In the Slytherin common room, the fire crackled as a group of Slytherins gathered around the hearth, chatting animatedly. When Erwin returned, they swarmed him with eager greetings.
"Prefect, you're back!"
"Prefect, did you handle that troll?"
Their excitement was palpable. They'd noticed his absence during the chaos and assumed he'd dealt with it. As for his safety, these Slytherins weren't concerned—Erwin could take on Dumbledore and come out on top, in their eyes. Blind devotion from admirers, indeed.
Erwin waved them off. "No, just sorting some other business. No evening study session tonight, but don't slack off. Grab a book and read—enough idle chatter."
Their faces fell, but no one argued. They dutifully pulled out textbooks and settled in. Erwin nodded approvingly. Surveying the room's sleek green-and-silver decor, he decided it needed bookshelves stocked with useful tomes—for moments like this, to keep them productive. Truly, he was looking out for them.
Retiring to his dormitory, Erwin touched the magical sigil on his arm, activating the connection. Tom's voice responded promptly.
"Master Erwin."
"Everything set?" Erwin asked.
"Yes, Master Erwin. You can count on it."
A smile tugged at Erwin's lips. "Good. In two days, once the news spreads, we proceed to phase two."
"As you wish."
He severed the link and stretched out on his bed. Tomorrow promised fireworks—a massive surge in his Wizarding Acclaim. With that thought, he drifted into a sound sleep.
The next morning, in Transfiguration class, Erwin glanced at his personal panel. The Wizarding Acclaim at the bottom read 5700. Then they ticked up: 5710, 5720... racing past 6000.
He smirked. It had begun.
Professor McGonagall swept in. "Settle down for class."
Erwin dismissed the panel. What a day.
This timing coincided with the fresh delivery of the Daily Prophet.
...
At noon, outside the Great Hall, Hermione lingered by the entrance, scanning the crowd. Erwin approached, trailed by a cluster of Slytherins. She hurried over, falling into step beside him. The others exchanged glances but said nothing—everyone knew she and their prefect were on good terms, and her sharp mind outshone theirs in studies. Unlike the canon tensions, no one here eyed her with suspicion.
Harry Potter stood with her, drawing a spark of glee from Malfoy. Pure mischief in the air.
"Not heading in for lunch? Waiting for me?" Erwin asked.
Hermione thrust a newspaper at him. "Haven't you seen today's Prophet? Someone leaked the story of Ron shoving you—complete with him shouting. And the Weasleys... Arthur's suspended by the Ministry for tinkering with Muggle artifacts. His graduated brothers are in hot water too!"
Erwin blinked, caught off guard. He hadn't orchestrated this twist. Sure, the Ron incident was his doing—a tip to Rita Skeeter, that nosy beetle of a reporter, via an anonymous letter from Tom. She'd sniff out the Hogwarts dirt like a shark to blood. But the Weasley fallout? Not his handiwork.
"What happened?" he pressed.
"I figured you'd want details." Hermione pointed to the front page.
There was a moving photo of Erwin, his water goblet tipping over in the Great Hall. His shocked expression filled a close-up. How had Skeeter captured that? Her Animagus form must pack a tiny camera. Impressive, if shady.
Erwin skimmed the article. As expected, it painted him as a tragic victim of bullying, twisting the narrative to lambast Dumbledore and the Weasleys. He'd banked on Skeeter's flair for controversy—targeting big names like the headmaster and the prominent family would draw eyes. To make it stick, he'd play the sympathetic underdog, stirring public outrage against the school and the culprits.
But the real surprise lay in the follow-ups. On Halloween, Arthur Weasley faced suspension for unauthorized Muggle tech experiments. The photo showed his battered old car.
Flipping pages, Erwin read about a Romanian dragon sanctuary where a Norwegian Ridgeback rampaged, wounding handlers. Charlie Weasley's name topped the injury list.
Erwin's brow furrowed. Another article detailed an ambush on a Gringotts curse-breaker team in Albania. They fought back and survived, but all were hurt. Bill Weasley's name appeared among the casualties.
The entire Weasley clan, struck down in a single day. Coincidence? Or something more? Erwin folded the paper, a chill settling in. This escalated far beyond his scheme—reputation boost or not, the wizarding world was stirring.