Erwin paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.
Snape's voice was ice-cold. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice he'd drunk my potion—and that I'd set a trap?"
Erwin shook his head. "No, Godfather, you've got it wrong. I've never doubted you'd spot it. When I slipped the potion to Professor Quirrell, I knew you'd find out. What surprises me is that you don't know about his situation."
Snape frowned. "Quirrell's situation? What are you talking about? Is he serving the Dark Lord?"
Erwin studied Snape's face and realized the truth at once—this version of Snape was in the dark.
"Not exactly," Erwin replied. "To be precise, the Dark Lord has possessed him."
Snape shot up from his chair, shock shattering his usual composure.
"What? Possessed? Explain—now."
"It's just as it sounds," Erwin said. "The Dark Lord didn't die completely; a fragment of his soul survived. He saved Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest, then took over his body and returned to Hogwarts. And as for his goal... well, you can guess."
Snape's expression hardened. "The Philosopher's Stone."
Erwin nodded. "Exactly. He wants it to extend his miserable existence—or better yet, to resurrect himself fully."
Snape's face grew darker. "That blasted Dumbledore! How could he let the Dark Lord waltz into Hogwarts? No wonder he's thrown up those absurd protections around the Stone. Is he using him to toughen up Harry Potter?"
Erwin inclined his head. "Spot on. He even approached me, asked me to watch over Harry."
Snape paused, considering. "And you agreed?"
Erwin shrugged. "More or less. He offered a deal I couldn't pass up. It's not the worst thing, though—Harry needs toughening up; he's far too green right now. No one knows Dumbledore's full game plan, but Harry's clearly a key piece on his board."
Erwin held back the full truth. Revealing too much could prompt Snape—driven by his loyalty to Lily—to upend everything and neutralize threats, even if it meant clashing with Dumbledore. That wouldn't serve Erwin's interests. Voldemort couldn't be taken out yet; it wasn't the right moment. Erwin knew the locations of every Horcrux and could destroy them with Fiendfyre's raw power, but he needed to reap the benefits from these unfolding events first. Harry's survival or demise? Irrelevant to him. What mattered was the advantage Erwin could squeeze from the chaos.
With guardians like Dumbledore and Snape around, Harry wasn't going anywhere—not yet. Dumbledore's cunning ran deep, but his aim was total victory over Voldemort. The Horcrux hunt had to play out. He'd orchestrated it all; Harry would live until the Dark Lord was utterly vanquished. And Dumbledore wouldn't tolerate interference, not from Erwin or Snape.
Until Erwin could stand toe-to-toe with the old wizard, he wouldn't spill everything. Blurting it out would be foolhardy.
"Whatever Dumbledore's scheming," Erwin continued, "Harry's vital to him—why else offer so much for my help? Besides, it's a chance for Harry to sharpen his edge. Rest easy, Godfather; Dumbledore won't let him die."
Snape sank back into his seat, his agitation easing. He drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. "Fine. If that's all, you can go. Gear up for tomorrow's duel with Draco Malfoy. Don't sleep on him—he's tougher than he looks."
Erwin nodded. "Understood, Professor."
He turned toward the door, but Snape's voice stopped him. "Erwin... if you get the chance—if you're safe—protect Harry."
A grin tugged at Erwin's lips. "I get it, Godfather. Trust me: with me around, Harry's safe. Who knows? He might even surprise you one day."
Snape gave a curt nod. "If Quirrell slips your grasp, end him. No risks to yourself."
"Got it."
Erwin slipped out of the office. Snape slumped in his chair, fishing a photograph from his desk drawer. It was a Muggle snapshot—no magic, so the figures stayed frozen in place. Two young women beamed, each cradling a baby. The one with vivid green eyes gazed endlessly at her child. The other, with raven hair and stormy gray-brown eyes, had an ethereal, elfin quality straight out of a fairy tale.
Snape's gaze lingered on them, his mind adrift.
"Lily... Amelia... your boys are all grown now. That cursed Dumbledore, plotting against them! I'll make it right, I swear—but not yet. Erwin's got his path, and I won't derail it, no matter how it burns me. I can't touch him, never will. I'll back him with everything I've got, Lily—don't hold it against me. With Erwin watching, Harry's fine."
His fingers brushed Lily's image in the photo. A tear escaped, tracing down his cheek unnoticed.
Moments later, Snape's face smoothed to neutrality. He tucked the photo away and slammed the drawer shut. His features iced over again—no one could pierce that mask. He'd become the Half-Blood Prince once more: proud, guarded, his Occlumency a flawless shield.
Meanwhile, Erwin had considered stopping by Professor McGonagall's office to thank her. But he thought better of it. She was cut from different cloth than most; even her fondness for him wouldn't lead her to bend rules—that was the Animagus's unyielding honor.