Grodia glanced up cautiously. "Prefect, did we overstep?"
What could Erwin say? Scold these Slytherins? They’d only dig in deeper, and no one would touch him afterward.
"No, Grodia," Erwin replied firmly. "Thank everyone for —I’m truly honored to be your prefect, and grateful for your support. But if you could, write another letter ho. Ask your families to ease off the Weasleys."
Grodia frowned in confusion. "Why? Those red-haired fools insulted you. They had it coming—I don’t even know why they weren’t finished off properly!"
Grodia’s face flushed with indignation, and the other Slytherins nodded in agreent, their eyes flashing with shared resentnt.
Erwin shook his head. "No, Grodia. I’ve said it before: everyone deserves a chance to make things right. Even if Ron was out of line, it shouldn’t fall on the rest of his family. That’s not how we handle it. True Slytherins know the value of magnanimity. So, will you help one more ti?"
Grodia let out a long sigh. "Fine. As you wish, Prefect. I’ll write to Father right away."
Erwin t his gaze. "I was hoping you’d say that."
He pulled out a quill and parchnt, sliding them across the table to Grodia.
Grodia sighed again but took them without protest. "At your service, Prefect."
Erwin nodded, satisfied, then turned to the others. "And the rest of you?"
The Slytherins grumbled but followed suit, each grabbing parchnt and beginning to scribble letters. Erwin watched in astonishnt as the group bent over their work—the sheer number was daunting.
He rubbed his temples, a headache brewing. Now he had to figure out how to wrap this ss up without it blowing back on him.
Just then, Snape swept into the Great Hall and approached the Slytherin table. His dark eyes flicked over the students hunched over their letters. "Erwin. With ."
Erwin rose and followed Snape out, leaving the flurry of quills behind.
In Snape’s dimly lit office, the Potions Master wasted no ti. "Did you orchestrate this?"
Erwin shook his head. "No—they acted on their own."
Snape’s lip curled. "There will be consequences."
"I know," Erwin admitted with a sigh.
Snape paced for a mont. "Maximize the gain. If it can’t be contained cleanly—"
Erwin shrugged helplessly. "I can’t see a clean way out. They moved too fast. If I claim innocence, no one will buy it—they’ll just say I’m dodging bla. Worse, it might offend the ones who stepped up. Stay silent, and the backlash paints as the puppet master. The real problem? People will whisper that if I’m ruthless with the Weasleys, who knows who else I’d target. It’ll spook the sensitive ones."
Snape nodded curtly. "And your endga?"
"To build my own influence," Erwin said.
Snape paused, then grasped it. "You’re leveraging the Weasleys’ guilt."
"Exactly."
"A sharp move," Snape conceded, "but you’ve bungled the execution."
Erwin managed a wry smile. He’d miscalculated badly. He’d planned for leverage, but not for these Slytherins to treat him like a figurehead father—and certainly not for them to strike so swiftly and savagely. The entire Weasley family had been hit at once: the three Hogwarts brothers roughed up by Charlotte and her crew, leaving only Molly and Ginny untouched. This went beyond guilt-tripping; if the Weasleys suspected his hand, they’d despise him forever.
Snape’s voice cut through his thoughts. "You’ve overlooked one detail."
Erwin blinked. "What?"
"Your parents."
"My parents?" Erwin echoed, surprised. "What do they have to do with this?"
Snape arched an eyebrow. "You don’t honestly believe they left you nothing. You know they were Hogwarts students once."
Erwin nodded. "Of course."
"Their greatest gift to you is their network," Snape explained. "If you want the Weasleys as allies, you don’t need these theatrics. They’d lay down their lives for you—your father once saved Arthur Weasley’s from three Death Eaters."
Erwin’s eyes widened. "Father saved Arthur?"
Snape inclined his head. "Precisely. And he aided many others; they’ll stand by you too. I should have ntioned it sooner."
Erwin studied him. "Then, Godfather—are you one of them?"
Snape hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Without your father, I’d be long dead. I underestimated you—didn’t expect you’d start building power this soon. You should have confided in earlier."
Erwin fell silent. Truth be told, he’d never fully trusted Snape. His guarded nature made it hard to open up to anyone. Only lately—Snape’s protectiveness, the school’s unfolding events—had begun to chip away at that wall.
"So these pure-blood families helped because of my parents?" Erwin pressed.
Snape shook his head. "Not entirely. Your full heritage isn’t widely known for good reason—no one’s flawless. For every ally your father earned, he made an enemy. As his sole heir, exposure would grant you connections... and a target on your back. Most who backed you did so because you’re the Slytherin prefect. As I warned, that role draws eyes from every corner. You’re the one destined to close the book on every Slytherin graduate’s story."
Erwin had heard echoes of this before, but now it hit with real weight. He leaned forward. "How do we fix this ss, then? I can’t see a path forward—not yet."
Snape’s expression sharpened. "Simple enough, if you delegate. You can’t resolve it alone right now, but soone else can. Let them take the fall—shift the spotlight off you."
"Who’d step up?" Erwin asked doubtfully. "Even the old families won’t openly defy Dumbledore."
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