Ravenclaw dissolved into a cascade of starlight, flowing into the diadem atop Erwin's head. He rolled his eyes. Why did she have to treat him like some sort of inn?
But there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't fight her, so he simply endured it. Still, what had she meant by that "surprise" for later? Erwin wasn't entirely sure, but he trusted her judgment. The founder knew far more than he did, and Erwin had always prided himself on being level-headed—obedient when it counted, unlike so many hotheads.
Now, though, it was time to address something else. Erwin turned his attention to the jar on the table. Inside squirmed Rita Skeeter, the beetle journalist, dazed and trapped.
She'd witnessed everything from her glass prison: the exchange between Charlotte and Erwin, and then Ravenclaw's startling appearance. As a Ravenclaw alumna, Rita had recognized the founder instantly. Who wouldn't? The statue in the common room was a daily fixture—practically haunted her dreams.
That recognition had filled Rita with terror. One of the founders, alive? It was the scoop of the century. But for once, the thrill of a story eluded her. A chill gripped her instead. She knew too much about Erwin now—too many secrets. She'd seen how he'd handled Charlotte, the calculated ruthlessness. He wouldn't let her walk away from this.
Rita had misjudged him, like everyone else in the wizarding world. Erwin's careful image—a tragic orphan, a boy genius adrift—had fooled them all, her included. Today's slip-up with the Protego Diabolica might crack that facade, but his groundwork was solid. Ordinary witches and wizards wouldn't turn on him overnight. The pure-blood elite and Ministry higher-ups? They already sensed the threat he posed, but Erwin had never aimed to fool them. The masses were his true audience, and they always would be the majority.
Erwin approached the table, lifted the jar, and gave it a gentle shake. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Rita Skeeter, whatever shall I do with you? I've heard that if you kill an Animagus in animal form, they snap back to human instantly. Always wondered if that was true—never seen it myself. Fancy being my test subject? But I'm feeling generous. Pick your poison: a quick Killing Curse, perhaps? Nothing too fancy—I'm only a first-year, after all. Plenty of spells I haven't mastered yet."
Panic seized Rita. Her beetle wings buzzed frantically against the glass. "No! Please, don't kill me! I swear, I won't breathe a word of this. Not to anyone!"
Erwin chuckled. "Your word means nothing to me, Rita. Only the dead keep secrets. Since you won't choose, I'll pick for you. Fiendfyre, perhaps? Who knows—maybe you've got phoenix blood buried deep. It could awaken your heritage, turn this mess into a blessing. Don't thank me; you earned it."
As his wand brushed the jar's surface, the wand's silvery gleam sent Rita into fresh terror. Death had never loomed so near.
"No! Please! I'll pledge my loyalty, just like that girl. Mark me—anything! Just spare me!"
Erwin's expression hardened. "You think my Dark Mark is handed out like candy? Rita Skeeter, you're worthless to me. What makes you think you deserve it?"
Rita met his icy stare, her soul icing over. The raw killing intent rolling off him was unlike anything she'd felt—dense, suffocating. How many lives did it take to forge that? And from an eleven-year-old? The pressure sharpened her wits, desperation fueling a frantic search for leverage.
"My lord, I am valuable! I know secrets—pure-blood scandals, Ministry dirt! My articles sell like hot Butterbeer; I'm the Daily Prophet's editor-in-chief. I can spin stories for you, shape the narrative however you like. Whatever your goals, you need a voice in the wizarding world. Let me be that voice—I'll get your message out, build your influence!"
Erwin fell silent, studying the beetle in the jar. Annoying as Rita was in the old tales, you couldn't deny her gifts. A Ravenclaw through and through, with Animagus skills to boot. Talent like that didn't come cheap.
His ploy was straightforward: force compliance through fear, and it might breed resentment. But make them volunteer their worth? That sparked initiative. Under duress, she'd convince herself she'd earned her survival—and work twice as hard to keep proving it. Smart ones like her responded best to that nudge. The best allies weren't coerced; they were the ones who saw the opportunity and seized it.
Rita, spotting his pause as a crack in the ice, pressed on. "My lord, I'm far more useful alive than dead! Give me a chance, and I'll demonstrate it. Spare me—I swear on my wand, you'll see."
Erwin weighed her words, the jar still warm in his hand. For now, she'd bought herself time. But trust? That would have to be earned.