The two nodded and departed.
In Diagon Alley, Old Tom had arranged everything per Erwin's instructions. He returned to the magical materials shop, where Rivers awaited him.
Spotting Rivers, Old Tom asked, "Everything sorted?"
Rivers nodded. "Yes, those rebels sent their men, and I took them out. But I felt eyes on me—someone spying. I searched, but nothing. I reckon it was the Theresa family. Only they could slip away that cleanly."
Old Tom frowned. "With the Theresas' bloodline gifts, they could hide right under your nose. Looks like I was right—they leaked their trail in Germany as a distraction. The Theresas have vanished into thin air. Any sign of the Solents family?"
Rivers shook his head. "None. After the Theresa family business, the Solents must have gotten orders from the Theresas and gone to ground. They ditched their old operations. The Theresas only resurfaced because they're running low on funds. They've always leaned on the Solent for income, and now that's dried up."
Tom nodded. "Fair enough. We'll leave them be for now. They'll crawl out when they need something, and Master will sniff them out."
Rivers hesitated. "I think Snape clocked me."
Old Tom replied, "Probably just a hunch. You were always cloaked in black robes when you traveled with Master through the wizarding world. He might've thought you looked familiar, but it's a stretch. That said, I might've slipped up myself. I panicked about Snape spotting you and overplayed my hand—could've raised Master's suspicions."
Rivers perked up. "So, we come clean soon?"
He sounded eager, itching to serve Erwin openly and crush their foes without restraint.
Old Tom shook his head. "Couldn't say. Master has his own ways and schemes. Whether he brings it up first... who knows?"
Rivers pressed, "Old Tom, you're slipping. After all this time with him, and you still can't read him?"
Old Tom's tone sharpened. "Rivers, no one reads Master. No one guesses his mind. Don't lump me in if you're courting death. Master's cold—nothing like his father. If the elder was a blazing sun, Master is the chill moon: just as brilliant, but icy. For the right gain, he'll show no quarter. Stop trying to predict him, or you'll end up regretting it."
Rivers grew solemn. "I get it. Wasn't pushing. But don't you see how much he's shouldering? You saw him today, killing without pause. What if he starts losing his grip?"
Old Tom paused, then said, "He won't. I sense it—he's in control. Hogwarts has softened him, made him more... human. As long as that lingers, he'll manage. We just trust him. But you need to track down what I asked for, and fast."
Rivers sighed. "Merlin could've chucked it anywhere. It's like it never existed. I've chased every whisper of a lead over the years—dead ends every time. And solo? It's a nightmare."
Old Tom urged, "Do what you can. Even without it, I reckon the other bloodline in Master will keep things in check. He can handle it. Right, with the Cavendish family now stepping into the wizarding world proper, release the others. The stewards—barring you and me—are gone. Master needs reliable hands. Bring them in; I'll tell him they're rogue wizards we've recruited."
Rivers nodded. "Heading back, then?"
Old Tom confirmed. "Tidy up the family affairs too. Don't neglect the Muggle side—it's Master's safety net. Stick to the plans we set before Hogwarts. If something's too sticky, use magic."
Rivers's eyes gleamed. "Brilliant. That'll make it a breeze!"
Old Tom cautioned, "Easy does it. England's royals still have their own wizards. Avoid tangling with them until they force our hand. Master's got enough on his plate."
Rivers agreed. "Understood."
In the Slytherin Head's dormitory at Hogwarts, Erwin sat on his bed, fists clenched tight. A thin sheen of sweat beaded his forehead. An empty potion vial lay beside him.
Ravenclaw's portrait hovered by the window, his gaze heavy with concern.
Finally, Erwin unclenched his hands and collapsed back, breathing hard. He tossed the vial into his enchanted pouch.
"The Godfather's potions are losing their edge," he muttered. "They're barely holding the surge back anymore."
Ravenclaw warned, "Keep feeding that bloodlust with all this killing, and it'll devour you one day."
Erwin managed a wry smile. "You said it yourself, Your Majesty—one day, maybe. But right now, I can rein it in. I think I see it now: why dark magic doesn't twist me with its usual shadows. It's not immunity; it's this... hunger inside me, swallowing those whispers whole."
Ravenclaw pressed, "You can't purge it entirely."
Erwin nodded. "I know. If I'm right, this killer's edge ties to that other bloodline you hinted at. Care to enlighten me? What is it?"
Ravenclaw paused, then said gravely, "The blood of kings."
Erwin's brow furrowed. "Kings' blood? Explain."
Ravenclaw countered, "Your mother's maiden name?"
Erwin shrugged. "Pendragon."
Silence stretched. Then Erwin bolted upright.
"Pendragon... as in King Arthur?"
...
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