Just then, a figure emerged from the spectator corridor. It was Erwin, trailed by a throng of Slytherins.
The young witches and wizards in the stands shot to their feet. Even Erwin jolted in surprise. What was this? Why were they all standing for these lot?
Several professors exchanged startled glances. The Heads of the Houses eyed their students with curiosity. Truth be told, the students themselves had no idea why they'd risen—instinct took over at the sight of the Slytherins marching in orderly ranks.
Erwin climbed to the stands and picked a spot. With a casual wave, the group formed two neat lines around him, shoving a few sixth- and seventh-years to the rear.
The displaced students traded looks. A sixth-year muttered, "When's Erwin challenging Cassius? I can't wait to see it."
The others nodded eagerly. Cassius Selwyn, Slytherin's sixth-year prefect, scowled. Fine, he couldn't match Erwin—but did they have to discuss it right in front of him, like he wasn't there?
Seventh-years managed wry smiles. Who'd have thought they'd get a new leader just before graduation? Gemma hadn't shown her full hand yet, so they weren't sure if she could stand against Erwin.
Once seated, Marcus Flint and the rest of Slytherin's Quidditch team twisted around, offering slight bows.
"Prefect!" they called.
Erwin rose. "Go on, lads—for Slytherin's glory! You're the real warriors!"
An intangible surge of energy coursed through the players. They had to uphold Slytherin's honor. "For Slytherin!" they roared.
The Slytherins in the stands caught the fervor. "For Slytherin!"
Students from the other houses gaped. Was this how you fueled a Quidditch match? They were all Hogwarts pupils—how did Slytherins know all these off-book tricks?
Ron Weasley couldn't stomach Erwin stealing the spotlight. He bellowed, "For Gryffindor!"
No one so much as glanced his way. Even the Gryffindors shot him pitying looks, like he'd lost his marbles.
Ron's face burned crimson. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's captain, furrowed his brow. They matched Slytherin in skill, but this morale boost had their side deflated before the whistle. What chance did they have now?
The professors turned to the Slytherins, eyes widening in reluctant admiration. Even the stern Professor Snape—a flicker of pride crossed his face before he masked it.
Erwin settled back. Keeping up appearances was draining.
Madam Hooch strode to the pitch's center. With a sharp gesture, both teams mounted and soared skyward. She nudged the box at her feet.
Commentator Lee Jordan's voice boomed. "Both teams ready! Here we go—the match begins!"
Madam Hooch scanned the players. "Play fair and fierce, both sides!"
She kicked the box. Lee Jordan yelled, "Balls away! And there's the Golden Snitch!"
Harry Potter locked eyes on the tiny gold blur fluttering toward him. It zipped off, wings a frantic hum.
Madam Hooch lobbed the Quaffle high. "Game on!"
The teams dove into action. As in the tales Erwin recalled, Angelina Johnson snagged the first Quaffle for Gryffindor, slotting ten points through the hoop.
Erwin folded his arms, unimpressed. Quidditch held no thrill for him. What was the appeal in this chaos?
His real curiosity lay elsewhere. Without Hermione's interference, would Harry meet his end amid the Quirrell-Snape scuffle? No—Dumbledore was watching. The boy was safe.
Still, Erwin wondered: would anything else intriguing unfold?
The match heated up, players darting like arrows past the stands. Erwin grimaced inwardly. Barbaric, the lot of it. Perched so high, one stray Bludger could topple the supports. Everyone would plummet. Utterly reckless—small wonder wizards were a rare breed, forever courting disaster.
Marcus's first two shots bounced off Wood's guard. Gryffindor led 20-0. Slytherins shifted uneasily.
Erwin sighed. Unless something drastic shifted, Marcus would improvise. If you couldn't beat the obstacle, remove it.
Wood's saves were ironclad. So target the keeper himself—rules be damned, it was fair game.
Erwin had to admire the cunning. The boy thought on his feet.
Sure enough, Marcus next rammed straight into Wood. The keeper crumpled mid-air, tumbling off his broom.
Slytherin capitalized, knotting the score at 20-20.
A smirk tugged Erwin's lips. Now the real show began.
His eyes flicked to Harry, who spotted the Snitch and rocketed after it on the Nimbus McGonagall had gifted him.
But the broom bucked wildly, jerking like a thing possessed.
Erwin scanned the faculty box. There—Snape and Quirrell, murmuring incantations.
No Hermione to set Snape's robes ablaze this time. What now for Harry?
Erwin glanced at Dumbledore. The headmaster's gaze sharpened toward Quirrell, then met Erwin's. A knowing smile curved his lips.
Erwin looked away. As expected—Dumbledore was onto it. Hogwarts was his domain; Quirrell's oddities wouldn't slip past. The man had hired him, after all. Duty to his pupils demanded vigilance.