"I never imagined a first-year could create a spell of that difficulty on their own. Truly impressive."
For perhaps the first time, even Dumbledore's usual caution toward Rowan Mercer softened into genuine admiration. If Rowan continued down the right path, his potential in magic might one day place him among the very best the wizarding world had ever known.
"Our Slytherin students have always been exceptional," Snape said at last, a faint smile touching his lips. As Rowan's personal protégé, he felt a quiet pride. Rowan had not only mastered Sectumsempra with startling speed but had gone on to invent a spell of his own.
That pride was quickly tempered by seriousness. "Creating new magic is dangerous," Snape warned. "Many witches and wizards have died attempting it. Next time, consult me first if you're uncertain about anything."
"Thank you, Professor," Rowan replied sincerely. "I will."
Once the situation was clarified, Dumbledore dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "Severus, Minerva, please escort them back to their common rooms. I need to speak with the Board about our next steps."
Outside the office, Rowan noticed Hermione seemed unusually quiet. Misreading the reason, he spoke gently. "Hermione, this was just circumstance. With your talent, you'll create your own spell someday too."
She flushed, nodded too quickly, and murmured an agreement that sounded more distracted than discouraged.
Their exchange did not go unnoticed. Walking behind them, McGonagall's stern expression softened into something faintly amused. The brightest Gryffindor of her generation showing interest in a young Slytherin was unexpected, but not unwelcome. After all, Rowan had just saved Hermione from a basilisk. Life, she reflected, sometimes imitated fiction rather closely.
Snape's reaction was more complicated. His brow furrowed, then slowly smoothed, as if an old memory had surfaced. For a brief moment, something like quiet warmth crossed his face.
At the eighth-floor corridor, Hermione hurried off with McGonagall. "I'll be heading back now," she said quickly.
"Give my regards to Harry and Ron," Rowan replied with an easy smile.
He turned toward the stairwell leading down to the dungeons, his thoughts already drifting to the Restricted Section and the spells waiting there. Hermione's odd behavior barely registered.
At the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Snape paused him.
"Rowan," he said, almost casually, "don't bury yourself entirely in magic. Make time for her as well. Houses may separate you, but misunderstandings grow faster when words go unspoken."
Before Rowan could respond, Snape turned and left.
Rowan blinked. Slowly, realization dawned. "He thinks Hermione and I are—no. That's not right."
The parallel must have seemed obvious from the outside, but the idea itself felt absurd to him. To Rowan, they were children, all of them. He shook his head and let the misunderstanding lie. It changed nothing that mattered.
"Pureblood," he said, giving the week's password.
The common room erupted the moment he stepped inside. Questions flew from every direction. Rowan repeated the same account he'd given in the headmaster's office. When he confirmed that the creature was a basilisk, several students turned pale.
Some, like Draco Malfoy, scoffed, insisting the monster would never harm a Slytherin. Others were too busy staring at Rowan in disbelief when he demonstrated the winged flight spell once more, white wings unfurling in the green-lit chamber.
For better or worse, Rowan Mercer's name would not be leaving Hogwarts gossip anytime soon.