The Quidditch match ended abruptly, and Dumbledore left the pitch with the professors in unmistakable haste. To the students, that alone meant something serious had happened. Most of them immediately connected it to Rowan Mercer descending from the sky with Hermione Granger in his arms.
McGonagall blocked anyone from approaching them. Otherwise, the two would have been swallowed whole by curiosity.
Even so, speculation ran wild.
The most popular question was simple and loud: how exactly had Rowan grown wings and flown? Was it a newly invented spell, an obscure branch of magic, or some strange inherited trait?
Nearly two hours passed before McGonagall finally allowed the prefects to escort students back to their common rooms in groups. Dumbledore and the professors had found no Basilisk in the castle itself, but they had uncovered clear traces of its movement and testimony from enchanted portraits. The conclusion was unanimous. The creature had retreated back into the Chamber of Secrets.
"Rowan. Miss Granger. Come with me," McGonagall said.
Once the castle settled, she led them alone toward the Headmaster's office.
As they walked, Hermione lowered her voice. "Should we tell him about Harry and the diary?"
Harry hearing voices, the strange journal, Tom Riddle's name. None of it was hers to reveal. Harry hadn't wanted the teachers to know, and Hermione was torn.
Rowan leaned closer and whispered back, "Not yet. Talk to Harry first. As long as we've proven the monster is a Basilisk and not a spider, Hagrid is cleared. That's what matters right now."
Hermione nodded, relieved.
They stopped before the grotesque stone gargoyle on the eighth floor.
"Lemon sherbet," McGonagall said.
The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that carried them upward. It halted before a shining oak door with a griffin-shaped brass knocker.
Dumbledore's office was exactly as Rowan remembered. A wide circular room filled with soft whirs and murmurs from odd silver instruments. Portraits of former headmasters dozed along the walls. Fawkes the phoenix perched regally above the desk, golden tail feathers glowing faintly. The Sorting Hat rested quietly on a shelf nearby.
Dumbledore and Snape were already inside, speaking in low tones. Other professors were absent, likely spread throughout the castle.
"Headmaster," McGonagall said, "they're here."
Dumbledore turned, smiling gently. "Please, sit. Rowan, Miss Granger. Tell me everything, in as much detail as you can."
House-elves delivered glasses of juice as Rowan calmly recounted the encounter. He left out Hermione's research and the diary. He explained only that they were leaving the library when the Basilisk attacked, that he used Severus Snape's cutting spell to delay it, and that he escaped by flight.
Dumbledore listened closely.
"I once worried it was too early for Severus to teach you such a dangerous spell," he said at last. "It seems I was mistaken. You handled yourself admirably."
Then his gaze sharpened with curiosity. "But your flight magic. Where did you learn it?"
Rowan stood and activated the spell again. White wings of magic unfurled from his back, solid and elegant.
"I created it," he said simply. "I call it the Wing Spell. It forms magical wings that allow controlled flight, much like a bird."
He followed with a brief explanation grounded in accepted magical theory. Nothing excessive. Just enough.
Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore exchanged glances.
It made sense.
More importantly, it hadn't appeared in any book they knew.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Dumbledore smiled, slow and thoughtful.