The chattering students fell silent, their eyes locking onto Erwin at the entrance to the Great Hall.
From the staff table, Professor Snape allowed himself a rare smirk. Professor McGonagall set aside her notes, her face lighting up with a warm smile.
Erwin could swear he hadn't meant to steal the spotlight. He was just late—genuinely, unavoidably late.
The first-years twisted in their seats, whispering excitedly.
"Is that him? Erwin?"
"Erwin Cavendish—the Slytherin legend!"
"They say he's the most brilliant student since Hogwarts began!"
"Blimey, he's even handsomer up close. Is he really the Slytherin head?"
"I'd give anything for Slytherin! Think I stand a chance?"
"Forget it. Slytherins are all about ambition."
"My ambition? Getting into Slytherin. That has to count for something!"
A ripple of laughter spread among the first-years. It did make a twisted sort of sense.
Amid the newcomers, two pairs of eyes fixed on Erwin with particular intensity.
One belonged to a girl with platinum-blond hair, standing tall and poised like a swan amid ducklings, her chin tilted in quiet superiority. She'd spotted him in Diagon Alley. Her name was Cassandra Worre.
The other gaze was more whimsical, from a girl with pale, dirty-blond hair and radish-shaped earrings dangling from her lobes. Luna Lovegood. She'd read about Erwin in The Quibbler—endless articles that had piqued her curiosity long before she'd even set foot in the castle.
Erwin noticed them too. Luna's ethereal look gave her away instantly. The other girl, though—her haughty posture screamed pure-blood pedigree. Yet Erwin knew every scion of the Sacred Twenty-Eight by name. Foreknowledge like that had its uses; better to anticipate alliances or threats than be caught off guard. Not that he was scheming—Draco was proof of his prudent side. Erwin was, at heart, a decent sort.
He shook off the thought and approached McGonagall. "Sorry, Professor. Got held up."
She waved it off with a grin. "Nonsense, Erwin—you're right on time. Grab a seat."
The older students exchanged eye-rolls. On time? The feast was moments from starting. Favoritism like that was blatant, but who were they to complain? It was Erwin.
He nodded, striding to the Slytherin table and giving a casual wave to his housemates. The younger ones settled quickly, the buzz returning as the Sorting Ceremony kicked off.
The Hall hushed under McGonagall's steady voice, a far cry from the pre-Erwin chaos. Sipping pumpkin juice, Erwin watched the new arrivals try on the Hat—some beaming, others fidgeting. It took him back to his own Sorting, a year that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, he led the snakes.
Luna's turn came soon enough. True to form, the Hat placed her in Ravenclaw. She drifted to her new table, plopping down beside Hermione with a dreamy smile.
Erwin stifled a chuckle. The bossy know-it-all and the eccentric dreamer—roommates? Their clashes could be legendary. In the books, they'd barely crossed paths, but here? He couldn't wait to see the sparks.
Next, McGonagall consulted her list. "Cassandra Worre!"
Erwin's brow furrowed. Cassandra? As in his Cassandra—from the game? A crossover bleeding into reality? And Worre wasn't among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. An alias? Foreign blood?
The girl strode forward without a flicker of nerves, her arrogance unshaken. Before McGonagall could even settle the Hat, it bellowed, "Slytherin!"
A smug satisfaction crossed her face as she joined the table. The Slytherins offered polite applause, but her eyes locked on Erwin—challenging, almost daring.
He met her gaze with a wry smile and shook his head. Pride was Slytherin's lifeblood. But pride could be forged into a blade with the right guidance. The Worre family—intriguing. Very intriguing.
As the last few Sortings wrapped up, McGonagall scanned her scroll once more, her expression tightening. She shot Erwin a subtle glance.
He frowned. What now? Spotting a ghost from her past?
"Zoe Alva!"
Erwin whipped around, a chill killing intent seeping from him unbidden.
At the staff table, Snape set down his goblet, his sharp eyes narrowing on the girl in the chair. Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly. Snape's gaze flicked to Erwin, a subtle shake of his head urging restraint.
Erwin's tension eased into a faint grin. He nodded back at Snape—message received. He wasn't daft enough to cause a scene here, not with witnesses everywhere.
Setting his cup aside, he absently rubbed his chin. A threat hand-delivered to his door? Or did she fancy her odds?
...
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