The basilisk nodded obediently.
Erwin Apparated away, reappearing in his dormitory moments later.
Charlotte was already there, waiting patiently. She bowed deeply as he entered. "My lord, you're back."
Erwin nodded. "Indeed. Have you seen to the petrified students?"
"I did," she replied. "On my way back, I spotted Professor Sprout rushing the potions to the infirmary."
"Good. Now, what did you make of today's fight with the basilisk?"
Charlotte paused, her expression thoughtful. "I see my weaknesses clearly now—plenty of them. How did I do in your eyes, sir?"
"Your power's solid enough," Erwin said, "but you're still raw around the edges. No matter. I've lined up the perfect mentor for you. Over the holidays, you'll train under her. You'll sharpen up fast."
She considered this. "Ms. Vinda Rosier?"
He nodded. "Exactly. No one questions her prowess in a scrap. But it's more than fighting—she's got lessons in leadership you need. She built the Acolytes into what they are; one day, you'll do the same. That's why she's your teacher. Clear?"
"Crystal, sir," Charlotte said with a firm nod. "I'll study hard under Ms. Lestrange. You have my word."
"Right, then. Get some rest," Erwin told her. "The Great Hall's throwing a proper feast tonight."
She bowed again and slipped out.
Erwin crossed to the window. "Professor Dumbledore, you've taken a shine to lurking outside windows lately."
As the words left his mouth, a figure in slightly rumpled wizard robes materialized in the room—Dumbledore, looking almost comically disheveled.
"Erwin," the headmaster said, eyes twinkling with curiosity, "I've wondered this before: how do you always sense me? Your skills and standing shouldn't allow it."
Erwin tapped his forehead absently. "Who can say? Perhaps age is catching up with you—your edge isn't what it once was."
Dumbledore let the jab slide without comment. "What's your next move? You've pinned the blame on Lockhart, and through a few discreet channels, you've tipped off the Weasleys that Ron and Ginny set the basilisk loose. You've buried the story, earning their debt in the process. Where do you go from here?"
"You're painting me as quite the schemer, Professor," Erwin replied lightly. "But I haven't got the wits for that. Ron and Ginny did unleash it—that's just fact. As for hushing it up, wasn't that your call, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore fell quiet for a beat. "That was your aim from the start. You even bartered the basilisk to get my cooperation. Erwin, must you always play every angle?"
"Understand this, Professor: the basilisk was Slytherin's, and I am Slytherin's heir."
The old wizard said nothing, his gaze steady.
"Speaking of which," Erwin continued, "you'd best stay away from Hogwarts for now. Returning so soon after the dust settles wouldn't do your image any favors. Bide your time until the holidays wind down."
Dumbledore studied him, then inclined his head. "Wise counsel. I shouldn't have rushed back. Hogwarts is yours to steward, then."
With that, he vanished without another word.
Erwin let out a faint, icy huff. At Hogwarts, Dumbledore remained the greatest threat—for the time being. But that would change soon enough. Next year, Sirius Black would break out; Erwin had been hunting Remus Lupin for ages without success. Dumbledore would have to track them both down. The torments his godfather had suffered at school weren't something to let slide.
By then, the headmaster's usefulness would fade. Erwin's fist tightened subtly. Old scores would demand settling.
A dark flicker of intent crossed his mind, but he quashed it swiftly, drawing deep breaths until calm returned. A wry smile tugged at his lips. He smoothed his robes. Time for the Great Hall—the feast promised to be a grand affair.
The hall glittered that evening, transformed into a spectacle of opulence. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a velvet night sky strewn with stars. Golden candelabras hovered above the long house tables, casting a warm glow. Slytherin's emerald banners hung proudly on the walls—they'd claimed the House Cup last year. Even without a breeze, the flags rippled gently, as if stirred by an unseen hand.
Students trickled in, claiming seats with excited chatter. Professors settled at the high table, robes rustling.
Professor McGonagall rose, her stern features softened by a rare smile. "The crisis at Hogwarts is over. Let us honor the students who rose to the challenge—including those who were attacked and have now recovered fully."
At the doors, the formerly petrified students dashed to their house tables amid thunderous applause. The hall erupted in cheers, hands clapping wildly.
McGonagall raised a hand for silence, and the noise ebbed.
"Those who faced the basilisk," she continued, "I've heard from Slytherin's Charlotte that you acquitted yourselves brilliantly. The staff is immensely proud."
The fighters among the students straightened, beaming—this had been a trial by fire, one that would mark them forever.
"And the basilisk itself?" McGonagall added. "Erwin dispatched it after you'd withdrawn. The Chamber of Secrets is sealed for good. A legend spanning a millennium, ended by your generation. Well done."
Excitement rippled through the crowd. Slytherin's Chamber! The basilisk! It was the stuff of legends—a feat to boast about for years.
Cheers swelled again, a mix of triumph and sheer relief at survival. McGonagall allowed the celebration to run its course until it naturally quieted.
"One more announcement," she said. "Our gamekeeper, Hagrid, has returned. So remember: the Forbidden Forest remains off-limits to wanderers."
Hagrid lumbered to his feet from the staff table, his beetle-black eyes flicking to Erwin with a nod of thanks. Erwin met his gaze with a warm smile, lifting his goblet in salute.
Hagrid's face split into a grateful grin. He figured Erwin had leaned on the Ministry to spring him so quickly—a debt he'd never forget.
...
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