Erwin didn’t intervene. He’d originally planned to use Blaise Zabini as bait to settle scores with the Yaxley family. After all, Zabini made for a perfect pretext—Erwin had every reason to seek justice for one of his own. But the Yaxleys had handed him an even better opening on a silver platter, derailing his sche entirely. It was a stark reminder: no plan survives contact with reality.
Blaise Zabini approached Erwin then. Erwin passed him the box. Zabini dipped his head in a slight bow before stepping down from the podium.
Erwin lifted the second box. "Miles Burke! Charlotte Teresa! Marcus Flint! Cassius Selwyn!"
In monts, only one box remained. Erwin glanced at Grodia, waiting off to the side. "Grodia Selwyn," he said with a chuckle.
Grodia stepped forward. This ti, Erwin didn’t simply hand over the badge. He drew it from the box and pinned it to Grodia’s collar himself, then smoothed the fabric. "Grodia, congratulations on your graduation today."
Grodia’s eyes misted over. A few seventh-years in the crowd wiped at their own damp eyes. Seven years at Hogwarts had woven a profound loyalty into their hearts—they’d poured countless hours into these halls.
Grodia bowed. "Thank you, sir."
Erwin clapped his shoulder. Then he rapped the podium lightly. A crystal goblet materialized before him. He raised it high. "Enjoy your holidays, everyone! We’ll see you in the wizarding world, seventh-years. To Slytherin!"
Goblets appeared at every table. The young witches and wizards lifted them in unison. "To Slytherin!"
Their cheers reverberated through the castle, carrying even to the staff offices.
Snape set aside the potion he’d been stirring, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
In Professor McGonagall’s office, she adjusted the enchanted amulet Erwin had gifted her. Her gaze seed to pierce the walls toward the common room. "Erwin," she murmured, "you’ve made Hogwarts feel truly alive. I can’t wait for next year." She drained her black tea in one go.
...
That night, Hogwarts lay hushed. The students had retired, leaving only house-elves to scurry about their duties. They’d already loaded the packed trunks onto the train at Hogsade station.
Erwin, anwhile, slipped into Professor Quirrell’s office. The professor’s belongings were neatly packed, his desk cleared save for his turban resting beside him.
Quirrell’s face lit up at the sight of him. "Erwin! You’ve co."
Erwin nodded and stepped inside. "Professor, are you absolutely sure? You could stay on for next term. With the Dark Lord defeated, you’d teach even better without that shadow. Haven’t you enjoyed these past few months?"
Quirrell shook his head. "No, I think it’s ti. Honestly, I’ve felt my limitations here. And the salary you’re offering beats Hogwarts’ by a mile."
Erwin pressed on. "I know money’s not what drives you."
Quirrell chuckled. "Don’t try to change my mind, Erwin. I want to join the Selwyn family—to do sothing aningful for you."
"You don’t owe anything," Erwin insisted. "I’m serious."
"It’s more than repaynt." Quirrell’s tone grew earnest. "You might not get it, but I have this gut feeling I need to leave Hogwarts and align with the Selwyns. An inner voice is urging on, clear as day. It’s like the warning I ignored before heading into the Forbidden Forest. This ti, I’m listening. I sense it’ll lead to real opportunities—ones I can’t find here."
Erwin had no clue what Quirrell was on about, but the man’s resolve was ironclad. Persuasion seed pointless.
"Fine," Erwin said. "Once you’re settled, head straight to Diagon Alley. I’ll et you there."
Quirrell nodded. "Agreed. Thank you."
Erwin waved it off. "No thanks needed—I an it."
Quirrell’s smile widened. "One favor, then? Could you brand with your mark? And help purge the lingering poison from my system. That stuff festers if left too long."
Erwin’s expression tightened. Quirrell grinned. "I know Snape’s brewing inside out—we’re colleagues, after all, and I served the Dark Lord, so his habits weren’t lost on . Truth is, I was a star Potions student back in the day."
He rolled up his sleeve, offering his arm.
Erwin wasted no ti. He wove a thread of Quirrell’s magic with his own, etching the Dark Mark into the skin.
Then he uncorked a crystal vial—the antidote Snape had prepared. Quirrell downed it without a flinch.
Erwin couldn’t hold back. "Professor, when did you realize the potion was tainted?"
Quirrell smacked his lips. "Tastes foul, doesn’t it? I knew the instant you handed it over."
Erwin blinked in surprise.
"Most don’t realize," Quirrell explained, "but Potions was my second-best subject after Defense Against the Dark Arts. At my peak, I could’ve brewed Felix Felicis myself."
Erwin stared. Was Quirrell truly this underestimated?
"If you knew," Erwin asked, "why drink it?"
"Because you’re the first to treat with real respect." Quirrell’s voice softened. "You can’t fathom what that ans, Erwin. So if you’d offered poison straight-up, I’d have taken it without question. I trust you—like you trust , despite my... condition. Now, it’s late. Off to bed with you, my lord."
...
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