"Can you tell me why?" Erwin asked, intrigued.
Cassandra met his gaze steadily. "Beside every king, there's only one spot on his right. I want to claim that position."
Erwin blinked, not quite following at first.
She pressed on. "The Worre family once produced a born Seer. He left a prophecy: in the darkest hour, a king would rise in the wizarding world. His arrival would shatter the old order, turning crisis into triumph and placing him at the pinnacle of power. You, Heir—I believe you're that king. Only by serving as the right hand of a true sovereign can someone truly ascend."
Erwin got it now. This girl had suddenly sharpened her focus, as if a fog had lifted from her mind. Prophecies? He didn't put stock in them. Fate was a myth to him; he trusted only his own strength. If he grew powerful enough, he'd forge his own path—no strings attached.
Charlotte rose abruptly, a cold spark in her eyes. "You're nowhere near ready to stand at Erwin's right."
She usually came across as laid-back, never one to push or compete— the picture of a model prefect. But she had her limits. With the Theresa family wiped out, that right-hand spot was hers alone to guard. Anyone eyeing it would learn what it meant to carry the legacy of one of the noble houses, to be Slytherin's hidden Heir.
Pansy and Hermione's faces darkened. They'd set their sights on the same prize, viewing Charlotte as their sole competition. They'd planned to sharpen their skills and challenge her someday. But now this?
Cassandra held Charlotte's stare without flinching, a spark of defiance lighting her features. Tension crackled between them, like dry tinder waiting for a flame. And Erwin held the match.
He considered it for a beat. "Cassandra, you're no match for Charlotte yet."
She opened her mouth to protest.
Erwin raised a hand, silencing her gently. "Hear me out. Your skills lag far behind hers right now. Charlotte's one of the strongest at Hogwarts—second only to me. You're not ready. That said, if you're set on this, I could arrange a duel. But it'd burn your shot early. I'd advise waiting through the holidays. Your family's resources are top-notch; use them to train hard. When the prefect challenges kick off next term, take her on then."
Cassandra paused, weighing his words. Then she bowed. Turning to Charlotte, she said, "September, when term starts—I'll challenge you."
Charlotte smirked. "You're miles off. But I'll be waiting."
Cassandra returned to her seat.
Erwin shook his head with a wry smile. What a headache. This girl was bolder than he'd expected.
He clapped his hands. "All right, that's settled. Enjoy your holidays, everyone. Just remember, I'll have a surprise test waiting when you return."
The room's buoyant mood deflated instantly. Why did good news always come laced with bad?
The next day, Hogwarts emptied for the break. Erwin skipped the Hogwarts Express this time, Apparating straight to Diagon Alley.
In the top-floor office of the Cavendish Tower—now more fortress than home—Tom stood before the desk.
Erwin settled into his chair. "Everything set?"
Tom nodded. "Newspapers are distributed as ordered."
"Keep watch on Azkaban," Erwin instructed. "If Sirius breaks out, snap his legs."
Tom inclined his head. "Understood, Master. Why not end him outright?"
Erwin had plans. "He still serves a purpose. Let him linger a bit longer. How else will my dear professor resurrect?"
Tom absorbed that. "Wise. But will he escape?"
"Count on it. As Harry's godfather, guilt over his friends' son will drive him. With Voldemort lurking, he'll bolt to shield the boy."
"Yes, Master."
Erwin set down his teacup. "Any word on Lupin?"
Tom shook his head. "Nothing. Dumbledore's likely shielding him—the only one who'd know his trail."
"Forget the search, then. We'll handle him at Hogwarts next term."
Tom nodded. "And the Weasley contest?"
Irwin shrugged. "It's underway, so let them win. I dragged them into the basilisk mess again—call this payback. The family's scraped by too long; they deserve a breather."
"Arthur Weasley's called several times," Tom added. "Invites you to the Burrow."
"Tell him I've shipped off to America. Favors matter, but for what I need from them, we require deeper ties."
Tom hesitated. "You've already aided them greatly, Master. They wouldn't refuse a request."
"Not sufficient. What I have in mind demands ironclad loyalty. See to it."
Tom bowed. "At once."
As he turned to go, Erwin remembered. "One more thing—charter a private jet. America tomorrow."
"So soon?" Tom asked. "No further prep?"
Irwin waved it off. "None needed. I'll go as a British knight; the Muggle authorities will handle security."
Tom nodded. "I'll make the arrangements."
Alone, Erwin sifted through documents on the desk—dossiers on American wizarding families, compiled at his request by Cassandra. Stirring trouble abroad meant doing his homework. He wasn't some reckless Gryffindor charging blind.
...
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— MrGrim