Sunny Finch possessed extraordinary talent and was the most promising candidate to master those ancient wards. If she could learn them, she would prove invaluable in the coming Wizarding War. Her involvement was essential. Dark times loomed on the horizon, ensnaring everyone in their path. This was destiny's inexorable pull.
One elder rolled his eyes. "Headmaster, I told you to stop burying yourself in those Muggle novels. Now you're spouting mystical nonsense about destiny! Spare me the dramatics. Instead of wasting time, figure out how you're going to compensate me for the crystal ball. I lent it to our fellow elder to catch up on wizarding broadcasts, and now Sunny's taken it. I'll never see it again! You never intended to return it, so let's settle on a price."
The Headmaster in the center looked sheepish. He cleared his throat. "We'll sort that out later. I suddenly sense the omens growing chaotic. I need to consult the stars and retreat for a bit. Don't disturb me."
With that, he vanished in a swirl of robes.
The first elder paled. "He bolted again! Divination? Besides Professor Trelawney, I've never met anyone else who dabbles in that rubbish!"
Another elder chuckled wryly. "You'll get used to it. Our Headmaster's always been like this. If not for Professor Trelawney's complete prophecies and contingency plans, we'd have fallen in the last war. All these years, he's been itching to learn divination, desperate for any edge in survival."
The others fell silent for a moment, then sighed in unison.
"Right, let's call it a night," the first elder said. "We stick to the plan. The board is set; no one knows how this will play out. We do what we can and trust to fate. Besides, win or lose, this is the final stand. At worst, we go down together. I've had a good run these past century—enough to see our ancestors' old foes felled before I shuffle off!"
The elders nodded grimly. They exchanged farewells, their forms dissolving into streaks of light that streaked across the twilight sky.
Far below, Sunny Finch stared into a polished bronze scrying mirror, her eyes fixed on Erwin's reflection. She had tuned out everything else, utterly enchanted by his striking features. In a world that prized beauty so fiercely, such distractions came naturally.
But as she leaned closer, admiring his sharp jawline, the image flickered and froze.
Sunny jolted upright, heart racing. "Wait—where'd he go? What's wrong with this thing? Shoddy craftsmanship! Are there limits on how long it works?"
Clueless, she fiddled with the frame, trying to coax the vision back.
Meanwhile, inside Hogwarts, Erwin had no inkling he'd just been observed. Yet a nagging unease prickled at him, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He'd never dreamed of such subtle spying methods in the wizarding world, so the thought never crossed his mind.
Having gathered his things, Erwin called out to Ravenclaw's portrait. Silence answered.
He sighed. Had his favorite old witch truly been outmaneuvered? It seemed ridiculous. But what recourse did he have? Resistance was futile; he was outmatched.
Brushing his teeth absentmindedly, Erwin examined the Slytherin access he'd just gained. With control over both Ravenclaw and Slytherin territories, he now commanded half of Hogwarts. Every facility within their bounds—hidden chambers, enchanted defenses, and secret passages—bent to his will. A mere thought sufficed to activate or alter them.
The ancient stone pillars from the old tales, however, remained beyond his reach; those tied to Gryffindor. Still, Erwin uncovered unexpected perks in this dual authority, too numerous to list. He was thrilled.
Even better, he could now appoint or dismiss the Headmaster—and he finally grasped what that role truly entailed. In the original stories, no Headmaster save Dumbledore wielded such dominion: commanding the castle's every secret, even Apparating freely within its walls. Erwin had verified this with Headmaster Black.
Dumbledore's edge stemmed from his Gryffindor bloodline, granting him a quarter share of Hogwarts' governance. That let him bend the rules others couldn't. In essence, Hogwarts recognized him as the sole legitimate Headmaster.
The so-called Governing Board in the tales—Malfoy's cronies, other pure-bloods, and Ministry lackeys—claimed the power to hire and fire him. It had seemed plausible then. Now, with half the castle's reins in hand, Erwin saw it for the farce it was. They could bluster all they liked, but without Dumbledore's compliance, the post was his forever.
The board? A puppet show Dumbledore orchestrated to placate the elite, convincing them they held his leash. A self-imposed illusion of vulnerability. Much like Erwin's ploy with Hermione: fabricate a chink in the armor to lull suspicions. An untouchable powerhouse like Dumbledore? Terrifying. But one with "flaws"? Manageable.
Erwin's actual weakness was contrived, at least. Dumbledore's was pure theater—ruthless misdirection at its finest.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Suppose—just hypothetically—Erwin exercised his new authority and ousted Dumbledore?
His eyes gleamed. It could be a lark, with no real fallout. Dumbledore had a sense of humor, didn't he?
"Worst case, I reinstate him later," Erwin muttered. "Harmless fun. No harm done."
Decision made, he invoked his privileges and revoked Dumbledore's Headmaster status.
In the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore had just stirred, his blue starry nightgown draped over his shoulders as he reached for his basin. Abruptly, an invisible force slammed into him like a battering ram.
With a startled yelp, he tumbled backward—straight out the open window.