Erwin cast the spell, but unease gnawed at him. He wasn't taking chances. With a flick of his wand, he murmured Protego, the Shield Charm shimmering into place around him like an invisible barrier. A moment later, a burst of light materialized his prized Minigun on the stone floor with a heavy thud.
He dove behind the conjured shield, gripping the triggers with both hands. No hesitation—he squeezed.
Erwin didn't wait to see if the grenade had finished the job. Caution demanded a thorough sweep. Bullets erupted in a relentless stream, tearing down the corridor.
Hogwarts, this millennia-old fortress of magic, had never faced such an assault. Firearms raining death on its ancient halls? Unthinkable. Empty casings pinged across the floor like metallic hail, each one echoing sharply.
A crimson haze crept into Erwin's vision, his lips curling into a feral grin. His silver-white hair whipped wildly, as if caught in an unseen gale. Adrenaline surged; he was lost in the thrill.
Outside, the four professors battling the black-robed intruders froze at the unfamiliar roar. Professor McGonagall's eyes widened. "What in Merlin's name is that? Explosions—inside the castle?!"
Only Snape's face drained of color. He blasted the nearest assailant back with a flurry of spells. "Deal with this one," he snarled to the others. "I have to check inside."
Without waiting for a reply, he hurtled toward the entrance, his form dissolving into a swirling black mist—a rare sight, one that marked Death Eaters in shadowed lore. McGonagall's brow furrowed as she watched him vanish. What could rattle Snape like that?
Erwin, she realized with a chill. It had to be. She knew little of the boy himself, but the Cavendish name carried weight. Snape's close ties to Erwin's father were no secret. Between Harry Potter and Erwin, only the latter could stir such chaos now.
Anxiety gripped her. Her wand slashed faster, slamming against the scattered rubble. Stone and debris shuddered, reassembling into a towering golem before her eyes—a colossal stone guardian that lumbered forward with earth-shaking steps.
Flitwick and Sprout shared a knowing glance. "Minerva's not holding back," Flitwick said, his voice tight with admiration.
Sprout nodded grimly. "Let's end this quickly, then."
They unleashed havoc. Spells streaked from their wands like fireworks—Flitwick's the most dazzling. He cast wandlessly and silently, sometimes layering two charms in a single flourish. The black-robed figures staggered, overwhelmed. They'd underestimated the fury of senior professors; these weren't mere teachers but guardians of the castle's heart.
Deep in the corridor, Erwin's frenzy peaked. The floor was carpeted in spent casings, the passage ahead a wreckage of splintered stone and swirling dust, as if a tornado had carved through it.
Snape burst in, eyes locking on the boy amid the destruction. Erwin whipped around, crimson gaze gleaming, a manic smile splitting his face. "Professor Snape! Join the fun—it's brilliant!"
Snape's jaw tightened. He yanked a vial from his robes and seized Erwin's chin, forcing the potion past his lips. The bitter liquid hit like a splash of cold water.
The red faded from Erwin's eyes. Soreness crashed in, his arms throbbing from the recoil. "Ouch!" he winced, shaking them out.
Snape's voice was low, edged with accusation. "How many Muggles have you killed to build that tolerance? Breaking a potion's hold so fast—impressive, but reckless."
Erwin stayed silent. How many? He couldn't count. Survival in London's underworld had demanded blood. The Renton gang hadn't fallen to clever schemes alone; he'd been a child facing killers. Ruthlessness had earned respect, fear.
His first brush with death came at eight—an assassination that claimed his two guards and nearly him. Rivers had pulled him through, but Erwin had struck back, wiping out the attackers' entire family, down to the toddlers. Faces blurred after that; only the necessity lingered.
Snape exhaled sharply. "Never mind. I won't pry—and you'd best not dwell on it."
His eyes scanned the settling dust. Amid the debris lay what might have been a body—or scraps of one. Bullets had reduced it to unrecognizable pulp.
Snape flicked his wand. Flames erupted from the tip, reducing the remains to ash in seconds. Another wave: "Reparo!"
The corridor mended itself. Shattered stone knit together, holes sealed, casings vanished. In moments, it gleamed pristine, as if nothing had happened.
"Don't breathe a word of this to anyone," Snape warned. "No matter who asks. And never admit you killed him. Clear?"
Erwin nodded. "Understood, Professor. But he claimed he murdered my parents. Was that true?"
Snape hesitated. "What else did he say?"
"That he has no magic— that's how he slipped past Dumbledore's wards. Same way he got to my parents."
A dark aura flickered around Snape, his fists clenching. "So that's their trick. All our precautions... wasted. Damn them."
"Professor," Erwin pressed, "who are they? Why target me? What do they want?"
Snape's gaze hardened. "Too soon for that. You're not ready. Defeat the Slytherin prefect, prove yourself, and maybe I'll share a piece. For now, head to the Great Hall. And remember—silence."
Erwin turned away, the weight of secrets pressing down as he slipped into the shadows.