is this the last batch?"
Erwin nodded cheerfully. "Of course! I keep my word—everyone knows that."
Aragog fell silent, seething.
Half an hour later, Erwin stored the final barrels with a satisfied grin. The Acromantulas sprawled exhausted, barely stirring.
"Excellent! Thanks for your generosity, Aragog. I'll be back next week—eat up and stay healthy in the meantime!"
Erwin turned and strode away. Aragog glared after him, hatred burning in his multifaceted eyes. But he was powerless against the boy. He had to relocate his colony—now.
Whistling a jaunty tune, Erwin exited the Acromantula lair. Today's haul was a goldmine. That venom could fetch Galleons aplenty, maybe even drive up prices across the wizarding world. He pondered expanding his operations.
Unbeknownst to him, a shadowy figure emerged from the underbrush moments after he left. Aragog recoiled, then froze in alarm.
"Snape!"
The Potions Master ignored him, crouching to examine the spent cartridge casings Erwin had left behind. With a flick of his wand, they vanished without a trace.
Snape's gaze followed Erwin's path, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. He sighed softly, then rounded on Aragog.
"Keep your mandibles shut. Know what to say and what to bury. Otherwise, I'll eradicate your entire nest myself. Understood?"
Aragog nodded frantically.
Snape dissolved into black mist and Apparated away.
Aragog nearly whimpered. What had his colony done to earn such torment? Even if Dumbledore himself intervened, relocation was inevitable.
Meanwhile, oblivious to the encounter, Erwin mulled over his telecommunications venture. Cavendish Communications could revolutionize everything—owls might finally retire. He did miss owl stew, though; it had a certain savory charm. If this panned out, he could indulge more often.
But the real prize was the monopoly. For the Cavendish family to thrive in wizarding society, they needed a cornerstone business. This could secure their legacy.
Back in his dormitory, Erwin retrieved the pet egg and dripped Acromantula blood onto it. The progress bar ticked up another 5%. Solid gains.
He'd already enlisted Hagrid to gather more magical creature blood from the Forbidden Forest's bounty. The egg's full potential intrigued him endlessly.
Exhausted from the night's exploits, Erwin changed his sheets and collapsed into bed, sleep claiming him swiftly.
In his office, Snape deposited the vanished casings into a locked drawer and slumped into his chair. Staring at the ceiling, his mind replayed Erwin's wild grin in the forest.
"Is that your true face?" he murmured, eyes drifting shut. He dozed off right there.
Friday brought cheer to Hogwarts' young witches and wizards—weekend freedom loomed, capped by Saturday's first Quidditch match of the term.
For Erwin, it was just another day, albeit a hectic one. He juggled his Transfiguration essay, due before dinner, while maintaining top marks in classes. No one worked harder at the school.
As Professor Binns droned through History of Magic, Erwin scratched out the final lines of his paper. Multitasking drained him, but his focus held. Binns, the spectral professor, didn't mind the off-topic scribbling—unlike Snape, whom Erwin wouldn't dare test.
Before the evening meal, Erwin knocked on Professor McGonagall's door and handed over the essay.
She scanned it, nodding approvingly. "Well done, but some sections lack depth, and the arguments need tightening. No matter—I'll refine it for you."
"Thank you, Professor! I'd be lost without your guidance."
McGonagall's stern features softened slightly; flattery from a star pupil warmed even her Gryffindor heart.
"Off to dinner, then. Friday feasts are always extravagant—plenty to your liking."
"Yes, Professor."
Erwin left with a smug inner smile. The essay's imperfections? Deliberate bait, ensuring her revisions and a co-authored credit. The wizarding world wasn't all duels and potions; it thrived on alliances and subtle favors. Even McGonagall, pillar of integrity, appreciated a nod to her expertise—like dragons hoarding gems, wizards guarded their reputations.
...
Massive thank you to my Readers!
I'm so grateful for all the love you've shown this story. We've climbed all the way to #105, and the Top 100 is finally in our sights.
If you can help with a little extra push right now, I'm ready to deliver on my promise of 15 chapters/day the moment we cross that line. Let's get to the top together!
— MrGrim