Patriarch Robert hadn't even opened his mouth when the head of the Robert family jumped in, desperation etching his features. "Lord Cavendish, this was all my doing—the business with the Worre family's old estate. My father knew nothing about it. He warned me to stay out of the Robert and Cavendish affairs, but I went against his wishes. I'll give my life to make this right if it quells your anger!"
Erwin glanced at the man, saying nothing. Patriarch Robert waved his son to silence, then stepped forward. "Lord Cavendish, we've wronged you. All we ask is a chance to set things right."
Erwin arched an eyebrow. "A chance? And what exactly can the Robert family offer?"
Patriarch Robert hesitated, his voice steadying. "Everything we have—our full wealth."
Erwin chuckled dryly. "Do you really think the Cavendish family needs your gold?"
The old man deflated, realizing his mistake. With their enchanted communicator business booming, the Cavendishes were likely the richest pure-blood family in the wizarding world. Desperation clawed at him as he searched for something—anything—of value, but nothing came. The Roberts seemed doomed.
Tears welled in Patriarch Robert's eyes. Was this the end for his house?
Then Erwin's expression shifted, as if a stray thought had struck him. "Still, I'll give you an opening. Your family's hospitality has been top-notch—the meals far better than anything the Robert lot could muster. I do appreciate fine dining, so for that alone, I'll offer you a path forward. Whether you take it is up to you."
Relief flooded Patriarch Robert's face. "Anything! The Robert family will do whatever it takes!"
Erwin's smile was faint. "I was planning to pay visits to the Dalsey, Bard, and Woodrow families after this. But I'm worn out from the journey—can't be bothered. Perhaps the Roberts could handle that on my behalf?"
The younger man's excitement curdled into shock. "You... you want us to move against those three families?"
Erwin shrugged. "Refuse if you like. I can manage it myself, though it'd be a chore."
The implication hung heavy: if taking down those families was a minor annoyance, crushing the Roberts would be effortless. Patriarch Robert saw the game clearly. Once they struck, they'd burn bridges with every American house, branded as Cavendish puppets. Erwin aimed to fold them into his network, a foothold in this foreign magical scene.
Silence stretched. Erwin waited patiently—he was indifferent either way. It was just an idle notion, born of boredom.
The Robert heir watched his father, grasping the stakes even if he lacked the old man's cunning.
Finally, Patriarch Robert met Erwin's gaze. "Lord Cavendish, our guest quarters are ready—the house-elves have seen to them. Rest while you can. We'll set out at once."
Erwin nodded. "I'll expect good news, then."
With a deep bow, Patriarch Robert replied, "You have our word."
Father and son departed swiftly to rally their kin.
Cassandra lingered, glancing at Erwin. "Patriarch, do you think they can pull it off? The Roberts aren't even top-tier among the second-rate families. Taking on three at once—that's a tall order."
Erwin stretched, smirking. "They're fortunate just to be breathing. If they succeed, great; if not, tough luck. These American houses are smugger than the old British pure-bloods. Ten from our combat squad could dismantle them without breaking a sweat. The power gap is laughable."
She nodded. "True—they're all far too comfortable. The Worres included."
"Enough of that. Let's get some rest. That Patriarch Robert's more than he seems—his magic runs deeper than you'd guess."
Cassandra eyed him skeptically, but Erwin offered no elaboration. He'd sensed it from the start: something off about the man. Wizards' power grew with years, sure, but talent dictated the pace. Patriarch Robert's magical reserves dwarfed what any peer should wield.
If Erwin was right—and he usually was—the man either had rare gifts or some hidden windfall. The former seemed unlikely; exceptional talent would have elevated the Roberts higher in the pecking order. No, this felt like an encounter—something extraordinary that boosted his magic beyond the norm.
Erwin's mind raced. Mana-enhancing potions? Not the full brew, perhaps, but ingredients mimicking it, or clever substitutes. His godfather had been hunting alternatives for ages, with gaps still unfilled. Uncover Patriarch Robert's secret, and they'd edge closer to perfecting the real thing.
Pure speculation, of course. The truth would come when the Roberts returned. He hoped they wouldn't let him down.
Meanwhile, Patriarch Robert had assembled his clansmen in a shadowed hall, the air thick with tension as they prepared to apparate.
His son pulled him aside, voice low. "Father, are we really doing this? Crossing those families puts us at war with every house in America. We'll be seen as Cavendish lapdogs—no one will forgive that."
Patriarch Robert managed a wry smile. "Do we have options? And honestly, aligning with the Cavendishes might not be the worst fate. Better their allies than their ashes."
...
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