Dumbledore's voice carried a note of reluctance. "I wouldn't have come if it weren't for the Solent family's attack on Hogwarts. There needs to be an explanation."
Erwin—still hovering in astral form—watched as Soren Solent echoed the sentiment. "Attacked Hogwarts?"
Soren turned sharply to the man in black robes. "Did you do it?"
The man trembled visibly. "M-Master, I'm sorry! I just—"
But before he could finish, Soren's face hardened. "I only want to know: did you?"
"Yes," the man stammered, "but I did it to—"
Soren snapped his fingers. In an instant, the man's body erupted in flames, courtesy of the Hungarian Horntail's fiery breath. He crumbled to ash, gone without a trace.
Erwin stared, stunned. Bloody hell—what was that? Was this even magic? It looked more like a curse from the darkest corners of legend. For a moment, he wondered if he'd been transported to some twisted alternate world. This wasn't the Hogwarts he knew.
Soren turned to Dumbledore. "Satisfied, Professor? My subordinate was a fool. I've always dreamed of studying at Hogwarts—it's my one great regret that I never did."
Dumbledore's expression cooled. "You won't set foot there again."
Soren nodded. "As you say."
With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore extinguished the lingering flames. Soren's gaze shifted. "And you, Mr. Erwin? Care to show yourself?"
Both men turned toward Erwin's astral projection. He hesitated, mind racing. How to descend dramatically—and quickly?
As if on cue, the ground rushed up beneath him. Suddenly, he materialized beside Dumbledore, solid and disoriented.
Soren eyed him with predatory interest. "Fascinating. You can astral project already?"
Erwin studied the man in return. Greed burned in Soren's eyes, like a wolf spotting prey. "Pleased to meet you, Lord Solent," Erwin said evenly.
Soren chuckled. "The pleasure's mine, though we've met before—you were just an infant then. I suppose you'd have no memory of it."
"Old acquaintances, then. Bold move, attacking Hogwarts. Not many would dare."
Soren waved it off. "A rogue subordinate's folly. With Dumbledore here, the castle's no easy target."
"True enough. The professor's formidable. But so are you, Mr. Soren—slipping someone inside to take a shot at me? That's no small feat."
Soren's smile was thin. "Pity I missed."
"Indeed—just a hair's breadth short."
Soren inclined his head. "No matter. Your time will come. Savor what's left, Erwin. Your life is my gift; I could have ended you alongside your parents all those years ago. But I waited, hoping you'd grow into something useful. You won't disappoint, will you?"
Erwin met his gaze steadily. "Never. I wouldn't dream of wasting anyone's generosity. Though I wonder if you'll regret sparing me when the time comes."
Soren laughed softly. "Regret? I've never known the word. And you're not the sort to inspire it. Remember my name, boy. When Death claims you, you'll know who sent you to it."
"I'll engrave it in stone," Erwin replied. "Looking forward to it."
Soren glanced at Dumbledore. "Until next time, Professor. The Solent family always welcomes a visit from you."
Dumbledore nodded curtly. With a powerful beat of its wings, the dragon launched into the night sky, vanishing into the darkness.
Killing intent flickered in Erwin's eyes, but Dumbledore placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Don't dwell on it, Erwin. You're no match for him yet."
"Who is he, exactly?" Erwin demanded.
"One of the Ancient Wizarding Houses—the Solents. Snape will brief you on the details once you're a Slytherin prefect. For now, wake up. You'll miss your morning study session."
Dumbledore tapped Erwin's forehead gently. The world blurred, and Erwin bolted upright in his four-poster bed, heart pounding. He rubbed his brow; the cool press of Dumbledore's finger still lingered, unnervingly real.
Solent. One of the Ancient Wizarding Houses? And this astral projection—what was it? Had his astral form slipped free of his body? It didn't feel like a System ability. Soul wandering? He'd never heard of such a thing in the wizarding world. Yet Dumbledore's gravity upon Soren's arrival had been palpable—a rare glimpse of the old wizard on edge.
The wizarding world suddenly felt far more treacherous than Erwin had imagined. Were these shadowy powerhouses multiplying? Worse, one had him squarely in his sights. That was the real thorn.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. "Prefect? Are you awake?"
Erwin opened the door to find Charlotte Teresa waiting, concern etching her features.
"You look pale, Prefect. Rough night?"
He shook his head. "Just a restless sleep. Nothing to worry about."
She nodded without pressing. "Right. I'll rouse the others—study session starts soon."
As she hurried off, Erwin splashed water on his face. Steam fogged the mirror; with a finger, he traced a quick rune in the mist. A lotus flower emblem bloomed on the glass.
He slipped off his enchanted ring, comparing the Cavendish House Crest etched there to the misty image. Identical—down to the petal curves and stem flourishes. No doubt about it.
This was the mark he'd spotted on Soren Solent. His own was purple, Soren's a deep blue. Erwin had no clue what the color difference signified, but it tied back to Dumbledore's mention of the Ancient Wizarding Houses.
Was the Cavendish line one of them? And what power did these houses wield?
Erwin wiped the mirror clean with a swipe of his hand and sighed. No answers yet. Snape had promised details after the prefect appointment. He'd wait—for now.
...
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