Charlotte pressed on, her voice low. "I can't say for sure if it's true—it's just whispers among the ancient pure-blood families. But the story goes that the Cavendish family, alongside the Stewart family, stormed the Alva territory. The previous head of the Cavendish family intervened personally and took out the leaders of both the Alva and Conrad clans. When they tried to harvest the bloodlines, though, the victims had none left to give. Word was, the Alvas, in desperation, had shipped off an ordinary member to throw the Cavendishes off the scent."
"And the old Cavendish head?" she added. "Heard he took a bad hit in the fight and didn't last long after."
She shot Erwin a wary glance.
Erwin didn't flinch. He'd never known his grandfather—the man had died before he was born. His father had never breathed a word about it, and the only Stewards he'd encountered were the "useless" ones locked away in his dreams, along with suspicions about old Tom and Rivers. The rest? A complete blank.
"How reliable do you reckon that tale is?" Erwin asked.
Charlotte shrugged. "Hard to say. But it lines up if you squint at the pieces."
"So, what's the Alva play in sending Zoe to Hogwarts?" he probed.
She paused, thinking. "Refuge, I'd wager. Or at least a shot at staying alive. If someone went after her bloodline here, she might slip through the cracks. But back home, with the family in the crosshairs? She's done for."
Erwin nodded. "Close to what I figured. Sacrificing a Dragon Speaker's bloodline to buy her safety? Sounds like Zoe's on thin ice with her own kin."
Charlotte slipped him a scrap of parchment. "She gave me this address. In London. Said if you want the full story, sir, someone's expecting you there."
Erwin scanned it. "Intriguing. You've got my attention."
"Planning to go, then?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No point. Get hold of old Tom—send him to Diagon Alley with a few hands. This lot isn't worth my time."
She nodded. "And if they stonewall?"
Erwin's smile turned sharp. "Escort them politely. If they resist the courtesy, force it. If dignity's off the table, show them the grave. I care about the outcome, not the fuss."
"Understood, sir."
Erwin slid Tom Riddle's diary across the table to her. "Back to it, then."
Once Charlotte had gone, Erwin stared out at the serene Black Lake, his eyes piercing the glassy surface to the churning depths below.
He set down his teacup and snapped his fingers. In an instant, he stood in the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore's absence had kept Snape away lately—he had his own shadows to chase. Erwin crossed to the desk and fished out a portrait from beneath it, yanking back the covering cloth.
The figure inside stared back silently.
Erwin's lips twisted into a smirk. "Just as I thought. Treating me like a piece on the board. Question is, is your game big enough to hold me?"
His fingers tightened on the frame's edge, as if debating whether to snap it in two.
After a beat, he exhaled, re-covered it, and shoved it back under the desk. With a final glance, he vanished.
A soft breeze stirred through the open window as he left, lifting one corner of the cloth. In the portrait's lower right, a single word gleamed: Cavendish!
The wall portraits stirred back to life.
Headmaster Black scowled. "What in blazes was that?"
The others exchanged shrugs. "No idea. Felt like our views were hexed shut."
"Even Dumbledore couldn't manage that," Black muttered. "Erwin?"
"Unlikely," another replied. "He'd need full control of Hogwarts to blank the Headmaster's portraits."
Black waved it off. "Portraits now, are we? Let the living sort their messes."
Night cloaked the Slytherin Head Boy's bedroom. Erwin lay abed while the Ravenclaw portrait slipped off to gossip with her painted daughter.
Sleep claimed him swiftly, but it was restless. He dreamed—twisted visions that pulled at his core. His body jerked.
Then his hair flickered between black and white, his features dissolving into shadow.
Abruptly, Erwin bolted upright. The white strands settled; his face sharpened. Sweat beaded on his brow.
He drew steady breaths, rising to the window. A light tap on the table summoned a steaming cup of black tea.
Sipping it slowly, he gazed into the starless sky. With a wave, a glowing panel materialized before him.
[Magical Level: Level Four]
[Identity: Current Head of the Cavendish Family, Second-Year Slytherin at Hogwarts – Top of the House]
[Title: Herald of the Fourth Dark Lord (Boosts commanding presence by 25%, enhances Dark Arts potency by 25%)]
[Talents:
Transfiguration: 10/10
Everyday Spells: 10/10
Dark Arts: 20/10
Potions: 10/10
Ancient Magic: ?/10 (Unlocked; requires unique ritual to access)]
Remaining: 15 Standard Talent Points, 1 Elite Talent Point]
[Companion: Rare Creature – Ebony]
[Special Abilities: Ability Absorption (Legendary); Perpetual Magic Source (Legendary); Unique Animagus (Legendary); Spell Mastery (Legendary); Metamorphmagus Ability (Epic); Binding Resistance (Epic)]
[Spell Mastery: [Omitted for brevity]]
[Spell Proficiency: 7000]
[Inventory: Enchanted Citadel Blueprint, Grindelwald's Marionette x1, Ever-Changing Suit x1, Wand of Unknown Origin, Space Ring x1, Automated Potion Cauldron x1, Decoy Doll (1/1), Death's Token (1/1)]
[Wizarding Acclaim: 830,000]
Erwin studied the display, his mind racing through the shadows of alliances and betrayals. The Alvas' gambit was just one thread in a larger web—one he intended to unravel on his terms. As the tea cooled, so did his resolve into something colder, sharper. The board was set, but he wasn't content to be played. Not anymore.
...
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