Erwin picked up the water glass from the head table and stepped onto the raised dais in the center of the Great Hall. All eyes followed him as he turned toward Ron, who stood frozen amid the murmurs rippling through the crowd.
"Ron," Erwin began, his voice steady and earnest, "I don’t know why you harbor such resentnt toward . If I’ve wronged you sohow, I’ll make it right. Perhaps I offended you without realizing it. I’m here now to apologize." He held up the glass. "I’ve read about an old custom where foes share a drink to wash away grudges. We can’t have firewhisky here, so water will do. Ron, can you find it in your heart to forgive ?"
He approached Ron slowly. From the Slytherins’ angle, Erwin’s expression seed open and sincere—a picture of remorse. But Ron, facing him directly, caught the faint, chilling glint in those sharp eyes. It sent a shiver down his spine.
The hall erupted in whispers of admiration. "What a gentleman," soone from Hufflepuff murmured. "Erwin’s class personified."
The Slytherins seethed. How could their Prefect humble himself like this? Draco couldn’t hold back. "Prefect, you don’t owe him a thing! He’s just envious—lashing out with those nasty barbs!"
The others piled on. "It’s all his fault! Why should you apologize?"
Students from the other houses shifted uncomfortably too. "This isn’t on Erwin at all," a Ravenclaw agreed. "He’s too forgiving—it’s admirable, but it leaves him open to idiots like Weasley."
"Exactly," another Gryffindor added reluctantly. "The Cavendish family’s had a rough go. Erwin lost his parents young and rebuilt everything single-handedly. No one in London has a bad word for them. Maybe that’s why he’s so patient."
"Poor bloke," a Muggle-born from Hufflepuff said, sympathy lacing her voice. "Is that why these pure-blood types push him around?"
Many Muggle-born witches and wizards nodded, their empathy swelling. Upper-years exchanged knowing glances—they’d seen Slytherin pettiness before, but the house had llowed lately, embracing the wizarding world’s growing harmony. Then Ron had stirred the pot.
Hermione’s face flushed with fury. She shot to her feet, fists clenched. "This isn’t Erwin’s fault at all! Are you pressuring him into this? Bullying Muggle-born wizards? Before Hogwarts, I heard Slytherin was obsessed with blood status, picking on anyone from humble roots. But that’s not true here—they’re proud, diligent even, studying harder than most Ravenclaws in the mornings. Gryffindor, though? The house everyone’s so proud of? It spits out soone like this, hurling poison at Erwin! Is Hogwarts really fair? Just because Erwin’s generous enough to forgive, does that an we let it slide? Can we call this magical world a safe haven if it’s this shadowed?"
Erwin blinked in genuine surprise. Bliy, the girl’s got fire. She was the perfect ally—barreling straight into the fray where he couldn’t without cracking his facade. Her outburst frad everything just right, amplifying his position without him lifting a finger.
He caught a subtle movent in his peripheral vision. With his keen sight, he spotted a tiny beetle skittering by a pillar—Rita Skeeter, no doubt, eavesdropping for the Daily Prophet. A sly smile tugged at his lips. Perfect. The audience was here.
Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened at Hermione’s tirade. The words cut deep, echoing the prejudices the school fought to bury, and they struck a chord with the room. For a mont, the Transfiguration professor faltered, unsure how to defuse the tension.
But Erwin pivoted smoothly. "Hermione, please—don’t say that. Hogwarts is fair. I forgave Ron because it truly wasn’t a big deal to . No one’s forcing my hand; I won’t let one spat derail his future."
His gaze swept the Slytherins, firm but reassuring. "I’ve said it before: we all err. Ron did, and so might I. But unless it’s sothing unforgivable—which this isn’t—everyone deserves a shot at redemption. We’re young; tempers flare, words slip out. It’s not right to deny a chance to make ands. Hogwarts has given justice and choice, and today, I choose forgiveness. Just as you’d forgive if our roles reversed."
The Slytherins t his eyes, then nodded in unison, bowing slightly. "Understood, Prefect."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Erwin shook his head subtly. The gesture wasn’t lost on the crowd.
Applause broke out, scattered at first, then swelling. "What poise," a seventh-year Ravenclaw whispered. "Irwin’s a true leader."
Professor McGonagall exhaled quietly, the knot in her chest easing. She’d never navigated a scene like this—raw emotions clashing in the open. Thank rlin for Erwin.
"Thank you, Erwin," she said, her voice steadying. "Without you, this could have spiraled."
"You’re too kind, Professor," he replied modestly. "They’re my friends—they spoke up for . Please don’t hold it against them; it ca from loyalty. If bla must fall, let it be on ."
She smiled faintly. "No bla today. Carry on."
Erwin turned back to Ron, extending the glass. "So, Ron—shall we shake on it? After this, I reckon we’ll be mates."
Ron’s stomach twisted. The hall’s reactions replayed in his mind, mingled with Erwin’s ominous words from earlier that afternoon. Fear clawed at him. He raised a hand instinctively, warding off the approach.
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