The shadow prefects gazed at Erwin with undisguised awe as he led the way down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in tight formation behind him.
At the base of the stairs, the rest of the Slytherins fell into line, ready and waiting. Spotting Erwin at the front with his cadre of shadow prefects, they snapped to attention. "Prefect!" one called out, voice sharp with pride.
Erwin gave a curt nod, and the group marched out of the common room in perfect order, a serpentine procession that parted the crowd like a wave. This was Slytherin at its peak—united, formidable. Even the Gryffindors, nursing old rivalries, couldn't hide their envy as the snakes glided past. Ron's blunder had left the lions licking their wounds; they could barely meet the Slytherins' eyes. Erwin had offered an olive branch, but Ron's stubbornness had scorched it.
In the corridor, Percy Weasley watched the parade with a flicker of bitterness. His own bruises from the scuffle still smarted, and resentment toward his little brother simmered. Percy wasn't weak—among his peers, he held his own—but against battle-hardened Marcus Flint? No contest. As Draco had pointed out, if Erwin hadn't unleashed a torrent of raw magic in his fury, a straight duel would have dragged on. Flint's experience in real scraps gave him the edge.
The Weasley twins caught sight of the procession too. Though Charlotte had roughed them up, their natural cheer kept grudges at bay. They harbored mild irritation toward Ron—family ties ran deep, after all—but secretly, they admired Slytherin's newfound cohesion.
Halfway through the group, Draco and Pansy walked abreast, whispers buzzing between them.
"Pansy," Draco murmured, "reckon we can start calling him 'Chief' this weekend?"
Pansy glanced ahead at Erwin, her eyes alight with fervent devotion. "Of course. Lord Erwin is undefeated!"
Draco blinked. "Lord Erwin?"
She nodded vigorously. "Haven't you heard? Blaise Zabini bent the knee to Lord Erwin already. The Lord even granted him the Communication Rune—the Cavendish family crest! I can't fathom why a half-blood like him deserves it, but I'll be the second to bear the mark. Mark my words!"
Draco's eyes widened. "The Communication Rune? What's that?"
"It's like the Dark Mark," Pansy explained, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Blaise says it lets you learn Lord Erwin's signature Apparition trick—and fly! You know what that means. Plus, you can link minds with him through it!"
Draco knew all too well. His father had bought his way into the Death Eaters' fold for leverage, but their aerial prowess was legendary in the wizarding world. And now Erwin wielded something similar? Head down, Draco racked his brain. Had he been so buried in shadowing Harry that he'd missed this bombshell?
In truth, Blaise's leaks were all part of Erwin's design. Voldemort's Dark Mark was infamous, a villain's brand that tainted anyone who bore it. Erwin wanted no such shadow; he needed his followers to reframe the narrative. The Dark Mark's allure lingered in Slytherin—Voldemort had admirers, even if unspoken. When he'd ruled, that tattoo was a badge of honor for many. Erwin aimed to reclaim that prestige, turning infamy into inspiration. It was a slow burn, but once he claimed the role of Slytherin's unchallenged First Prefect, loyalty would solidify.
Pansy embodied that shift already, chomping at the bit for her rune. Noticing Draco's silence, she prodded him. "What's eating you? Cat got your tongue?"
He met her gaze steadily. "Pansy, we're mates, but hear this: the second rune goes to me. Draco Malfoy doesn't settle for less."
She scoffed, tossing her head. "You? Fat chance. You're too busy playing pretend with Potter to earn Lord Erwin's favor. Dream on!"
With that, she strode off, chin high. Draco seethed—if Erwin hadn't banned squabbles in the ranks, he'd have given her what for. Playing pretend? If only she knew about that three-headed beast; it'd shut her up quick. But arguing was pointless. No, Draco needed action to secure his spot as second-in-command. He was the Malfoy heir, destined for greatness.
What if he uncovered the plot behind the Philosopher's Stone? That'd be a coup. Eyes gleaming, he pictured cornering Harry, spilling what he'd gleaned from Erwin, roping in Hermione for backup, training in secret—and emerging triumphant. Everyone would see.
Erwin, oblivious to the scheming, pressed on.
A crowd had already gathered outside the Slytherin study room by the time they arrived. Hermione and Harry stood off to the side, near the door. Harry frowned, peering at the milling Hufflepuffs. "Hermione, what's all this? They here to pick a fight with Erwin? Should we warn him?"
She didn't look up from her book. "Trouble for Erwin? Please. No one at Hogwarts would dare these days—not with Slytherin backing him. If I had to guess, the Hufflepuffs are just joining for morning study. The room's open to all houses now, remember?"
...
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