Erwin had pushed the sixth-years to their limits lately. The older students from Slytherin felt increasingly isolated, while the first- through fifth-years had banded together in rare unity. Envy simmered among them, but now the sixth-years could finally join the fold.
The seventh-years, on the cusp of graduation, exchanged uneasy glances. They were the last ones left on the outside, a strange melancholy settling over them. What did it feel like to be cast adrift by their own house?
Erwin helped George to his feet. "Thanks for the match, Prefect George."
George waved him off. "The match is over. I'm not Prefect George anymore."
Erwin shook his head. "I haven't got time to oversee every year myself. Since we're all here, if I win the final Prefect Challenge, the current unofficial prefects stay in place. The system continues as is."
He knew better than to shoulder it all alone—it would burn him out eventually. These unofficial prefects, familiar with their own years, were the ideal choice. He'd guide them, and they'd handle the younger students. That was efficient management. Trying to micromanage every first-year himself would leave him drained.
A shadow detached from the wall beside him. Snape.
"The final round of the Prefect Challenge begins in one week," the professor announced. "At the Quidditch pitch."
Erwin frowned. Draco shot his Head of House a puzzled look.
Snape flicked his wand. "The rest of you, clear out. Gemma, Erwin—follow me."
They shared a glance and trailed after him to his office.
"Your duel starts in a week," Snape said curtly. "Dumbledore's orders. It'll draw Slytherin alumni as well as current students. This is house tradition. Erwin, you're the first in years to come this close to claiming the true prefect role. It needs witnesses. The Daily Prophet will cover it too."
Erwin blinked in surprise. Gemma looked equally thrown. Neither had realized the Prefect Challenge carried such weight.
Snape's lip curled. "You think this is child's play? It's bigger than you two—it's Slytherin's legacy across generations. Give it everything. Gemma, no holding back. If you slack off in front of the house, you're doing Erwin no favors."
Gemma nodded gravely. "Understood, Professor. I won't. And honestly, I'm not sure I could beat him anyway."
Snape dismissed him with a nod. "Go."
Once Gemma had gone, Erwin pressed, "Professor, I don't get it. Is the Prefect Challenge really this big a deal?"
"Absolutely," Snape replied. "It's not just Hogwarts—word's spread through the international wizarding world. They may not grasp the full Slytherin significance, but they sense the stakes. Erwin, what does Slytherin truly represent to you?"
"Connections?" Erwin ventured.
Snape's eyes gleamed with approval. "Precisely. Most pure-bloods end up here, exposed early to ambition and influence. Some say it's by design. In a place like this, seizing the prefect badge through merit? That's kingship—the undisputed ruler of Slytherin. The network it builds is formidable. From first year through seven, they're all yours. Imagine that power once you graduate."
Erwin nodded. He knew it all too well—that was why he'd aimed for Slytherin from the start. It was a hotbed of ambition, a forge for alliances and influence. Voldemort had drawn his Death Eaters straight from its ranks, turning it into a shadow army.
Snape continued, "Dumbledore announced this because your rise has stirred interest. Alumni letters flooded in; they want to see if you'll pull it off. So next week, before the whole house and beyond, you'll settle it."
It clicked for Erwin. No wonder his wizarding acclaim had spiked lately. This was the source—a massive boost waiting to happen. The Daily Prophet wouldn't ignore an event this juicy. Acclaim would flood in.
He suppressed a grin. I'm set. Dumbledore's handing me a golden opportunity. With this, my acclaim will soar. Christmas lucky draws are mine. The old man's come through like a true ally.
Snape's voice sharpened. "Prepare properly. Don't underestimate Gemma—she's no pushover."
"Don't worry, Professor," Erwin assured him. "I'll win."
He left the office and nearly bumped into Hagrid lurking in the corridor. The gamekeeper's bulk made him impossible to miss.
"Hagrid?" Erwin asked doubtfully. "Looking for Professor Snape?"
Hagrid flailed his massive hands. "Nah, not Snape. You, Erwin. Need a bit of help, if yeh don't mind. Folks said yeh were in there, so I waited."
"Help from me? What's up?"
Hagrid shuffled his feet. "If it's no trouble, could yeh pop by my hut?"
Erwin agreed readily. "Lead the way."
They trudged to the cozy cabin by the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid shut the door behind them.
"Alright, Hagrid," Erwin prompted. "What's going on?"
Hagrid scratched his beard. "Yeh mentioned last time yeh're keen on magical creatures—done loads of readin' on 'em, yeah? Mind takin' a look at somethin' for me?"