Erwin had zero interest in playing babysitter. But if the job came with perks, he could stomach it. Most crucially, the so-called Boy Who Lived could serve as excellent cover—if handled right. Asking anything of Harry meant pulling in Dumbledore as backup, at minimum. Involving the boy was like involving the Headmaster himself.
From that angle, the kid didn't seem half bad. Erwin snapped his fingers thoughtfully. A useful tool, really.
That realization made him second-guess his earlier stance. Maybe he should've agreed to Dumbledore's offer outright. Would the old man dare grant him permission for Apparition within Hogwarts? It sounded like a simple magical allowance, but it wasn't. Only past Headmasters and the four Heads of House could Apparate on school grounds. Aside from them, even the most senior wizards lacked that privilege.
Bestowing such authority meant Hogwarts trusted him completely—no wards against him. Erwin regretted pushing back; his demands had been a touch ambitious. Dumbledore couldn't possibly trust him that much. What if this scared off his handy scapegoat shield?
He was already brainstorming excuses to reel Harry back in when a familiar restraint in his body snapped. Erwin froze. What was that?
He snapped his fingers again. His form twisted into a vortex, and the next instant, he rematerialized in his bedroom. Stunned, he blinked. Bloody hell! Dumbledore had actually done it?
Trust? No, that didn't add up. The Headmaster trusted only one person fully: Professor McGonagall. Even then, Erwin doubted it was absolute. Men like Dumbledore—and himself—trusted no one but their own judgment.
A sly smile tugged at Erwin's lips. Clearly, he'd misread the game from the start. No matter. Apparition at Hogwarts was a win. Now he could slip off campus whenever he liked. Being cooped up here was dull.
More than that, he itched to check on Diagon Alley. Leaving it all to Tom felt off, even with Hagrid's supplier role and the influx of magical creature materials—business that might ruffle pure-blood feathers. Erwin had sent Tom with reinforcements and a few Muggle firearms for good measure, but this was his first real venture in the wizarding world. Unease lingered.
He couldn't act rashly, though. Better wait until Dumbledore was away. What if the Headmaster—or Voldemort—revoked the privilege?
Glancing at the clock, Erwin saw it was early enough for a nap. Nothing pressing, anyway.
As Erwin dozed, Harry Potter made his way to the Headmaster's office. Before he could knock, the door creaked open on its own.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk in a comically oversized hat, peering over his half-moon spectacles with a warm smile. "Harry! Come in, come in."
Harry stepped inside, glancing around the cluttered room with its whirring silver instruments and dozing portraits. Dumbledore waved casually. "Take a seat, my boy. I'll just finish this up."
Harry nodded and settled into a chair, fidgeting slightly. From a nearby portrait, Headmaster Phineas Black eyed him with pity, shaking his head. Pathetic compared to Erwin. Was this the vaunted savior? Dumbledore must've been duped. And poor Voldemort—tricked into pinning hopes on the boy after meeting a true Slytherin standout like Erwin.
Dumbledore scribbled for what felt like ages before setting down his quill. "So, Harry, how are you finding Hogwarts?"
Harry, lost in his thoughts, jolted upright. "Er—fine, Professor! Never better!"
Dumbledore chuckled, gesturing him to relax. "No need to stand in ceremony. I just fancied a chat. Old age makes one chatty. Sherbet lemon?"
Harry accepted gratefully. "Thanks, sir."
The Headmaster's eyes twinkled. Harry was far more endearing than Erwin—no complaints about sweets, at least. It warmed the old wizard's heart to share.
As Harry popped the candy in, Dumbledore leaned forward. "Feeling steadier now?"
Harry nodded, the sugar calming his nerves.
"Tell me," Dumbledore continued gently, "what do you make of Erwin?"
Harry hesitated, surprised by the shift. "He's... brilliant, sir. Everyone says so—professors, students, even the older years. He answers every question in class like it's nothing. Nothing stumps him."
Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Indeed, he's exceptionally gifted. Even I haven't seen his equal among first-years—perhaps among any students."
Harry scratched his head, a knot forming in his stomach. So that's why he'd been summoned? To rub in the gap between them? He already knew it all too well.
His shoulders slumped. Dumbledore's gaze sharpened behind his spectacles. "Something troubling you, Harry?"
The boy shook his head, staring at his shoes.
"It's quite all right," Dumbledore said kindly. "At your age, doubts are as common as Bertie Bott's beans. No shame in it."
Harry wavered, then blurted, "I feel like I've disappointed everyone. They call me the savior, but I don't see what makes me special. Not compared to Erwin. He's better at everything—maybe he's the real one, and I'm just... pretending."