Wednesday morning brought Herbology.
As expected, Rowan earned another ten points for Slytherin without much effort. Years spent assisting an old wizard with potion work had already given him a solid grasp of magical plants, and with extra reference support, first-year questions barely slowed him down.
That afternoon, Rowan left the castle alone and followed the winding path toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, heading for Hagrid's hut.
Early July was gentle and warm. Wildflowers lined the trail, and bright green grass rolled down toward the Black Lake. If you wandered just a bit farther off the path, you might spot older students lingering together on the slopes, carefully pretending they weren't holding hands. Hogwarts students tended to mature early. By second or third year, dating was common. Harry and Ron were late bloomers by comparison.
Rowan passed the Quidditch pitch, crossed the long stone bridge, and finally reached the forest's edge. There stood a wooden hut several times larger than normal, surrounded by enormous pumpkins.
"Woof! Woof!"
A massive black dog burst out, barking aggressively.
Rowan met its gaze and calmly extended his mental presence. The dog froze, then wagged its tail enthusiastically.
"Fang, stop it!" Hagrid boomed as he stepped out of the hut. "Ah! It's you, lad. Welcome. I just baked some rock cakes. You can have some with our other guest."
Rowan paused. "That's an honor."
He hadn't expected company.
Inside, he spotted Ginny Weasley perched on a chair that looked oversized even for Rowan.
"Ginny?" Rowan asked. "Don't you have class this afternoon?"
She jumped to her feet, flustered. "Y-you're right. I should go. I need to prepare." She hurried out the door.
Hagrid set the rock cakes down and chuckled. "She was askin' when Harry usually comes by. Guess you startled her off. More for us then."
"They smell amazing," Rowan said sincerely, then patted his stomach with visible regret. "But I just finished lunch. Tragic timing."
Hagrid glanced at Rowan's clearly full stomach, sighed, and ate the rock cakes himself in three determined bites.
"Next time, come hungry."
"Hagrid," Rowan said, getting to the point, "I'm very interested in magical creatures. I've read quite a bit, but I still have questions. I was hoping you could help."
Being able to communicate mentally with animals gave Rowan an advantage, but knowledge mattered just as much. Newt Scamander could work wonders not just because of talent, but because he understood creatures deeply.
"You like magical creatures?" Hagrid beamed. "That's brilliant! Ask away."
Hagrid talked. Rowan listened. Notes were recorded elsewhere with ruthless efficiency.
Learning about magical creatures wasn't only about companionship or combat. The Forbidden Forest was rich in rare species, many of which were invaluable for potions and enchanted items. Some materials couldn't be bought at any price, but could be traded.
Powerful resources weren't always gold.
Thursday was relentless. Morning Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed by Charms in the afternoon, and History of Magic at night.
By the end of the day, Rowan had added another forty points.
Slytherin surged ahead.
Whispers spread through the castle. People began calling him the Star of Slytherin, a first-year rising fast enough to blind anyone watching.
Slytherin was never weak in points, especially with Snape's tendencies, but last year had been an anomaly. Hermione Granger's relentless consistency had overwhelmed the margins, and Dumbledore's end-of-year adjustments sealed it.
This year was different.
Rowan was faster. Broader. Relentless across every subject, including History of Magic, where points were almost unheard of.
And Severus Snape noticed.
Friday morning, Potions.
"Who can tell me the ingredients for a Cure for Boils?" Snape asked coldly. "Rowan."
Rowan rose, already feeling mildly self-conscious. "Dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, porcupine quills, and horned slugs, Professor."
"Correct," Snape said flatly. "Slytherin gains five points. It appears not all of you are idiots."
The rest of the class stared at their cauldrons.
As brewing began, Rowan couldn't help comparing Snape to McGonagall. Both were masters, but their methods couldn't have been more different. The question had been advanced for first-years. Only someone with constant reference access could answer confidently.
Snape knew that.
And he had asked anyway.
When Rowan finished his potion first, Snape swept over like a bat descending from the rafters.
"Excellent," he said. "Slytherin gains another five points."
Rowan simply nodded and returned to his notes.