At noon, old Selwyn savored a lavish lunch at Cavendish Manor before taking his leave. Erwin personally escorted him to the gates, a gesture that left the elder beaming with approval. Erwin knew exactly how to keep his allies loyal.
Once Selwyn was gone, Erwin retreated to his study. Old Tom followed, shutting the door behind them.
"Out with it," Erwin said, his voice steady. "You've been holding something back."
Tom nodded gravely. "Master, the royal family is stirring. A new outfit has muscled into London, flouting your rules left and right. I sent our boys to sort them out, but it was a bloody scrap—losses on both sides. They slipped in under the radar, too many to count. Only the royals could pull that off without us catching wind."
Erwin's eyes narrowed, a chill settling in. "So they've conveniently forgotten our pact. Figured they've ridden out the storm and now want us gone."
Tom stood silent, head bowed, awaiting orders.
Erwin drummed his fingers on the desk. "Mobilize the manor. It's been too quiet for too long. Folks have forgotten why the Cavendish name strikes fear. If the royals want war, we'll plunge London into hell. I want a frantic call from the palace by seven tonight."
A ruthless gleam lit Tom's eyes. "As you command, Master. It'll be done."
He turned on his heel and exited, leaving Erwin to smirk at the empty room. The Cavendish family had lain low for a full school year. Their last full mobilization—against the Yaxleys—remained shrouded in secrecy for most. Outsiders must have written them off as harmless.
Time to remind them the lion still had claws.
That afternoon, sleek cars rolled out from Cavendish Manor, fanning toward London's heart. Only a skeleton crew stayed to guard the estate; the rest hit the streets like a storm.
Chaos erupted by teatime. Two warehouses and three pubs lay in smoldering ruins. Suburban farms burned to ash, their flames visible for miles.
Panic rippled through the city. Whispers spread like wildfire: the Cavendish enforcers were out. Everyone knew the score—fresh interlopers, backed by the royals, had been nibbling at the edges, harassing shops and shaking down honest folk. The Cavendishes had quashed the early probes, but resentment festered. These were hardworking people, paying their dues for a stable order they cherished. Now, outsiders threatened it all.
Anxiety had built. Some shop owners, with ties to the family, had already reached out, pleading for intervention. It was telling: when trouble brewed, they bypassed the coppers and turned straight to the Cavendishes. No one trusted the law to keep the peace like they did.
Today, the family answered. Businesses shuttered in silent solidarity. Ordinary families hunkered down, drawing curtains against the unrest.
In a cozy terraced house, a family of three huddled on the sofa, eyes glued to the telly.
"Daddy, why aren't we going to the amusement park?" the six-year-old girl whined, clutching her doll.
Her father ruffled her hair gently. "Not today, love. We'll go tomorrow. There's a spot of bother on the streets—good folk sorting out the troublemakers. Safer to stay in till it's over."
"Who's fighting them? The police?" she asked, wide-eyed.
He chuckled. "Nah, the coppers don't handle this sort. Only the Cavendish family does."
"What's that?"
"Think Robin Hood and his merry men," he said with a grin.
Her face lit up. "Robin Hood? The hero who robs the rich?"
"Spot on. Without them, we'd be back to the bad old days. Now some rotters want to stir things up again, so the Cavendishes are setting it right."
She nodded solemnly. "Okay, we'll wait for Robin Hood to win!"
He smiled, his expression warm with pride and quiet relief. Scenes like this played out across London—families placing their faith in the shadowy guardians who'd forged the city's fragile peace.
At the Grangers' dental clinic, Hermione perched on the sofa, ears straining toward the distant clamor.
"Dad, what's all the noise about?" she asked.
Mr. Granger glanced up from his paper. "Word is, some newcomers are challenging the Cavendish rules, trying to drag London back into the muck. The family's cracking down now."
Hermione frowned. "The Cavendish family? As in Erwin?"
"Aye. Your classmate, right?"
She nodded. "He never mentioned it. Do you think he's in the thick of it? Should I... help?"
Her father shook his head firmly. "Don't even think about it, Hermione. The school's letter was clear—no magic outside Hogwarts, or it's expulsion. Besides, you couldn't touch this anyway. The Cavendishes built this order from nothing; they've crushed challengers before. They'll do it again."
She fell quiet, knowing he was right. Erwin seemed unbreakable to her. Still, as sporadic pops of gunfire echoed faintly, worry gnawed at her. She drifted to the window, staring into the hazy streets.
Back at the manor, Erwin lounged by the fireplace, newspaper in hand. He'd been away too long; the Muggle world had surged ahead, innovations blooming everywhere. Events from his past life unfolded right on schedule, tech racing forward like a runaway train.
Amid the frenzy, Erwin spotted golden opportunities—ones tailor-made for the wizarding world. Wizards sneered at Muggles, blind to how their gadgets could revolutionize magic. A clever bridge between worlds, and the Cavendishes would be at the forefront.
As evening shadows lengthened, London's turmoil churned on, the family's iron grip reminding all: cross them at your peril.
...
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