Narcissa nodded, not pressing the issue further. The Malfoys departed soon after, leaving a lingering chill in the air.
Next came Patriarch Parkinson, escorting Pansy to Erwin's side. "Erwin, if you ever have a moment, do pay us a visit at the Parkinson estate," he said warmly. "You're always welcome."
Erwin returned the smile. "I'd be delighted."
Satisfied, Patriarch Parkinson lingered only long enough to secure that promise before excusing himself. This wasn't the time or place for deeper matters.
At last, only old Selwyn remained. Erwin noted Draco had already slipped away, leaving no doubt that the elder wizard sought a private word.
"Shall we?" Erwin suggested, gesturing toward the exit. "Let's head back to the Cavendish manor."
Old Selwyn inclined his head with a slight bow. "It would be an honor."
Old Tom had parked the car a short distance away, engine idling patiently. Spotting Erwin's group dispersing, he approached with the trolley in tow. The three made their way to the vehicle, Old Tom loading the luggage into the trunk before opening the doors with practiced efficiency.
Erwin slid into the back seat, while Old Selwyn opened his own door, settling in with evident curiosity. He peered around the interior, fingers tracing the dashboard. "Muggles are remarkable, aren't they? No magic, yet they've conjured these contraptions to ease their burdens."
"Indeed," Erwin agreed, leaning back as the car pulled away. "It's the spark of invention at work. Technology reshapes the world—gone are the days of horses and broadswords. Muggles command forces that could rival ours in their own way."
Old Selwyn nodded thoughtfully. "I've reviewed the reports on Muggle advancements, as you requested. It's daunting. To think they wield such destructive power without a wand... They could topple the wizarding world if they chose. Fortunately, they've no designs on us."
Erwin gazed out the window, the countryside blurring past. "Magic dazzles, but technology commands respect. The two aren't enemies; they overlap in surprising ways. True mastery lies in embracing both." He turned, his tone sharpening. "Now, enough on that. What brings you here today?"
Old Selwyn straightened, his expression turning grave. "Yes, sir. Regarding the enchanted communicators—your campaign has been spot-on. I've dispatched scouts, and word's spreading like Fiendfyre. Nearly every corner of the wizarding world has heard of them by now. As you predicted, the Daily Prophet's coverage highlights their features while building hype. Inquiries are pouring in from prominent families; they're clamoring for a release date."
Erwin nodded approvingly. "Good work. Swift as ever. Any stirrings from the old pure-blood holdouts?"
"Not a whisper yet," Selwyn replied. "I reckon the Yaxleys' fall has them spooked. No rash moves for now—perhaps they haven't grasped the goldmine we're sitting on."
Erwin's lips curved faintly. "They will. And when they do?"
Old Selwyn pressed on, undeterred. "We must stay vigilant. These families may be quiet, but the scent of profit could draw them like nifflers to treasure. The Cavendishes are strong, bolstered by my house's loyalty and alliances with the Malfoys and Parkinsons. Still, facing the full weight of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? That's a storm we might not weather alone. Even lesser wizarding clans will circle if the galleons start flowing."
"You're right," Erwin conceded. "Envy's a powerful brew. It'll stir the pot sooner or later."
"Should we preempt them, then?" Selwyn urged. "Spark a feud with one family, demonstrate our might, and cow the rest into submission?"
Erwin shook his head. "A bold stroke, but shortsighted. The Yaxleys forced our hand, putting us on the side of righteousness—we hold the high ground. The others respect our power without feeling cornered. Strike first, though, and they'll band together like a pack of wolves."
Selwyn absorbed this, nodding slowly. "Wise counsel, sir. So, we wait?"
Erwin's smile returned, sly and knowing. "Patience is our wand. We're merchants, after all, under the Ministry's watchful eye. We pay our taxes, follow the rules. Let them protect their golden goose."
Comprehension dawned in Selwyn's eyes. "Brilliant. The Ministry as our shield— they'll think twice before crossing us."
Erwin didn't elaborate; Selwyn wasn't dim, merely bound by old habits. The wizarding world's ways were blunt as a troll's club—direct confrontations, no subtlety. Erwin had long seen the flaws: cunning existed, but it gathered dust. He aimed to polish it, to teach finesse over fury. After all, even the simplest schemes could unravel the proudest houses if wielded right.
The car soon glided through the manor gates, tires crunching on gravel. Inside the estate, Erwin's inner circle—those steadfast retainers cleared to stay—gathered at the windows, their faces alight with anticipation. They formed the family's unyielding core, bound by loyalty to him alone.
As the vehicle halted, two attendants hurried forward to assist. Erwin stepped out first, clapping the door-opener on the shoulder. "Richard, you old bear—haven't changed a bit. Still built like a Quidditch beater?"
Richard beamed, straightening proudly. Erwin then pivoted to the next. "Grott, how many times now? Tuck in that shirt properly—no half-measures, or you'll look like you've been wrestling a graphorn."
Laughter rippled through the group as Erwin moved down the line, exchanging greetings with over a dozen more. Each one swelled with pride; their young lord, absent so long, recalled not just names but quirks—the way Richard favored his left arm after a dueling mishap, or Grott's perpetual battle with his uniform.
Old Selwyn observed from the sidelines, a spark of insight flickering in his gaze. No wonder Erwin commanded such devotion at his age. To underlings like these, starved for recognition, a few genuine words were worth more than gold. It was effortless allegiance, forged in the quiet forge of respect.
The manor doors swung wide, welcoming Erwin home. But as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the lawns, the weight of unspoken threats lingered. The wizarding world churned with ambition, and Cavendish's rise had painted a target on its back. For now, though, Erwin savored the familiar embrace of home—knowing the real battles lay ahead.
...
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