Erwin had no issue with fierce competition, but betraying fellow housemates crossed a line he wouldn't tolerate. He was building his future cadre of loyal allies—how could he rely on anyone willing to stab their comrades in the back?
Some might call it an individual contest, where even housemates were rivals. Fair enough, but that ignored the essence of a house: a shared bond, common interests, and collective goals. These young witches and wizards might compete head-to-head, but the House Cup bound them together as a team. That was the bigger prize, the one they all chased.
In Erwin's evaluation, only those who grasped this unity—putting house loyalty above personal gain—earned top marks. It was a test of character from the start, a deliberate snare. The instant anyone turned their wand on a daily companion, they were out. Today's betrayal for exam points? Even a prodigy like Dumbledore would get no second chance from Erwin.
Raw power wasn't the issue; it could be honed through trials. A weak student might emerge battle-hardened and elite. What mattered was the heart—the unyielding core that no spell could forge.
Erwin scanned the field, pleased with most performances. The Slytherins shone in solidarity: no internal strikes, though solo by rule, they'd shield a housemate under fire. The Hufflepuffs outdid them, though, living up to their reputation as the most cohesive house. They had some subtle signaling method—when one snagged a flag, others rallied to assist, then split the points evenly. No one dominated the scoreboard, but their totals were impressively balanced. True badgers through and through.
Ravenclaw's contingent, heavy on girls with little combat experience, leaned on intellect over brawn. They assessed risks, seeking the safest paths to flags, which Erwin admired for its prudence. But their overcaution cost them chances, letting Slytherin and Hufflepuff surge ahead. For once, the house of scholars trailed in a Hogwarts trial.
The Gryffindors fared worst, predictably. Their older students—fourth-years and up—matched Slytherin in prowess, but the younger ones were a disaster: impulsive, under-skilled, and uncooperative. Erwin caught Professor McGonagall's scowl as he pulled over twenty lion cubs from Aragog's clutches. She'd rescued her share too, from near-fatal kicks, shocks, and stabs by agitated unicorns. The first- and second-years dominated the elimination tally—bold but brittle.
Erwin sized them up quickly, forming a clear picture. Then a jolt hit him. What was this sensation?
His awareness snapped back to his body. He frowned. It echoed the pull of his Slytherin and Ravenclaw privileges, that intuitive link to their domains. But the Forbidden Forest was Hufflepuff territory. He shouldn't feel it.
Fishing the notebook from his enchanted ring, Erwin stared at it. "Is this truly Hufflepuff's? Their legacy?"
Confusion gnawed at him. He had no Badger access—yet that thrum was unmistakable, a permission's echo. Baffled, he leafed through the pages. Nothing. A headache brewed.
What game was Hufflepuff playing? If it was a trial, just get on with it!
Pondering yielded no answers. He stowed the notebook back in the ring. No use dwelling; he'd press on regardless. Hogwarts' mastery was non-negotiable, especially for his enchanted citadel. Ownership was everything.
Speaking of which, Cavendish Manor had yielded heaps of materials, but key ones eluded Old Tom despite exhaustive hunts. Some had vanished from the wizarding world entirely. Erwin had tasked Vinda and the acolytes with scouring noble vaults—trade if possible, or force the issue. The Cavendish way: virtue first, but lives as currency if needed.
For the holidays, he'd set a modest aim: probe the Demos family and gauge their mettle. Unlike secretive pure-bloods, they operated boldly, perhaps from sheer confidence. They were entrenched in America now.
That reminded him of Cassandra, the haughty American girl. She'd gone suspiciously quiet, almost model-behaved. But Erwin sensed misPatriarch brewing; pride like hers didn't fade overnight. Her stillness unnerved him.
Whatever the Demos' strength, he'd adapt: eradicate them if feasible, seize their heir, and extract the bloodline for his own uses. Raise her as leverage, then harvest later. If they proved too formidable, nurture the threat, strike again, and claim it all. The Demos would fall—one way or another.
...
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