Erwin clapped Harry on the shoulder as he rose. "No, Harry, this isn't about you at all. If anything, I owe you thanks. You stood up for me, right? So don't beat yourself up. I taught Malfoy and the others not to lash out at innocents, and I'll extend the same courtesy to you. Choosing friends is your call—we're all mates here. We won't meddle with your other chums. Real friends just want what's best for you. Got it?"
Harry eyed him skeptically. "Really?"
Erwin shrugged. "Of course. Though if I'm honest, one thing did disappoint me: you shouldn't have scrapped with your friends. Fists aren't the wizarding way. Talk it out, resolve the row—don't chuck spells or worse. Learn that lesson, Harry. Now, let's grab some grub."
With that, Erwin strode from the classroom.
Harry stared after him, mind flickering between Ron and Erwin. The contrast hit harder than ever.
"Prefect," Harry called, "Ron's not my friend!"
Erwin's mouth twitched in a hidden grin, but he kept walking toward the door.
The words lifted a boulder from Harry's chest. No more squeezed between absurd loyalties.
Malfoy sidled up. "You backed Prefect Erwin—fair play. I'm Draco Malfoy." He thrust out his hand, cheeks tinting pink.
Harry glanced at it, then at Malfoy's earnest face. A grin broke across his own. He clasped the hand firmly. "Draco. Harry Potter."
Sunlight spilled through the window, gilding their grip.
Erwin caught the exchange from the corner of his eye. His pulse quickened with delight. What a stroke of luck. Ron truly was a catalyst—no wonder the original trio clicked. The brains, the bloodlines, and Ron as the spark. More mascot than mastermind.
The knot Erwin had dreaded untying? Sorted in a single morning. Slytherin's redeemer was taking root. As the old saying went, no plot outshines providence.
He wondered when Dumbledore would return. The Headmaster's shock would be priceless.
But one spark remained. The climax of this little drama.
Timing felt ripe. Just waiting on the extras.
In the Great Hall, Erwin scanned the tables. No Professor McGonagall at the staff dais or Gryffindor bench. Ron was absent too. The Weasleys—and the twins—wore strained expressions.
After the meal, Erwin headed to the dungeons. Professor McGonagall intercepted him in the corridor, clearly lying in wait.
"Professor," he greeted with a nod.
"Erwin. Eaten? My office, if you please."
A sly glint lit his eyes. The players had arrived.
A shadow detached from the wall: Professor Snape. "I'm coming along."
No room for debate in his clipped tone. He swept ahead.
Erwin glanced at McGonagall. She sighed. "Very well. As Slytherin prefect, Snape's input matters."
Erwin said nothing, falling in step. Snape's support was a shield—unneeded against the Weasleys, who were mostly harmless save Ron. But the gesture warmed him.
The real act was underway.
Unseen, owls had lifted from the Slytherin table post-dinner, winging messages across the wizarding world. Two more fluttered from Diagon Alley.
Tom watched them vanish, then shuttered the shop. He slipped into Knockturn Alley.
...
Outside McGonagall's office, Erwin spotted Ron lurking by the door. Resentment flared in the boy's eyes, raw and devouring.
Erwin's smile sharpened. He hung back as the professors entered, then leaned close. "So, Ron—expel you for snapping your wand, or let you linger under Hogwarts' scorn? Too soft to boot you out? Nah, stay and stew in the stares. Picture it: everyone loathes you. No dorm-mate, no desk partner, no mates at all. Professors turning away in disgust. Tut-tut, sounds like a riot."
Ron's eyes bulged. The vision slammed home. He'd overlooked it—assumed dropout was the fix. Now, staying seemed the true nightmare.
"You... you won't win!" Ron stammered. "I'll quit. I'll scarper from Hogwarts!"
Erwin shrugged. "Not on my watch. This is just the opener, Ron. I'll chain you here. Big plans, and you're the star. Can't shine without you."
"No!" Ron bellowed. "You slimy Slytherin! Dark wizard! Filthy Mudblood!"
There it was—the slip.
Erwin's face crumpled into feigned sorrow, eyes glistening.
The office door flew open. Snape stormed out, murder in his aura, flanked by McGonagall.
...
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