The revelation had thrust the entire affair into motion, accelerating the plot far beyond expectations.
Of course, this suited Erwin just fine. The quicker it resolved, the sooner he could breathe easy.
Glancing at the clock, he noted it was still early. After a brief pause, Erwin scribbled a note and left it on the table—for Ravenclaw, no doubt wondering what she was discussing with her daughter. He hadn't been gone long, but curiosity nagged at him.
With a snap of his fingers, Erwin vanished and reappeared outside the Headmaster's office. He rapped sharply on the door.
Snape's voice drifted out, clipped and impatient. "Enter."
Indeed, Snape now occupied the Headmaster's chair—a development entirely of Erwin's making. He'd bestowed the authority directly, with little fanfare. Hogwarts couldn't function without a headmaster, after all.
Erwin had initially considered Professor McGonagall for the role. As deputy headmistress, it would have been a natural fit, and only temporary until Dumbledore's return. But when Erwin mentioned it to Snape, the Potions Master had surprised him by requesting the position himself.
Erwin had obliged without question. No one else knew, per Snape's explicit instructions. Since then, Snape had taken to lingering in the office, his purposes a mystery to Erwin.
Pushing the door open, Erwin found Snape unsurprised by his arrival. Who else would know someone was inside?
"Problem? Change of plans?" Snape asked, his dark eyes narrowing.
Erwin shook his head. "No, just bringing you a gift."
He withdrew several enchanted crystals from his enchanted ring and set them on the desk. Then, he outlined their properties: reservoirs of pure magic, rechargeable and potent for amplifying spells or sustaining complex brews.
Snape lifted one, channeling a subtle probe. Surprise flickered across his sallow features. "Where did these come from?"
"I crafted them," Erwin replied. "Only I can, for now. Keep them close, Godfather. I'll supply more as needed—don't hold back."
Snape nodded curtly. "Tell no one. Not unless they're beyond reproach."
"I know." Erwin paused, then pulled out another item: a formula sheet from the enchanted brewing station. He slid it across the desk.
Snape scanned it, his brow furrowing. "The Yaxley family's?"
He'd been present during the Yaxleys' downfall and recognized the Incomplete Berserker Potion recipe at a glance.
Erwin confirmed with a nod. "Acquired through... unconventional channels. Can you complete it? Make it viable?"
Snape didn't pry into the source. In his eyes, Erwin's methods were beyond scrutiny—if it advanced their cause, it was justified. He pored over the ingredients and instructions, his lips moving silently as he analyzed.
Erwin let him work, wandering the room with idle curiosity. It was one of his first proper looks around the Headmaster's office; previous visits had been too rushed.
His gaze drifted downward, catching something near Snape's feet by the desk's edge—a glint of ornate framing? He squinted. It resembled the border of a portrait.
Erwin shrugged it off. Portraits adorned every wall here; nothing unusual. He glanced at the ones above: empty frames, the former headmasters off on their ethereal jaunts, no doubt gossiping in some distant painting.
Speaking of which, Phineas Nigellus Black hadn't paid Erwin a visit in ages. Their last encounter followed Erwin's ascension as Heir of Slytherin. The old headmaster had grilled him on Slytherin's true legacy, and Erwin had answered candidly, easing the portrait's long-held frustrations.
In return, Phineas had shared arcane spell nuances—tips on subtlety and power that Erwin still drew upon. But since then, silence. Erwin shook his head. Even painted souls had their own pursuits. And truthfully, these were mere echoes, not true essences.
A moment later, Snape looked up, his expression thoughtful. "This brew... it's unbalanced."
Erwin leaned in, eager. Snape's expertise in potions was unmatched.
"Most components amplify magical reserves," Snape continued, "but the formula forces an overload—a berserker rage. Neutralize the volatile elements, however, and you could preserve the enhancement without the frenzy. It might stabilize into a true magic-boosting potion."
Erwin's eyes widened. Magic-boosting potions were legendary relics, whispered of in ancient tomes but lost to time. Even the Four Founders had left no recipes; if they existed, it predated their era.
"Theoretically viable," Snape added, "but those boosters are myths from antiquity. Confirming one from this mess..." He trailed off, the implications clear.
Erwin nodded. Should Snape succeed, the formula would be theirs—the Selwyn family's ultimate edge. Wizards bearing the name would wield unmatched reserves, a legacy to rival the ancients.
"Some ingredients are rare, possibly extinct," Snape warned. "I'll need to scour old suppliers over the holidays, experiment."
"Take your time," Erwin said. "No pressure. If it pans out, brilliant; if not, we've lost nothing."
Snape inclined his head. "Anything else?"
Erwin hesitated, then met his godfather's gaze steadily. "One more thing, Godfather. Would you like to see Lily Potter again?"
...
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