Vinda was on the verge of drawing her wand to dispatch the ragged beggar harassing her. But the mention of Cavendish gave her pause. She recalled the headlines she'd glimpsed in the Prophet, and her hand stilled.
The beggar, sensing weakness, lunged to drag her away. Vinda's gaze turned icy, her fingers twitching toward her wand. Before she could act, a firm hand seized the man's wrist.
The beggar yelped, twisting to face his captor. The Great Equalizer—a Muggle firearm—tumbled from his grasp.
"Rivers!" he gasped. "Cavendish's loyal hound!"
Rivers's smile was a razor. "You've got guts, mate. The young master laid down the law: no robbing on London's streets, especially not targeting women or kids. You think you can ignore Erwin's rules? You're begging for it."
Terror drained the color from the beggar's face. He dropped to his knees. "Please, I'm sorry! I know I messed up. Just give me one chance—I'm starving, and this was my first offense, I swear!"
He bowed his head repeatedly, forehead scraping the pavement.
Rivers's voice remained stone-cold. "The young master started that factory to give blokes like you honest work. Roll up your sleeves, earn a wage—laziness is no excuse. Now, where'd you get that gun?"
The beggar stammered, "Th-the Red Blood Pub round the corner! Mercy, don't kill me. I won't slip again!"
Rivers signaled, and two burly men in dark suits emerged from the shadows. "Haul him off. Make sure every corner of London hears this: even with the young master away, the Selwyn family's rules stand firm. We've let things slide too long—these lowlifes forgot who's running the show. In two hours, the whole city's buzzing about Selwyn dominance. As for that pub scum? Wipe 'em out. No survivors."
The men nodded sharply. "On it."
They dragged the pleading beggar into the gloom, his cries fading.
Rivers turned to Vinda, momentarily struck by her striking features. "Best get moving, miss. Don't wander these backstreets alone. The Selwyns enforce the rules in London proper, but out here in the sticks? Blind spots everywhere. Trouble finds you quick."
Vinda eyed him coolly. "Are you with the Selwyn family?"
He nodded. "Aye."
"Is Erwin a Selwyn?"
Rivers's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? How do you know the young master's name? What's your game?"
His hand whipped out a pistol, barrel trained on her chest.
Vinda stared down the muzzle, a flicker of fury crossing her face. She tamped it down, saying nothing. In a swirl of motion, she vanished—Apparating away.
Rivers holstered the weapon with practiced calm, though his brow creased. "Wizarding folk? Figures. Ever since the young master crossed into that world, headaches keep coming. Why are the acolytes sniffing around him? Bloody nuisance. He had that seal to block it all—why'd the Hogwarts acceptance letter still get through? I intercepted what I could, but he went anyway. Worst of all, Dumbledore showed up personally. Can't just take them out... can't stop them now. Where the hell are you lot? The young master is in the thick of it, and you're ghosts! Useless lot."
He snapped his fingers. A vortex engulfed him, whisking him to a hidden basement.
Once Rivers vanished, Vinda reappeared from around the corner, gaze fixed on his departure point. She pondered briefly. "Fascinating. He has magic, and I didn't sense it. Some masking charm? The Selwyns... intriguing bunch. This visit might prove worthwhile. I'll poke around Diagon Alley first—it's been ages."
The alley quieted, empty once more.
In the basement, Rivers flicked on a lantern. The sparse room revealed itself: bare walls, a single table at the center. He sank into a chair, grabbed a quill, and scratched a note on parchment.
"Acolyte Vinda Rosier in England—likely after the young master. Stay sharp."
The ink vanished. Moments later, new words bloomed: "Got it. Erwin's making waves in the wizarding world. Watch the other families—the Theresas surfaced in America. Rally your people, track 'em. Capture alive if you can; let him claim their bloodline. If not, back off—don't expose us."
Rivers set the quill aside, eyes hardening. "Theresas? You slipped away a decade ago. No escape this time."
Diagon Alley bustled under a gray sky. Inside the Selwyn Magical Supplies shop, Tom set down his quill and peered through the grimy window at the crowd.
Vinda strolled past, her steps unhurried. She felt the scrutiny and turned, locking eyes with Tom.
Vinda's brow furrowed. "Such potent magic. Who is that?"
Tom averted his gaze, drawing the curtains shut. The fabric blocked her view.
Undeterred, Vinda pressed on, glancing at the shop sign: "Cavendish Magical Materials Shop!"
"Cavendish again? Same concealment trick—undetectable unless they choose to reveal it. What's their secret?"
Her curiosity about the Selwyns deepened. A woman's instinct whispered of hidden depths, secrets begging to be pried open. Vinda thrived on that thrill, danger be damned. Few in the wizarding world could truly threaten her.
Tom, powerful as he was, couldn't end her.
Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Erwin was lost in his spellwork, oblivious to the web tightening around him. His most devoted allies had been playing their parts flawlessly from the start.
He reveled in hitting level four with the Killing Curse, the rush of progress intoxicating. Magic could vanish in a heartbeat—best to seize it.
Only as night deepened did Erwin trudge back to the dormitory, bone-weary. He collapsed into bed and slept like the dead.