Time flies unnoticed, slipping away like sand through fingers—precious yet fleeting, as the greats have oft remarked. In what felt like the blink of an eye, the first week of term drew to a close. Friday arrived, and the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts had settled into the rhythm of morning and evening study sessions. All except the Gryffindors, who still grumbled about the extra hours.
Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin reaped the benefits, their house points surging ahead. In just seven days, Gryffindor had plummeted to the bottom of the House Cup standings. The Hufflepuffs, ever modest, uncovered a peculiar truth: most of their gains stemmed from the first-years. This realization stirred something in the unassuming bunch. Who wouldn't crave a shot at glory for their house?
They traced the young Hufflepuffs' rapid progress to the Slytherin study sessions, where Erwin himself guided the group. Ambition flickered to life among the older badgers. One third-year, stumped by a tricky charm, had bumped into Erwin and received a clear, insightful explanation. Word spread, and soon the younger Hufflepuffs threw themselves into those sessions with uncharacteristic zeal, peppering Erwin with questions.
In past years, the House Cup had been a fierce duel between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now, with Erwin anchoring Slytherin, the Hufflepuffs harbored no illusions of victory. Second place, though? That was within reach. Or better yet, shoving Gryffindor into fourth. They'd endured that spot long enough. A few bold first-years even plotted to petition Professor Sprout for access to the Slytherin common room study space, fearing it might fill up.
Erwin remained oblivious, focused instead on his Wizarding Acclaim, which had been climbing at an unprecedented rate. The Daily Prophet had covered the Slytherin's prefect challenge for three straight days, drawing the eyes of the entire British wizarding world—Slytherin or not. His points had shattered the 50,000 mark, hitting 51,000 before surging further.
That morning, during Charms class, the influx accelerated wildly, blasting past 100,000 and barreling toward 150,000. Erwin blinked in alarm, half-convinced the System had glitched. By lunch in the Great Hall, they stood at 135,000 and still rising. At this pace, he figured they'd top 200,000 by evening. The mystery gnawed at him—no clue what fueled it.
As he sipped the hearty cabbage soup Dobby had slaved over all morning, an owl swooped into the hall, a parcel clutched in its talons. Whispers rippled through the tables. "An owl now? It's not delivery day. Wonder who's bending the rules?"
Hogwarts kept strict schedules for post to avoid constant feathered chaos. Erwin leaned in curiously—had someone flouted the system?
The owl dropped the package straight into his lap. He stared, caught off guard. Of course it was for him.
The hall's attention shifted briefly, then returned to meals. If it was Erwin, no surprise there. Even if Dumbledore handed him the Headmaster's office, they'd barely bat an eye. Though this? Still noteworthy.
Draco sidled closer. "Prefect, buy anything good?"
Erwin shrugged, equally baffled. Old Tom? No, he'd use the Dark Mark for contact, and he knew the rules. A glance at the staff table confirmed it: the professors had approved the delivery. But as his eyes scanned them, he noted the smiles—everyone except Snape, who had set down his fork, a flicker of restrained curiosity in his gaze.
Even more puzzling.
Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Erwin, open it and see!"
He nodded. A professors' gift? His birthday wasn't until June—he'd barely remembered it himself.
Untying the parcel revealed a glossy magazine. "Transfiguration Today," the cover proclaimed in bold letters.
"Congratulations, Erwin," McGonagall said warmly. "Your paper's been published. Have a look inside!"
The hall erupted in stunned murmurs.
"Transfiguration Today? Blimey!"
"As expected from Erwin—the top journal in the field!"
"Remember that theory on Transfiguration's inherent counter-spells? Brilliant stuff."
"How's he publishing in elite circles while we're just hoping for extra pudding?"
Erwin's mind clicked. That explained the Wizarding Acclaim explosion.
He flipped to the lead article: his own, complete with an endorsement. The Transfiguration Society had validated it, heralding a fresh era in the discipline.
The Slytherins buzzed with excitement. "Prefect, you're famous—in print!"
Draco gaped. "This is huge!"
Erwin shot him a wry look. Hard to miss.
McGonagall rose, commanding silence. "Since we're all gathered, I'll share some news. Erwin's insights have been embraced by the Transfiguration Society, revolutionizing the subject. In recognition, the Order of Merlin will bestow upon him the Second Class medal. And following tomorrow's prefect's duel, a Daily Prophet reporter will conduct an exclusive interview!"
The Great Hall thrummed with applause, Slytherin loudest of all. Erwin managed a modest nod, but inside, the whirlwind of it all left him reeling. Wizarding Acclaim ticked upward even now—135,247 and climbing. Whatever came next, the wizarding world was watching.