That night, Professor Xavier completed the transfer.
He left behind the frail body bound to a wheelchair and woke in a younger one, standing on his own feet for the first time in years. The cost was real. His psychic reach had diminished significantly, limited by the cloned body's constraints. Even so, the sheer strength of his mind carried him to a level few could rival.
"Professor," Rowan said, "I need your help. When you're not teaching, use Cerebro to look for certain people."
"Who?" Xavier asked, carefully testing his balance as he learned how to walk again.
"Children with unusual abilities," Rowan replied. "We bring them here. We teach them."
He explained his plan to reshape the mutant school into something broader. A place not just for mutants, but for anyone born different.
Xavier was quiet for a long time.
"You're right," he said at last. "The moment I coined the word 'mutant,' I drew a line between us and the rest of humanity. Perhaps that line caused more harm than protection. If we remove the label, these children might finally grow up as part of the world, not apart from it."
The weight on his shoulders felt heavier, not lighter.
His responsibility was no longer limited to mutant children alone. Any child who awakened with abilities faced the same fear, isolation, and danger.
"There are adults as well," Rowan added. "People with abilities who could teach here."
Xavier hesitated. "Even with Cerebro, my current range is limited. I can't search the world. At best, I can cover New York."
"That's enough," Rowan said calmly. "There's no rush."
If Xavier found even one person a year, it would be worth it. One day, when Rowan was stronger and the school better known, people would come on their own.
With that settled, Rowan withdrew from the world entirely and immersed himself in magic.
Elsewhere, Tony Stark did the opposite.
Back at his Malibu estate, Tony refined his armor, discovered the thrill of fighting in it, and leaned fully into the role of a superhero. Wherever terrorists appeared in the news, Iron Man followed. Cameras flashed. Missiles flew. Enemies fell.
Within days, the world knew his name.
And against all advice, Tony announced it publicly.
None of that mattered to Rowan.
Magic did.
Hogwarts. Dungeon level. Slytherin Head's office.
Rowan's mood was unusually light. Professor Snape had agreed to formally teach him several original spells. Among them was the one Rowan wanted most.
Sectumsempra.
Snape regarded him for a long moment.
"Rowan," he said, "you are the most gifted student I have taught. Exceptional. I am… satisfied."
Praise from Snape was rarer than phoenix feathers.
Rowan inclined his head and answered in a way that suited Slytherin perfectly.
"Thank you, Professor. I intend to remain excellent and lead Slytherin to the top. Glory belongs to our house."
False modesty would've insulted them both.
As expected, Snape's lips twitched into something that almost resembled a smile.
"Good," he said. "That confidence is earned. Which is why I intend to teach you several spells of my own creation. Are you willing to learn?"
Snape remembered Dumbledore's warning. That Rowan reminded him, in certain ways, of Voldemort.
He saw the resemblance too. Intelligence. Talent. Hunger for knowledge. A difficult childhood.
But there was a difference.
Voldemort pursued magic as a means to an end. Power for control. Knowledge as a weapon.
Rowan pursued magic because he loved it.
That distinction mattered.
Snape couldn't read Rowan's mind, and even if he could, he wouldn't. Trust had to exist somewhere. And if Rowan truly stood at a crossroads, then guidance mattered more than suspicion.
So he chose to teach.
"Yes," Rowan said instantly. "Absolutely."
It was impossible not to be excited.
Sectumsempra was silent, invisible, and vicious. A cutting curse that left wounds ordinary healing spells couldn't close. Only a specific counter-curse could undo it.
Mastered properly, it rivaled Rowan's giant magic as his most lethal tool.
Even Wolverine wouldn't shrug it off.
Snape continued, "I will also teach you Levicorpus."
Unlike levitation or object-moving spells, it couldn't be dispelled with a generic counter-charm. Without knowing the reversal, the victim hung helplessly until the magic wore off.
Rowan listened, eyes sharp.
This was the kind of magic that changed fights.
This was what he'd been waiting for.
...
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