Zoe was on the verge of tears. Under the cold, piercing stares of Erwin and Snape, she panicked completely. She couldn't fathom why her family had shipped her off to Hogwarts—like sending a lamb straight to the slaughter. This was Cavendish territory! Wasn't she just a defenseless rabbit tossed into the wolf's den? It felt like suicide.
Her shy nature only amplified her distress, as if half her life had already slipped away. So when she sat in the chair with the Sorting Hat perched on her head, she was in a total daze, still scheming how to survive the clutches of the Cavendish heir—this devil incarnate. The more she dwelled on it, the more terrified she grew. Her eyes reddened, and dizziness set in.
Just then, Professor McGonagall prompted, "Child, the Sorting's done. Do you plan to stay glued to that stool?"
Zoe jolted, leaping up. "Huh? It's over? Where... where do I go?"
Her heart hammered as she silently pleaded, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.
The Sorting Hat, still on her head, sounded puzzled. "Not Slytherin? Bit late for that!"
Zoe froze. "So... I'm in Slytherin?"
Professor McGonagall nodded confirmation.
The next instant, chaos erupted. Zoe burst into sobs. "No, no! I don't want Slytherin! I'm done for—really done! Straight into Cavendish's hands—I'm as good as dead!"
Every eye swiveled to Erwin. His expression darkened like a storm cloud. He got it now: this wasn't mere carelessness; it was a sabotage mission, a ploy to tarnish his name. Tonight, he'd ensure this Alva family "gift" met her ancestors.
Professor McGonagall stood stunned. In all her years overseeing Sortings, she'd never seen the like. The girl wailed on the floor—what now? Glancing at Dumbledore, she sought guidance.
Dumbledore rubbed his temples, a headache brewing. Why did everything go sideways when Erwin was involved?
He rose with a chuckle. "Haha, it seems Erwin's reputation precedes him across the wizarding world. But come now, child—up you get, back to your table. The feast is starting. Erwin's far gentler than the tales suggest; you'll see once you know him. Ignore the gossip!"
He shot Erwin a knowing wink.
Erwin turned to Charlotte beside him. "Fetch that embarrassment from the pure-blood families—the Alva heir."
Charlotte stifled a laugh and nodded, striding over. She clamped a hand over Zoe's mouth and hauled her to the Slytherin table, plopping her down right next to herself—one seat from Erwin.
Erwin eyed Zoe coolly, his gaze unreadable.
She quivered like a leaf in the wind, eyes brimming anew.
His voice cut like ice: "One more tear, and I swear this is your last meal."
Zoe slapped a hand over her mouth, staring in wide-eyed terror. "N-no! I won't! Please, don't kill me—I don't want to die!"
Erwin sighed inwardly. Was this girl really an assassin? What sort of fool had they sent?
He couldn't deny it; her antics sparked wild suspicions. Some deeper plot at work?
The Headmaster's familiar speech wrapped up, and the feast materialized in golden platters.
Erwin mulled the idiot's arrival, ignoring the spread before him. Then a odd noise caught his ear—like some beast gnawing away, mingled with sniffles.
He turned, tracing it to Zoe. She was devouring a chicken leg, tears streaming down her cheeks. The racket was her sobbing feast.
The other Slytherins gawked in bewilderment.
Erwin was speechless. What in Merlin's name?
Zoe, lost in resignation, had made peace with it. If this was her last meal, best make it count—especially after a day's travel left her ravenous. Why not gorge before the end?
Emboldened, she snatched another leg and tore in with gusto.
Watching her, Erwin's thoughts drifted to an old acquaintance. His eyes flicked to the Gryffindor table, where Ron sat glumly, an outlier amid the chatter, eating in silence. His manners were almost polished, for once.
Erwin studied him briefly. By novel logic, Ron was ripe for a dark turn, wasn't he? The thought amused him. School was dreadfully dull; he craved entertainment. If Ron went rogue, it'd provide endless diversion. As for fallout? Laughable. Ron's skills wouldn't scratch him, villain or not.
The feast ended, and prefects herded the first-years to the dorms. Erwin led the Slytherin pack. At the common room entrance, the portrait swung open at his approach—no password needed. His serpent ring granted him unrestricted access, a perk of being the Heir of Slytherin.
He strode in first, claiming the lone armchair. The senior prefects settled on the seats below him, while others formed a ring around the edges, clearing the center for the new Slytherins.
Erwin nodded to Charlotte. "Let's begin."
...
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