"Expelliarmus!""Stupefy!"
Rowan seized the opening the instant the two seventh-years overcommitted against each other. He slipped in on speed alone, circled behind them, and pressed his wand to a spine before either could react. The duel ended in seconds.
He knew the truth, though. If this had been a straight contest of spellwork and experience, he would have lost. The gap between a first-year and a seventh-year was real. What carried him through was timing, awareness, and a body that moved faster than most wizards could track.
Still, the fight taught him a lot. Watching how senior students chained spells, adjusted footwork, and controlled distance gave him insights he could never get from books.
"Rowan helped restore order and demonstrated solid dueling ability," Lockhart announced, throwing an arm around him. "Still room for improvement compared to myself, of course, but worthy of twenty points!"
Snape's eyebrow twitched. He let it pass.
"It's obvious," Snape said coolly, stepping forward, "that most of you are incapable of proper dueling. New plan. Two at a time. Professor Lockhart and I will provide direct instruction."
"I'll take Rowan," Lockhart said immediately.
"No," Snape replied flatly. "Rowan is too advanced to serve as a baseline. Potter and Malfoy will do. I'll instruct Malfoy. You can take Potter."
Lockhart hesitated, then smiled. "An excellent choice."
Rowan stepped off the platform. He knew exactly what would happen next, and he didn't intervene. He needed the Chamber incident to keep escalating. The longer the school stayed unstable, the closer things moved toward Dumbledore's temporary removal next term.
Only then would the Restricted Section truly open.
As expected, Malfoy summoned a snake, and Harry spoke to it in Parseltongue before the entire hall. Panic spread like fire. Whispers followed him everywhere after that.
But the Duelling Club continued nightly.
Rowan attended every session, sparring with seventh-years again and again. His wand control sharpened rapidly. Precision replaced brute speed. Timing became instinct.
By the time Christmas arrived, he had changed.
Six months ago, he had been a quiet first-year who barely knew basic charms. Now he was known across the school. A Slytherin prodigy. Someone who could stand against graduating students and not fall.
He boarded the Hogwarts Express alone, Hedwig's cage tucked under his arm.
At King's Cross, evening settled over London. Other students were greeted by parents. Rowan walked out by himself. He hadn't told Tonks he was coming back. Favors, like magic, were best conserved.
Standing by the roadside, he raised his wand.
"Knight Bus!"
Less than a minute later, a deafening crash split the air as a violently purple, triple-decker bus skidded into existence.
Flying openly wasn't an option. Apparition was still beyond him. With an owl in tow, public transport wouldn't work. The Knight Bus was the obvious choice.
A young wizard in a purple uniform hopped down. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for stranded witches and wizards. I'm Stan Shunpike, your conductor tonight."
"Good evening," Rowan said, climbing aboard with his trunk. "The Leaky Cauldron, please."
"Seven Sickles. Ten if you want hot chocolate. Eleven gets you a toothbrush and a hot-water bottle."
Rowan paid and took in the interior. Brass-framed beds lined the bus instead of seats, candles hovering gently beside each one.
Stan frowned suddenly. "Rowan Mercer… that name rings a bell."
He grabbed an old newspaper, glanced between the photo and Rowan, and froze. "Blimey. You're that Quidditch prodigy!"
Rowan smiled faintly. "Seems word travels."
Stan brightened instantly and launched into excited chatter, waving to the driver. "Ernie, let's go!"
The Knight Bus roared forward, warping through the streets at impossible speed. Lampposts, bins, and mailboxes leapt aside and snapped back into place as the bus tore through London like it belonged to a different reality.
Rowan lay back on the brass bed, wand close at hand.
Home was a few minutes away.