Dobby hesitated for a moment. "Um, sir, though I shouldn't say it, best not to eat too much meat tonight. Thirty roast chickens might cause indigestion!"
Erwin chuckled. "Don't worry, I know my limits."
Soon, his dormitory filled with plump roast chickens. With a flick of his wand, Erwin sent them floating out the window and into the Black Lake below. A shadowy form darted through the depths, snapping them up in an instant.
Erwin watched the ripples settle. Raising a basilisk was proving more entertaining than expected. The creature spent its days lurking in the sewers, though, and it desperately needed a proper bath. Without that, Erwin couldn't bring himself to fully embrace such a grimy pet.
Once the feast had vanished, he figured the beast was sated. No point fussing further. Stretching out on his bed, Erwin pondered the plot's next twist. By the book, Harry would soon find himself framed for unleashing whatever horror was stirring, while Lockhart stirred up his usual chaos.
The fraud had pestered Erwin ages ago about starting a dueling club, even begging him to assist. Erwin had shut it down with a single warning: he never pulled punches. If Colin wanted to volunteer instead, fine—but Lockhart had paled at the thought. The idea died there.
Now, though, with tensions rising, Lockhart might dust it off. Tomorrow promised a spectacle. Erwin smirked, imagining Harry's bewildered outrage at being scapegoated. The poor boy would be fuming.
Drowsiness overtook him, and Erwin drifted off.
Late that night, a Ravenclaw figure slipped back into the tower. The small black dog curled at Erwin's feet cracked an eye but dismissed the intruder with a lazy roll, resuming its snores.
The newcomer spared the pup a faint smile before vanishing into the diadem perched on Erwin's brow.
The next morning dawned on Transfiguration class. Professor McGonagall rested against her desk, her expression stern yet expectant.
"Today, we'll transfigure a pet into a cup. Erwin, if you would demonstrate."
He nodded, rising smoothly. With a gentle wave of his wand, a sleek cup etched with intricate patterns materialized on the desk.
Professor McGonagall's eyes gleamed with approval. "Excellent work. Slytherin, five points."
Erwin inclined his head in thanks.
At a nearby table, Harry leaned toward Draco, whispering urgently. "Ask her, Draco!"
"Why me?" Draco shot back.
Harry fidgeted. "I'm... a bit scared."
Draco rolled his eyes—numb didn't begin to cover it. He missed Hermione's boldness; she'd have jumped in without hesitation. But curiosity won out, and he raised his hand.
Professor McGonagall's gaze sharpened. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Er, Professor," Draco ventured, "could you tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Every student in the room turned, eyes wide with anticipation.
Professor McGonagall paused, weighing her words. "Very well, since you're all so keen."
She paced slowly, her voice steady and measured. "The tale dates back over a thousand years. Hogwarts was founded by four of the greatest wizards of their era—the Four Founders, as you know: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin."
Nods rippled through the class. Wizarding children grew up on that history.
"At first, they worked in harmony," she continued. "But soon, cracks formed. One founder clashed with the others over a fundamental disagreement."
She let the words hang. The Gryffindors swiveled toward the Slytherins, their stares accusatory.
"Obviously," one muttered.
Slytherin faces hardened, sparks of defiance in their eyes.
Erwin cleared his throat softly. The room fell deathly silent—no one from either house dared breathe loudly.
"Apologies, Professor," Erwin said evenly. "That was rude. Please, go on."
She nodded, resuming her stroll between the desks. "Founder Slytherin believed Hogwarts should admit only those from magical families—pure-bloods, in his view—to ensure the school's standards. He couldn't sway the others, so he stormed out. But legend holds he sealed a hidden chamber within the castle before leaving. The Chamber of Secrets."
Pausing for effect, she added, "It's said to contain a monster, unleashed only by Slytherin's true heir. That heir would purge the school of students deemed unfit to study magic—those not of pure blood."
The class hung on her every word, gazes drifting inevitably to Erwin, who lounged casually, idly stroking his owl's feathers.
He felt the weight of their stares and froze. This isn't right. Why drag him into it? The flames of suspicion weren't licking his way—were they?
Pansy Parkinson's voice cut through like ice. "Why gawk at Lord Erwin? If he wanted rid of someone, would he bother with a chamber? Lassoing you lot together would tire him out."
Harsh as it was, a few students shifted uncomfortably, murmuring agreement. No one wanted to test that theory.
Professor McGonagall's tone softened. "I trust Erwin implicitly. He didn't open any chamber. He's far too compassionate to harm a soul."
Slytherins exchanged subtle grimaces but held their tongues. Gryffindors looked equally cowed.
Erwin met the professor's eyes and flashed a warm grin.
She approached his desk, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Searches have scoured the castle for this chamber over the centuries, but nothing's turned up. It's just a legend now—best left as such."
Draco, undeterred, piped up. "Does the story say what's inside it, Professor?"
...
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