A hush fell over the Great Hall after Professor McGonagall's announcement. She watched the students with a knowing smile, giving them a moment to absorb it all.
Moments later, cheers exploded from the Slytherin table, igniting the room like wildfire. The entire hall joined in, even those not from Slytherin buzzing with excitement. This was a triumph for every Hogwarts student—an honor that elevated them all.
Erwin's dissertation on Transfiguration, his induction into the Transfiguration Society, and now the Order of Merlin, Second Class. Topping it off: an interview with the Daily Prophet. In the wizarding world, a Prophet feature marked you as someone who mattered.
The students' thoughts were straightforward: If Erwin pulled this off, their classmate's success would reflect on them. Many had even learned from him directly. It was their shared glory.
Erwin smiled too, though his mind was on the prestige this would bring— Wizarding Acclaim rolling in from the buzz. Still, he had doubts about the medal. Second Class from the Order of Merlin? It felt underwhelming.
As far as he knew, the Order's honors had lost much luster. A Black family member had once bought a Second Class medal with a hefty donation. Without such strings, though, it wasn't easy to earn. And Erwin hadn't pulled any favors. How had it sailed through review?
Then it clicked. He glanced at Professor McGonagall, who met his eyes with a subtle smile. She must have pulled weight behind the scenes to secure it for him. He'd get the details from his godfather later.
The hall's uproar lasted nearly half an hour before Professor McGonagall restored order, sending everyone off for their afternoon rest. She didn't approach Erwin, much to his relief—some matters were best handled privately.
In Snape's office, Erwin sat at the desk, waiting. The past few days, the Potions Master had been unusually occupied; Erwin's evening visits often found the room empty save for a bubbling cauldron.
He didn't wait long. Snape swept in, his expression unchanging at the sight of Erwin. Without a word, he moved to the cauldron, inspecting the simmering potion. He fetched a crystal vial from the shelf and added two drops of a clear liquid. The mixture frothed and hissed. Snape sealed it and set it to low heat.
Erwin couldn't help but think it resembled stewing trotters—methodical, almost soothing in its precision.
Snape finally turned, taking a seat. "You've come about the Second Class medal?"
Erwin nodded. "Yes. The Order of Merlin's honors are devalued these days, but a Second Class one isn't handed out lightly."
"It's McGonagall," Snape said flatly. "She's on the selection committee and overrode the objections to push it through. In her eyes, your dissertation sparked a revolution in Transfiguration."
That confirmed it. But McGonagall as a judge? "She's on the Order of Merlin's committee?"
Snape arched an eyebrow. "What of it? You'll collect the medal at their headquarters over the holidays—no harm in spoiling that now. Do you know the Order's origins?"
Erwin thought for a second. "From what I've read, Merlin founded it himself. It started as his personal order, but as it expanded, it became the Order of Merlin we know."
Snape inclined his head. "After King Arthur's last stand, Merlin—under the guise of Myrddin—vanquished Morgana. The Knights of the Round Table were decimated, but many wizards turned the tide. Arthur couldn't raze the wizarding world outright, so he charged Merlin to manage it: reward merit, keep order. He granted knighthoods, birthing the Order. Merlin gathered key wizards, embedding them in society. Over centuries, as Merlin faded from view, it evolved—like the Muggle Vatican's bureaucracy. They catalog contributions, award medals, and appoint top talents to the committee. McGonagall, a premier Transfiguration expert, earned her spot."
Erwin mulled it over. "And you, Godfather? Are you on it too?"
Snape's lips twitched. "Indeed. One of the selectors."
It made sense now: the Order as a sort of wizards' guild, scouting excellence across disciplines. "We spot talent and elevate the best to judge the rest."
"This medal's got nothing to do with me," Snape added. "Your work's in Transfiguration, not Potions. I merely voted yes."
Erwin grinned. "That's plenty. Thank you, Godfather."
Snape waved it off. "Save your thanks. I nearly voted no—exposing your gifts this soon is risky. But after tomorrow, hiding's impossible. The Order's badge may lack punch these days, but it offers some shield. Few will challenge you outright, not without weighing the committee's ire."
Erwin chuckled. "True threats won't care about a medal. It won't deter them."
Snape nodded approvingly. "Wise. Anything else?"
Erwin shook his head. "Nothing, Godfather."
Snape fixed him with a piercing stare. "Then explain Quirrell."