Upstairs, George paused outside the Gryffindor dormitory door. "This is it. You're on your own from here—I'm off to bed. Bloody morning classes! Erwin, I'm dying to know how you dreamed up something so ruthless. The Gryffindors look ready to hex you into next week."
Erwin grinned. "They'll thank me when their marks soar."
George shrugged. "If you say so. You can find your way back, right?"
"Of course."
George vanished down the corridor, and Erwin rapped on the door. The sound echoed sharply in the silent hallway.
"Who is it?" came a voice from inside.
"Harry Potter? It's Erwin. Mind stepping out for a chat?"
Silence fell, thick and uneasy. Then hurried footsteps approached.
Harry emerged barefoot, eyes wide. "Mr. Cavendish, what brings you here?"
Erwin kept his tone light. "Just checking if you'd like to join our Slytherin study sessions. I could tutor you personally."
Harry blinked, momentarily speechless. Erwin glanced past him into the room: five beds, four heads peering out. Neville, the clumsy toad-finder; Seamus, the accidental-explosion enthusiast; Ron, the hot-headed one; and some student Erwin didn't recognize—a nondescript lad, really.
This dorm was a powder keg of potential. Two sharp minds in there already, if honed right.
The others had overheard, of course. Ron shot Erwin a glare, face twisted in resentment. Erwin couldn't fathom why the boy nursed such a grudge—was it the earlier jabs? Or the enchanted murals that had given him a taste of his own chaos? Hardly a crime; Erwin hadn't even charged for the show.
Seamus and Neville, meanwhile, eyed Harry with naked envy. They clearly craved a slice of Erwin's guidance too. The last boy just watched, unremarkable.
Harry, still processing, looked dazed. He'd assumed Dumbledore was dragging his feet on the tutoring arrangement—no word yet. But here was Erwin, in the dead of night.
Ron broke the tension first. "Harry's not going! We've got our own common room for studying. We don't need Slytherin help—or yours. Right, Harry?"
Erwin fixed Ron with a cool stare. "The Weasley family—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Even if you've been shunned by the other pure-blood lines, you could at least show some manners. Interrupting uninvited? That's no way to honor your brothers. They're fine wizards, all of them—don't drag their name through the mud."
Ron's face drained of color, then flushed beet red. He clamped his mouth shut, fuming.
Erwin turned back to Harry. "So, what do you say?"
Without Dumbledore's prior nudge, Ron might have swayed him. But the headmaster's words had sunk in—Harry now carried Gryffindor's pride on his shoulders. He nodded eagerly. "I'd love to! Thanks, Mr. Cavendish!"
Erwin raised an eyebrow. The boy had actually agreed. What had Dumbledore filled his head with? This wasn't the same wide-eyed kid Ron bossed around every night. First Malfoy showing spine, now Harry? The world's gone mad.
"Brilliant. Meet us in the Slytherin common room tomorrow morning, then. Don't be late, Harry."
"I won't, sir!"
Erwin waved him off. "Get some sleep." With that, he turned and strode away.
Back inside, Harry's face lit up with barely contained excitement. A fast track to better marks—and power—unfolding right before him. He slipped into the dormitory, buzzing.
Neville grinned. "Lucky you, Harry. Personal lessons from Mr. Erwin!"
Seamus nodded vigorously. "He's brilliant. Your grades'll shoot up in no time."
Harry's smile widened. "I reckon so. I'll make the most of it."
Ron yanked his covers over his head, shooting Harry a betrayed glare from the shadows. How could he ditch them like this?
Oblivious in his thrill, Harry chattered on. Ron's anger simmered hotter. "What's the big deal?" he snapped finally. "You've turned your back on Gryffindor—might as well join Slytherin!"
He burrowed deeper, stewing in silence.
Harry froze, glancing at his friends. "Ron, it's not like that. I just want to get better. Mr. Cavendish is top-notch; I could learn loads from him. Aren't you happy for me?"
Ron's muffled voice shot back. "As if no one else is brilliant? Slytherins are all slimy dark wizards, Harry—you know it! Forgotten who you are? Gryffindor. The Boy Who Lived. You're meant to fight the darkness, not cozy up to it!"
"But he's not a dark wizard," Harry protested, puzzled.
Ron fell quiet, defeated for the moment. He huddled under the blankets, refusing to engage.
Harry sighed, exchanging baffled looks with Neville and Seamus. Their friendship, fragile as it was, had cracked wider tonight. The divide had always simmered—house loyalties, expectations—but this pushed it to the surface.
Erwin, oblivious to the drama, wandered from the Gryffindor tower, mind racing. Tutoring Harry and the Slytherins would net points, sure. But for maximum efficiency, he needed a real workhorse. Someone relentless, insatiable for knowledge.
Hermione Granger. The ultimate student drone. If he could pull her into the fold, points would flow like the Thames.
Why stop at one recruit? He snapped his fingers—time to herd another sheep.
Decision made, Erwin veered toward the Ravenclaw common room.