Vines erupted from the ground beneath the basilisk, halting its advance. The Slytherins had struck first, with Colin leading the charge. Their combined efforts disrupted the beast's rhythm, buying precious moments.
From atop the boulder, Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Well handled. The basilisk is massive and hard to control, but even it slows against layered defenses. Erwin, you've trained them superbly."
Snape inclined his head, a rare flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He was impressed by his house's performance.
Erwin demurred. "You're too kind, Professor. Charlotte's the one who called the shots. Her instincts in a fight are sharp—she picked up what I taught her and ran with it."
McGonagall smiled faintly. "She's a gem, that one. You've got a solid right hand, Erwin."
He grinned, eyes fixed on the action below. But the basilisk was no ordinary foe. Even restrained, its raw power surged. With a violent twist, it shredded the vines like twine.
Then it fixed its gaze on the students. "Eyes—watch its eyes!" Colin shouted.
Her warning came swift, but several Ravenclaws met the basilisk's stare. They froze mid-step, then toppled like statues.
Professor Flitwick leaped from his perch, brow furrowed in concern. Those were his students.
"Don't fret, Professor," Erwin said quickly. "Professor Sprout's Mandrakes will sort the petrification—no lasting harm."
Flitwick shook his head. "It's not the cure I'm worried about; Sprout's a wizard at Herbology. It's their reflexes. Charlotte's alert saved lives, but if that glare had been a curse..." He trailed off, the implication grim.
Erwin fell silent. The Ravenclaws were brilliant scholars, no doubt, but their strengths skewed toward books, not brawls. In a real scrap, they lagged behind the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.
Ranking the houses by combat prowess now? Slytherin topped the list—disciplined and cunning. Gryffindor followed, their bold instincts shining through despite the occasional recklessness. Erwin still suspected the Sorting Hat had been tampered with; he'd half a mind to torch it next time he visited Dumbledore's office.
Hufflepuff surprised him most. Labeled average by many, they weren't flashy like Gryffindor or resourced like Slytherin, nor bookish as Ravenclaw. Yet their balanced skills made them formidable. That all-around steadiness? It embodied Helga Hufflepuff's legacy.
Ravenclaw, for all their intellect, ranked lowest in a fight. Erwin had poured effort into drilling them, but it barely stuck. Their sharp minds twisted his lessons into untested theories, skipping the basics. Thinking was key, but battles demanded more—instinct, grit, execution.
Flitwick's voice cut through his thoughts, grave and urgent. "Erwin, I see their flaws all too well. Intelligence is a double-edged wand—brilliant for theory, deadly in practice if unchecked. Help them build real fighting chops. The wizarding world's shadows are closing in; they won't last as they are."
The Charms master turned, bowing deeply to Erwin. "Please. For their sake."
Erwin started, dodging the gesture. He knelt to Flitwick's level. "Professor, rise—I'm just a student. This is my duty. I'd aid them regardless, and if push came to shove, I'd shield them with everything I've got. They're my classmates, after all."
Too short to reach, Flitwick settled for a firm pat on Erwin's lowered shoulder. "I trust you, lad. Whatever path you're on, know this: if the worst comes, we'll professors stand as your bulwark. But should we fall, my one plea—get them out. Keep them safe. Don't let them throw themselves away like you might. They're not built for that fire."
Erwin met the professor's gaze, a revelation dawning. He finally grasped why McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout—even the acerbic Snape—chose Hogwarts. It wasn't prestige or pay. It was the calling: shaping young lives, viewing students as their world. These were educators in the purest sense.
Erwin had once seen them as tools to leverage. Now? Only profound respect remained. Hogwarts stood as the pinnacle of wizarding education, irreplaceable.
He bowed his head, voice steady. "You have my word, Professor. If that day dawns, I'll protect them—no matter the cost. The Cavendish name stands behind it."
Flitwick's eyes misted. "Good lad."
The other Heads watched Erwin, a subtle shift in the air. For a heartbeat, they glimpsed a spectral figure rising from him—warm, radiant, familiar. It was his father, merging back into the son, a legacy reignited.
...
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