Erwin nodded. "It's almost hatched! Congratulations, Hagrid—you'll have your own little dragon soon. When you get back, check the underside of the eggshell. There should be faint lines there. From what you've described, only one line remains. Once it fades, the egg will crack open. I reckon it won't be more than a week."
Hagrid's face lit up. "Really? Blimey, Erwin, you're a right encyclopedia! I'll dash back and check now, then pop in to tell you. You'd love to see the hatching, wouldn't you?"
Erwin grinned. "Absolutely! Can't wait."
Hagrid lumbered off, grinning from ear to ear.
Giants had simple minds—thick as two short planks, really. Half-giants like Hagrid were a touch sharper, but not by much. His actions in the original tales proved it; the man wasn't the sharpest wand in the shop.
With Hagrid gone, Erwin had no intention of seeking out Harry Potter. He'd leave the comforting to Draco Malfoy, who could handle it with flair. The best cure for a broken heart was a new crush, after all. If that didn't work, there were always more options. Draco had pined for so long; now that they'd connected, he'd dote on his new friend properly.
Erwin snapped his fingers and Apparated back to his dormitory. He flopped onto his bed, glanced at the clock, and decided a quick nap was in order before afternoon classes.
The lessons dragged on without incident—dull as dishwater, really. Probably because he wasn't sharing them with Gryffindor. He was missing all the real entertainment.
While Erwin dozed through his classes, oblivious to the storm brewing, the "experts at owling their fathers" were already pulling strings. Urgent letters had landed on the desks of pure-blood patriarchs across the wizarding world. The affair was only just heating up.
Erwin hadn't seen it coming. He'd underestimated his sway over those daddy's boys—and what Slytherin truly meant to their old families.
Lucius Malfoy led the charge. In his study at Malfoy Manor, he clutched a sheaf of letters, his face purple with rage. His chest heaved, hands shaking as he read.
"How dare he—that filthy Weasley scum! Speaking of Amelia's son like that! If not for Amelia, Arthur Weasley would've been finished long ago. And now his brat insults Erwin? The nerve!"
Narcissa swept into the room. "What's got you in such a state? Has Draco been up to no good again?"
Lucius slammed the top letter onto the desk. "Look at this! Bloody Weasleys—those ginger beggars! I can't think of a foul enough word for them!"
Narcissa lifted the parchment, brow furrowed in puzzlement. Lucius was the picture of refined poise, swayed only by the strictest codes of etiquette. Outbursts like this were rare.
As she scanned the words, her expression hardened to ice. With a sharp flick of her wrist, her wand materialized in her hand. She whirled toward the door.
Lucius jolted upright. "Narcissa, what on earth—?"
"I'm ending that little wretch," she hissed. "I'll show him the Killing Curse up close—make him writhe in agony like no one's business!"
Lucius lunged, seizing her arm. "Narcissa, stop! Think this through!"
She thrashed like a cornered Erkling at Yuletide. "Let go, Lucius! He dies—today! Insulting Amelia's boy? Over my dead body!"
Lucius winced inwardly. He'd forgotten: Narcissa and Erwin's mother, Amelia, had been inseparable—practically sisters. He'd needed Amelia's blessing just to court Narcissa back in the day. This was a disaster.
"Calm yourself," he urged. "Killing a Weasley now? You'd end up in Azkaban."
"What's Azkaban compared to vengeance? That bastard deserves it!"
Lucius rubbed his temples, a migraine blooming. This was spiraling fast—too messy, too raw.
"But think of Erwin," he pressed. "One dead Weasley, and the Ministry drags him into it. You want that on his head?"
Narcissa went still in his grip. Lucius eased his hold, flexing his aching arm as he released her.
"So we just let it slide?" she demanded, voice like tempered steel.
Lucius's eyes gleamed coldly. "Hardly. The children's squabbles are one thing—ours are another. I've itched to crush the Weasleys for years. Now I've got cause. And don't sell Erwin short; he's no ordinary Slytherin heir anymore. He's the true king of our house—the real Prefect. Every old Slytherin graduate's watching. They'd never stand for this insult."
Narcissa's gaze sharpened. "Then what's the plan?"
"Leave it to me. I'll sort them out—trust me on this."
"Make it hurt," she said flatly. "That boy's got no one but us now."
Lucius pulled her into a brief embrace. "You have my word. The Weasleys will pay dearly. Even Dumbledore can't shield them this time. If not for Amelia, we'd still be entangled with the Dark Lord. Friendship aside, that debt alone demands repayment. Shame we can't reveal Erwin's full heritage yet—or the Weasleys would be bleeding galleons by dawn."
"His safety first," Narcissa insisted.
Lucius nodded. "Always."
She stepped back, smoothing her robes with precise movements, then turned on her heel.
"Where to?" Lucius called.
Her voice was frost. "Settling old scores. I was a Black once. The family's faded, but we still have teeth."