The wizarding world held Muggles in low regard, and the Yaxley family was no exception. As the Selwyns prepared to launch a massive operation that would rock London to its core, the family remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing.
The Selwyns were now a formidable force. Though they controlled only a sliver of London's shadowy underbelly, their peers knew better than to underestimate them. Even the most influential organizations, eyeing a move into the city—no matter their motives—had to seek the Selwyns' blessing first. They needed an invitation, a clear explanation of their plans, and explicit approval. This was London, the Selwyns' London. No one courted enmity with them lightly.
The Selwyns were infamous in the underworld as a pack of mad dogs. They struck without restraint, and if you so much as nipped at them, they bit back twice as hard—do or die. While not the strongest players, they were undoubtedly the most dangerous to cross.
News of the Selwyns' large-scale mobilization sparked widespread panic. Rivals assumed it signaled territorial expansion. When the convoy rolled out of London and into a neighboring town, the local underworld families there quaked in fear, bracing for an assault. But the Selwyns had no such plans. The vehicles passed through unscathed, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake as they cut through one town after another.
Erwin, of course, knew nothing of this. He was tucked away in Professor McGonagall's office at Hogwarts, where extra chairs had been conjured for the tense gathering. The Yaxley patriarch and Minister Fudge were already seated. Erwin arrived fashionably late, flanked by Snape.
"Sorry I'm late," Erwin said politely as he stepped inside. "Class just wrapped up."
The Yaxley patriarch snorted derisively.
Erwin merely smiled, unruffled. Snape, however, had no such patience. He drew his wand in a flash. "What was that noise?"
The patriarch's face twisted in rage. "Severus Snape, who do you think you are, pointing that at me? Others might cower before you, but not I. What, does Hogwarts want war?"
Professor McGonagall shot to her feet, slamming her palm on the desk. "Threaten us all you like, Yaxley. Hogwarts bows to no one—not you, not your family!"
Fudge's expression soured. Bloody hell—the boy hadn't even opened his mouth, and already the Yaxleys were spoiling for a fight with the school.
"Let's all calm down," Fudge interjected hastily, forcing a diplomatic smile. "We're here for a peaceful resolution."
Erwin caught Snape's eye and gave a subtle shake of his head. Snape huffed, sheathing his wand. McGonagall settled back into her chair, though Erwin spotted a flicker of regret in her eyes. Was she disappointed? No chance to unleash that statue-animating spell from the books? He'd read how thrilled she'd been to use it in the original tale, practically giddy after decades of curiosity. Who knew the stern Transfiguration professor harbored such a warmonger's spark beneath her tartan robes?
With tempers cooled, Fudge exhaled quietly in relief. "Erwin, Professor Snape—take a seat."
Erwin nodded amiably and dropped into the chair nearest Yaxley. The patriarch's glare burned with barely veiled murder, but Erwin met it with a cheerful grin, as if they were old chums.
"Now that everyone's here," Fudge began, "and I've heard the gist of this feud, let's get to demands. Lay them out."
Erwin stayed silent, turning expectantly to Yaxley.
The patriarch wasted no time. "My family failed to rein in our people, leading to the deaths of Selwyn associates. The Ministry has the culprits in custody; they'll rot in Azkaban soon enough. We're not blameless, so I offer my apologies. The Selwyns can keep peddling their magical supplies in Diagon Alley—but at prices matching ours."
He fixed Erwin with a challenging stare.
Erwin's face remained impassive.
Fudge nodded approvingly. "Reasonable terms. Erwin, does that work for you?"
"Minister," Erwin replied evenly, "may I ask two questions first?"
Fudge beamed, waving him on. "Fire away!"
In Fudge's mind, the deal was sealed. Kids were so predictable—a dollop of honey, and they folded. Soon, he'd be splashed across the Daily Prophet as the minister who'd brokered peace between titans, burnishing his legacy as the wizarding world's great unifier.
Erwin leaned forward. "First: Since when does setting up shop in Diagon Alley require approval from anyone but the Ministry? Selwyn Magical Supplies has full permits, all above board, stamped by your office."
Fudge's smile faltered. He frowned, realizing he'd misjudged. Erwin wasn't some pushover. Worse, the boy's point landed like a hex—solid and unignorable. What right did a pure-blood clan have to dictate Diagon Alley business? Was the Ministry sovereign, or were old families pulling the strings?
Fudge's gaze flicked to Yaxley, whose scowl deepened. Erwin had slyly pitted the Ministry against the pure-blood elite. For anyone else, Fudge might have brushed it off. But he was obsessed with power, paranoid about any erosion of his authority. He'd even tangled with Dumbledore over it, consequences be damned.
Erwin had zeroed in on that flaw like a Seeker spotting the Snitch. Fudge didn't weigh odds or rivals' strength; if it smelled like a threat to his grip, he lashed out—brainless but bold.
The room hung thick with tension. Yaxley shifted, clearly plotting his next move, while Snape's lip curled in anticipation. McGonagall watched Erwin with a mix of pride and wariness. Fudge, cornered by his own ego, cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Erwin, that's... a fair point," Fudge conceded, sweat beading on his brow. "But let's not get bogged down in technicalities. The spirit of the offer—"
"Second question," Erwin cut in smoothly, his tone light but firm. "If the Yaxleys admit fault and the Ministry's handling the prisoners, why tie Selwyn prices to yours? Sounds less like compensation and more like a chokehold on our trade."
Yaxley's knuckles whitened on his armrest. "Watch your tongue, boy. We're offering mercy—"
"Mercy?" Erwin echoed, arching a brow. "Apologies don't come with strings in the wizarding world. Or do they, Minister?"
Fudge sputtered, caught between loyalties. The patriarch's proposal, once a tidy resolution, now unraveled under scrutiny. Erwin's calm dissection exposed the power play for what it was: a bid to undermine the Selwyns while flattering the Ministry.
Snape smirked faintly, crossing his arms. McGonagall's eyes gleamed—perhaps she'd get her spell after all. As the argument escalated, Erwin sat back, content to let Fudge's insecurities do the heavy lifting. The Selwyn operation churned on in London, oblivious to the boy's deft maneuvering here. But if Yaxley pushed too far, peace might shatter like cheap crystal.
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