Hermione ground her teeth. "Just who are you saving those dances for, Erwin?"
Erwin mentally tallied the list. Charlotte, Sunny, Penelope, Pansy, Cassandra, Cho... and Fleur, who had only just departed. That made seven.
"Fine!" Hermione declared, her face pale but determined. "I claim the eighth dance. It's settled."
She spun on her heel and marched away, fury radiating from every step. She had wasted time concocting a strategy to get his attention, only to find that half the school had beaten her to it. Worst of all, she was the last to arrive.
Erwin looked at the placid waters of the Black Lake. He couldn't stay here. If he lingered, he'd be cornered by others. He needed to vanish for a few days; eight dances were a logistical nightmare.
The Black Lake was too obvious. Everyone knew he liked to walk there.
Perhaps the Forbidden Forest?
With that decision, Erwin headed toward the woods. From a distance, he saw Hagrid bustling around his hut, piling up hay.
"Hagrid," Erwin called out. "What's the hay for?"
Hagrid turned, his face lighting up. "Erwin! Weren't you by the lake? This is for Beauxbatons' Abraxan horses. Finicky beasts, they are."
"Beauxbatons is certainly high-maintenance," Erwin noted. "If not for you, I doubt anyone here could handle them."
Hagrid puffed out his chest. "Well, I do know a thing or two, but they actually brought their own handler this time. I just drop off the hay. Though, if you ask me, their man is useless. The horses have been looking depressed lately. Dumbledore always says I should keep my mouth shut, but..."
Erwin's eyes sharpened.
A handler who didn't know how to handle magical horses?
Beauxbatons wouldn't bring a useless staffer across the continent. The only logical conclusion was that the "handler" was someone else entirely.
"Dear Professor," Erwin murmured, a smile touching his lips. "I've found you."
He asked Hagrid, "How many people are tending the carriage?"
"Three that I've seen," Hagrid replied.
"Perfect."
Erwin left immediately, heading straight for the Beauxbatons carriage. He found it parked near the edge of the grounds. A fire burned beside it, three figures seated around the flames.
Two men and a woman.
Erwin approached without stealth. The three looked up, startled.
"Hmm," Erwin stood before them, sniffing the air. "Polyjuice Potion. I didn't expect you to be hiding here."
The trio exchanged glances. Their expressions shifted instantly.
Suddenly, their faces melted and reformed into new identities.
One was familiar: Barty Crouch Jr.
"Greetings, young master!" Barty bowed smoothly. "Master said you would find us."
The woman, Bellatrix Lestrange, looked at Erwin with disdain. "Is this the disciple?"
"Watch your tone, Bella," Barty hissed. "Show respect."
Reluctantly, Bella dipped her head. "Greetings."
The third figure remained unknown to Erwin, but he was unimportant—far too weak to be the Dark Lord.
"Where is he?" Erwin asked.
Barty chuckled. "Master said you must find him yourself. Did you really think he'd be here mucking out stalls? But finding us is impressive. Bella didn't believe it. She insisted on coming to see for herself."
Erwin frowned. Voldemort was proving more cunning than anticipated.
"He isn't here."
"Master asked me to tell you," Barty continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The game has only just begun. He is within Hogwarts, and he challenges you to find him. As for us, we shall take our leave. The real coachmen are tied up inside; we haven't harmed them. Master decreed that Hogwarts is your territory, and we do not kill on your turf. We look forward to your next move, young master."
With that, the three dissolved into black smoke and shot skyward.
Erwin let them go. They were future assets, after all.
He sent a quick message to Charlotte and Fleur to update them, then returned to his dormitory. Barty's words echoed in his mind. Even if Voldemort had suddenly grown more strategic, his arrogance remained his undoing. Sending a message via Barty was a challenge—proof that Voldemort was confident Erwin wouldn't find him in time.