The morning of the finals dawned gray and overcast, heavy clouds hanging low over Paris. Rowan woke before sunrise and performed his Occlumency meditation in the empty common room, watching dawn break over the city through the tall windows.

  The Grand Arena was already filling when he arrived for breakfast in the tournament dining hall. Students from all seven schools were present, but the usual morning chatter was subdued. Today was finals day. The individual duel would conclude at noon, followed by the medal ceremony in the afternoon.

  "Nervous?" Sterling asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

  "No."

  "Liar." But Sterling grinned. "I would be. Beaumont's good. Best duelist Beauxbatons has produced in a decade, according to the French delegation."

  "She's predictable," Rowan said, spreading jam on his toast. "Skilled, but predictable."

  "Let's hope you're right."

  The Grand Arena was filled to capacity by the time the finals began. Rowan made his way through corridors packed with spectators, past groups of students wearing their school colors, past professors and ministry officials, all heading toward the main arena to watch.

  At the entrance tunnel, he stopped. Thousands of people filled every seat, packed the aisles, stood along the walls. The noise was overwhelming. A wall of sound that made his breath catch. He closed his eyes, reached for his Occlumency, found his center. The crowd couldn't duel for him. Only the match mattered.

  When he opened his eyes, his breathing was steady.

  Apolline was already on the platform, warming up with precise wand movements. She wore ceremonial Beauxbatons robes in powder blue silk, her blonde hair pulled back in an elaborate arrangement. When she saw Rowan, she stopped and inclined her head formally.

  Perenelle Flamel stepped onto the platform between them, her silver hair gleaming under the enchanted lights. As Tournament Master, she would be overseeing the final match personally.

  "This is the finals of the Individual Dueling Championship," she announced, her voice carrying to every corner of the vast arena. "The standard rules apply. No Dark magic, no permanent harm, first to be disarmed, knocked unconscious, or forced from the ring loses. This match will determine the gold medal winner."

  She looked at each of them in turn. "Competitors, approach and bow."

  Rowan and Apolline met at the center of the platform and bowed.

  "You have fought well to reach this point," Apolline said quietly. "But I will not lose to a first year."

  "We'll see," Rowan replied.

  They returned to their starting positions.

  "Wands at the ready," Flamel said. "Begin!"

  Neither moved immediately. The crowd fell silent, a thousand people holding their breath.

  Apolline struck first. Her wand traced an elegant spiral, and a shimmering barrier materialized around her. It wasn’t a standard Protego, but something more complex, a shield that seemed to bend light around its surface, making her form slightly distorted behind it.

  Rowan recognized the principle if not the exact spell. A continuous shield that would protect her completely but drain magic constantly. She was waiting for him to exhaust himself trying to break through.

  He didn't oblige. Instead, his wand moved in a quick circle. "Velocitas!"

  The spell washed over him, and the world seemed to slow fractionally. His reflexes sharpened, his movements became faster. It was subtle, but in a duel, subtle advantages mattered.

  Apolline's eyes narrowed. She hadn't expected him to waste time on enhancements when he should be attacking.

  "Mens Acuta!" Rowan cast again. His thoughts became clearer, faster, his tactical mind accelerating.

  The spell came from Advanced Techniques in Mental Magic, the incomplete manuscript by Erasmus Moonstone he'd found in the Room of Requirement and later gifted to Iris. They'd studied it together after Christmas, but this was the first time he'd used it in actual combat. He'd been saving it, waiting for a moment where the mental acceleration would provide maximum advantage.

  This was that moment.

  Apolline's shield flickered. Maintaining it while he enhanced himself was costing her magic, and he hadn't even attacked yet.

  She made her decision and dropped the shield. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Flipendo!"

  Three spells in rapid succession, her wand movements fluid and precise.

  Rowan's enhanced reflexes let him dodge the first, deflect the second with a quick "Protego!" and simply sidestep the third.

  "Incendio!" Apolline sent a stream of fire across the platform. Rowan countered with "Aguamenti!" The water met flame with an explosion of steam.

  Through the steam, Apolline was already moving. "Glacius!"

  Ice spread across the platform in an expanding wave. Rowan's footing became treacherous. "Duro!" He hardened the ice beneath his feet to stone, giving himself purchase.

  Apolline used his momentary distraction. "Depulso!" The Banishing Charm shattered his stone footing and sent him sliding backward across the ice toward the platform's edge.

  Rowan jabbed his wand down. "Arresto Momentum!" He stopped his slide just two feet from the edge, breathing hard.

  "Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Impedimenta!" Apolline pressed her advantage with a rapid combination.

  "Protego!" Rowan's spherical shield formed around him. The dome-shaped modification he'd perfected in practice. The three spells splashed harmlessly against its curved surface, deflected by the all-directional protection.

  But maintaining the spherical variant was exhausting. Rowan dropped it after two seconds and fired back. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"

  "Protego!" Apolline's shield caught both. "Incarcerous!"

  Binding ropes shot toward Rowan. He severed them mid-flight with "Diffindo!" and countered with his own spell. "Flipendo!"

  His modified Knockback Jinx, cast with the counterclockwise twist he'd developed, curved through the air in an unexpected arc. Apolline had to dodge awkwardly, her shield positioned for a straight-line attack.

  "Ventus!" She conjured a powerful gust of wind that disrupted Rowan's positioning, forcing him to plant his feet more firmly.

  "Glacius Maximus!" Rowan thickened the ice across the entire platform, making it treacherously slick for both of them.

  "Incendio Maximus!" Apolline countered with even more fire. The ice melted rapidly, creating pools of water that then turned to steam under the continued flames.

  The platform became a battlefield of fire, ice, water, and steam. Visibility dropping, footing treacherous, the environment itself a weapon.

  Through the obscuring mist, Rowan fired blindly. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!"

  He heard Apolline's shield deflecting them, then her voice cutting through the steam. "Ventus Vorago!"

  A spiraling vortex of wind formed, clearing the steam but also pulling at Rowan's robes with tremendous force. He fired spells through it, but they were caught in the wind and spun off course.

  "Incendio!" Rowan fed fire into the vortex.

  The flame caught in the spiraling wind, creating a tornado of fire that grew rapidly.

  Apolline's eyes widened. She cancelled her vortex quickly, but fire spread across the platform.

  "Glacius!" Rowan froze the flames mid-burn, creating bizarre sculptures of frozen fire. "Reducto!" He shattered them, sending ice shards in all directions.

  Apolline deflected most with a shield, but several got through. While she was focused on defense, Rowan launched his fastest chain yet. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Flipendo! Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous! Immobulus! Confundo!"

  Seven spells in under four seconds.

  Apolline's response was equally impressive. "Protego! Finite! Protego!" She alternated between shields and counter-spells with remarkable speed, blocking or cancelling five of the seven spells.

  But the sixth, the Freezing Charm, was cast with the counterclockwise twist, its trajectory curving unexpectedly around the edge of her shield. It caught her wand arm, slowing it. And the seventh, the Confundus Charm, slipped through while she was dealing with her frozen arm. It struck her, and her next spell went wild, firing off to the left instead of at Rowan.

  The crowd roared. For the first time in the match, Rowan had landed a significant spell.

  But Apolline was a veteran of seven tournaments. She'd been hit by worse. She shook her head, clearing the confusion faster than most could, her mental discipline impressive. "Finite Incantatem!" She dispelled the confusion and the freezing charm with one powerful counter-spell.

  "You are very good," she acknowledged, breathing harder now. "Better than I expected. But I have not yet shown you what I truly learned at Beauxbatons."

  Her wand began moving in a pattern Rowan had never seen. Complex, flowing movements that incorporated what looked like dance with precise magical gestures. It was beautiful and terrifying at once.

  "Ballerina Mortis!"

  The signature French spell. Shadows erupted from the platform itself, solidifying into semi-transparent copies of Apolline. Four perfect duplicates that moved independently, each holding a shadow wand.

  Advanced combat magic. The duplicates weren't solid enough to physically harm him, but they could cast real spells. He was suddenly facing five opponents.

  All five cast simultaneously. "Stupefy!"

  Five Stunners from five directions.

  "Protego!" Rowan's spherical shield formed around him, blocking attacks from all directions. The five Stunners splashed against the curved surface.

  But maintaining the spherical shield against five simultaneous impacts was exhausting. Rowan felt his magic draining rapidly. He had perhaps three seconds before the shield collapsed under the sustained assault.

  He made a split-second decision. Drop the shield and move before they could cast again.

  Rowan deliberately dropped to the platform, falling flat just as his shield collapsed. The duplicates' follow-up spells passed over him.

  While prone, he cast wandlessly with his left hand. "Finite Incantatem!" A general counter-spell aimed at the nearest duplicate.

  It flickered and vanished.

  Still lying down, Rowan rolled and fired with his wand. "Ventus Maximus!" A powerful wind dispersed two more duplicates, their shadow-forms too insubstantial to resist the gust.

  But Apolline, the real one, was already casting. "Fulmen Saltare!"

  Lightning erupted from her wand tip. It struck the platform near Rowan and arced toward him, too fast to dodge from his prone position.

  The lightning hit his chest, and Rowan felt pure agony lance through his body. His muscles seized, his vision blurred, and he tasted copper. For one terrible moment, he thought he might lose consciousness.

  But his Occlumency training saved him. The mental discipline that allowed him to organize his thoughts, to maintain clarity even under extreme stress. It let him push past the pain, maintain focus even while his body screamed.

  He forced his wand to move, channeling magic despite the lightning still coursing through him. "Protego!" The shield formed weakly, but it broke the lightning's connection, cutting off the electrical flow.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Rowan stood on shaking legs, his robes scorched, his chest aching where the lightning had struck. That had been close. Too close.

  The last duplicate was still circling. Rowan needed to end this quickly before Apolline could hit him with another lightning spell.

  He made a desperate choice. Time to use every option he had.

  "Mens Acuta Maxima!" He overcharged the mental enhancement spell, pouring more magic into it than recommended. His mind accelerated dramatically. The world seemed to slow to a crawl. He could see every movement Apolline made, could track the remaining duplicate, could calculate a dozen spell trajectories in the span of a heartbeat.

  But it was draining his magical reserves at a terrifying rate. He had perhaps ten seconds before he'd be too depleted to maintain it.

  Ten seconds would have to be enough.

  Time seemed frozen from his perspective. Rowan's wand moved through what felt like thick air, but in reality, he was casting faster than he ever had before. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!" The first two forced shields up. His wand added the practiced counterclockwise twist. "Flipendo!" The modified Knockback curved around Apolline's shield, forcing her to dodge. "Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous! Immobulus! Confundo! Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"

  Nine spells in what the crowd would perceive as two seconds. Each one perfectly aimed at either Apolline or her remaining duplicate, with the curved Knockback disrupting her defensive positioning exactly as intended. A sustained barrage that no single opponent could fully defend against.

  The duplicate shattered under the assault, unable to shield. Apolline herself managed to block the first three spells, but the fourth, the Body-Bind, caught her right leg. The fifth wrapped binding ropes around her torso. The sixth froze her left arm.

  She was still fighting, still trying to cast with her free right arm, but she was severely hampered.

  Rowan raised his wand for the final Disarming Charm, victory within reach.

  And his overcharged mental enhancement collapsed.

  The magical drain hit him like a physical blow. His vision blurred, his knees buckled, and his wand arm dropped. He'd pushed too hard, sustained Mens Acuta Maxima for too long. His magical reserves, already depleted from yesterday's semifinal, simply ran dry.

  Apolline seized the moment with the ruthless precision of a veteran competitor. Even bound and partially frozen, she forced her wand up with her free hand. "Expelliarmus!"

  The spell hit Rowan's weakened grip perfectly. His wand flew from his hand, spinning through the air before clattering across the platform.

  Silence fell across the Grand Arena.

  Then Perenelle Flamel's voice rang out, clear and carrying. "The winner, and Gold Medal Champion of the Youth Dueling Competition, Apolline Beaumont of Beauxbatons!"

  The arena erupted. The French delegation's cheers particularly thunderous, celebrating their champion's victory.

  Rowan stood in the center of the platform, breathing hard, his magical reserves completely depleted, his body aching from the lightning strike and the backlash of the overcharged enhancement. He'd come so close. One more second, one more spell, and he might have won.

  The Medi-wizard reached him with a second healer in tow before the crowd's roar had fully settled. The diagnostic charm flared an angry orange over his chest and left shoulder where the lightning had struck, and the second healer pressed a vial of something warm and bitter into his hand. "Drink all of it," the Medi-wizard said, already muttering an incantation over the burn on Rowan's shoulder.

  Rowan drank. The potion flooded through him, dulling the sharp ache in his muscles and steadying the tremor in his hands, though it did nothing for the hollow feeling where his magical reserves should have been. The raw skin on his shoulder knitted itself smooth under the healer's wand.

  "You'll feel the magical exhaustion for another day or two," the Medi-wizard told him. "I don't want you casting anything until tomorrow at the earliest, and even then, nothing strenuous."

  "Understood," Rowan said. The Medi-wizard gave him a firm look that suggested he'd heard that from competitors before and rarely believed it, then moved off to check on Apolline.

  She had been the better duelist today. Or rather, she'd been the smarter one, conserving her strength while he'd burned through his too quickly.

  Silver medal. Second place in an international tournament, at eleven years old, against opponents years older and far more experienced.

  It should have felt like victory. It felt like defeat.

  Then came the announcement that made the crowd murmur with interest.

  "In addition to their medals," Perenelle declared, her voice carrying through the arena, "the medallists will receive prize money. Bronze: two hundred and fifty Galleons. Silver: five hundred Galleons. Gold: twelve hundred and fifty Galleons."

  Five hundred Galleons. A substantial sum, though less than half what gold would have earned him. Combined with his existing funds, it would transform his plans from theoretical to possible. But the twelve hundred and fifty he'd missed stung.

  The crowd applauded again, and Rowan caught Hecat's eye in the stands. She was beaming with pride, tears still on her cheeks.

  Apolline's bindings fell away as the spells' durations expired. She retrieved Rowan's wand and walked over to him, her expression complex. Relief, respect, and genuine sympathy.

  "You fought with extraordinary skill," she said, handing back his wand. "You very nearly defeated me. Had you not overextended with that final enhancement, I believe you would have won."

  "You were the better duelist," Rowan replied, forcing graciousness despite the bitter taste of defeat. "Those spells. The duplicates, the lightning. I'd never seen anything like them. And you recognized when I'd overextended and took advantage perfectly."

  "French magical tradition stretches back centuries. We have spells that aren't taught elsewhere." She smiled slightly. "But you adapted to each one. That is the mark of a true duelist. Not knowing every spell, but learning to counter anything."

  They shook hands, and the crowd roared its approval.

  Perenelle Flamel approached them both, her expression approving. "An exceptional match. Both of you displayed remarkable skill and composure. Miss Beaumont, your mastery of advanced French combat magic was impressive. Mr. Ashcroft, your adaptability and mental discipline are extraordinary for someone your age. Or indeed, any age."

  She gestured to Rowan. "Please remain on the platform. The medal ceremony will take place shortly."

  As Apolline left to join her school's delegation, Rowan was alone with Perenelle Flamel. She studied him with those sharp intelligent eyes, and he felt as though she was seeing far more than just an eleven-year-old silver medalist.

  "You possess unusual composure for one so young," she observed quietly. "The lightning strike should have incapacitated you, at least temporarily. Yet you pushed through the pain and maintained your focus. That suggests either remarkable natural fortitude or extensive mental training."

  "I practice Occlumency, Madam Flamel," Rowan admitted. "It helps with emotional control and mental clarity."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Occlumency at eleven? That is... unusual. Most students don't begin studying the Mind Arts until sixth or seventh year, if at all." She paused. "You are self-taught?"

  "Yes, madam. I found a book on the subject in the Hogwarts library and recognized its value. I've been practicing meditation and mental discipline exercises for several months."

  "Fascinating." She seemed genuinely intrigued rather than suspicious. "And the enhancement spells you used. Velocitas, Mens Acuta? Those are not first-year curriculum. In fact, Mens Acuta isn't in the Hogwarts curriculum at all."

  "Mens Acuta came from the same book. Advanced Techniques in Mental Magic by Erasmus Moonstone. I read ahead extensively. I'm... driven to learn as much as possible."

  "Moonstone's work." Perenelle's eyes lit with recognition. "I knew Erasmus briefly, centuries ago. Brilliant theorist, though his research was never completed. You found one of his manuscripts?" She paused thoughtfully. "Though I must ask. Why did you wait until the finals to use such techniques? You didn't employ them in your earlier matches."

  Rowan hesitated. "I... wanted to maintain a competitive advantage. Save them for when they mattered most."

  "Ah." Perenelle's expression grew more serious. "A strategic choice, but it cost you the gold medal. Had you used those techniques in your earlier matches, you might have won more decisively, with less injury, and conserved more magical energy for the finals. You arrived at this final match already depleted from your semifinals bout, and then overextended with an enhancement spell your reserves couldn't sustain."

  The observation struck home. Rowan had been exhausted after fighting Ward, and facing Apolline with full magical reserves might have made the difference between silver and gold.

  "You're right," he said quietly. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

  "Something to consider for the future." She smiled slightly. "My husband will want to meet you. Nicholas is always interested in prodigious students, particularly those who display unusual dedication to learning and unusual wisdom in recognizing their own mistakes."

  Rowan's pulse quickened. This was the opportunity he'd hoped for. "I would be honored to meet Nicholas Flamel, madam. His work in alchemy is legendary."

  "He'll be pleased to hear that. After the medal ceremony, you'll find us in the diplomatic viewing box. Please join us. We'd like to speak with you privately."

  Before Rowan could respond, the French Minister of Magic was approaching with a velvet cushion bearing three medals. Gold, silver, and bronze. The medal ceremony was beginning.

  Jonathan Ward from Ilvermorny and Viktor Koldovstoretz from Durmstrang joined Rowan on the platform for third and fourth place. Viktor looked sour, still clearly bitter about his semifinal loss. Ward grinned and gave Rowan a thumbs-up.

  Rowan received his silver medal first, the metal cool and lighter than he'd expected, inscribed with runes that seemed to shift in the light. Apolline's gold medal was placed around her neck to thunderous French applause.

  The crowd cheered for both of them, and Rowan forced himself to clap for Apolline's victory.

  He'd proven himself on an international stage. Shown that a Muggleborn orphan could compete with the best. And he'd learned a valuable lesson about resource management and strategic thinking. Apolline had been smarter about conserving her strength, and that had made the difference.

  The sting of defeat would fade. What wouldn't fade was the opportunity it had created. He'd earned the attention of Nicholas Flamel.

  The medal ceremony concluded, and Rowan made his way through the congratulating crowd toward the diplomatic viewing box Perenelle had mentioned. The Hogwarts team tried to mob him, but Professor Hecat held them back.

  "Mr. Ashcroft has been summoned by the Flamels," she said quietly to the team. "This is an extraordinary honor. Let him go."

  Rowan climbed the stairs to the upper level where private boxes overlooked the arena. A guard checked his credentials, then allowed him into a luxuriously appointed room with plush furniture and large windows providing a perfect view of the tournament grounds.

  Two people waited inside.

  Perenelle Flamel sat in an elegant chair, and beside her stood a man who could only be Nicholas Flamel himself.

  He appeared to be in his seventies. White hair and beard, lined face, but eyes that burned with fierce intelligence. Despite his apparent age, he moved with energy and grace, crossing the room to shake Rowan's hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong.

  "Mr. Ashcroft! Wonderful to meet you. Absolutely wonderful. I haven't seen dueling of that caliber from someone your age in... well, in several centuries, actually." His English was perfect but carried a faint French accent. "Please, sit. Would you like some tea? Wine? You're a bit young for wine, perhaps. Tea then."

  He was already pouring before Rowan could respond, his movements quick and precise. Perenelle watched with an amused expression, clearly accustomed to her husband's enthusiasm.

  "Thank you for inviting me," Rowan said, accepting the tea cup. "It's an honor to meet you both."

  "The honor is ours," Nicholas replied, settling into a chair across from Rowan. "Watching you duel was fascinating. Your tactical thinking, your adaptation to unfamiliar spells, your enhancement techniques. All quite remarkable. But what truly interested me was your mental discipline. The way you pushed through that lightning strike suggested training that goes beyond standard magical education."

  "I practice Occlumency. I've found it invaluable for maintaining focus under pressure."

  "At eleven?" Nicholas's eyes gleamed with interest. "Self-taught, Perenelle mentioned?"

  "Yes, sir. I found a book on the subject and practiced it daily."

  "And what else have you been studying that isn't in your year's curriculum?" Perenelle asked, her tone curious rather than accusatory.

  Rowan considered how much to reveal. The Flamels were legends, yes, but they were also strangers. Still, Perenelle's invitation suggested genuine interest, and Nicholas's reputation was impeccable.

  "Advanced Charms, combat Transfiguration, enhancement spells, some theory on spell modification, and the basics of Ancient Runes," Rowan listed. "I'm also interested in alchemy, though I haven't found many accessible texts on the subject."

  Nicholas and Perenelle exchanged a look, some wordless communication passing between them.

  "You're ambitious," Nicholas observed. "That's admirable. But also potentially dangerous at your age. Spell modification, in particular, can go catastrophically wrong without proper guidance."

  "I'm careful, sir. I test everything extensively, document my results, and never attempt modifications beyond my theoretical understanding."

  "Still, having a mentor would be wise." Nicholas leaned forward. "Tell me, Mr. Ashcroft. What do you plan to do with all this knowledge you're accumulating? What's driving you to push so hard at such a young age?"

  This was the moment. Rowan could give a safe, modest answer. Or he could be honest and risk seeming presumptuous or overly ambitious.

  He chose honesty.

  "I plan to change the wizarding world, sir. Make it better, more just, more innovative. I see stagnation and prejudice holding back magical society. I see potential being wasted because of archaic attitudes about blood status. I intend to modernize our world, to bring the same rapid advancement that's happening in Muggle society to magical Britain."

  Silence fell. Rowan half-expected them to laugh or dismiss his ambitions as childish fantasy.

  Then Nicholas laughed. A genuine, delighted sound. "Ambition indeed! Most eleven-year-olds dream about Quidditch or sweets. You're planning to revolutionize wizarding society!"

  "I am," Rowan said simply. "I know it sounds presumptuous—"

  "It's refreshing," Perenelle interrupted. "Too many young wizards lack vision. They accept the world as it is rather than imagining what it could be." She smiled. "Though you should know that changing established society is extraordinarily difficult. The resistance you'll face from pure-blood families and ministries will be immense."

  "I'm aware. That's why I'm building my skills and knowledge now. I need to be undeniably competent, powerful enough that I can't be dismissed or marginalized."

  "And what specifically do you intend to change?" Nicholas asked, his tone serious now.

  "Blood prejudice, primarily. The way Muggleborns are treated, the barriers we face, the automatic assumption that ancient families produce superior wizards." Rowan met his eyes. "I also want to bring innovation to magical society. Applying magical solutions to everyday problems the way Muggles do with technology. Combine magical theory with practical application to improve quality of life."

  "Like magitech," Nicholas said thoughtfully. "Magical devices that serve everyday functions. An interesting concept."

  "Exactly. I've already been considering various applications. Improved communication methods, preservation charms for food storage, household automation using runes and charms."

  Nicholas and Perenelle exchanged another look, this one longer.

  "Rowan," Nicholas said, using his first name now, Rowan noted, "what we're about to offer is quite irregular. We don't normally take students, certainly not ones as young as you. But Perenelle and I have been discussing it since watching your match, and we both agreed."

  He paused for effect. "How would you like to spend your summer with us? Not as a formal apprentice. You're too young for that, and we're too old to take on full apprentices. But as a student. We could teach you alchemy, advanced theory, or provide guidance on your various studies. And perhaps more importantly, we could offer perspective on navigating magical society from people who've been doing it for centuries."

  Rowan's mind reeled.

  Spend the summer with Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel? Learn alchemy from the greatest alchemist who'd ever lived? Gain insights from people who'd witnessed centuries of magical history?

  It was an opportunity beyond anything he'd dared hope for.

  "I would be honored," he managed. "But I should mention. I'm an orphan, sir. I have no family to approve such an arrangement, and I typically remain at Hogwarts during holidays because I have nowhere else to go."

  "Even better," Nicholas said cheerfully. "No bureaucratic complications with guardian permissions. We'll arrange it with Headmistress Mole directly. You'll stay with us at our home outside Paris. We'll provide accommodations, books, materials, everything you need."

  "Why?" Rowan asked, needing to understand. "I'm grateful, but why make such an offer to someone you just met?"

  Perenelle answered this time, her voice gentle but serious. "Because we see potential in you, Rowan. True potential. Not only magical power. There are plenty of powerful wizards. But vision. Intelligence. The drive to actually accomplish something meaningful with your abilities rather than simply accumulating them. That's rare at any age, and precious when we find it."

  "Also," Nicholas added with a grin, "you're interesting. We've lived a very long time, Rowan. Interesting people are valuable simply by virtue of not being boring. And watching you duel? Definitely not boring."

  Rowan couldn't help but smile. "Then I accept gratefully. Thank you both."

  "Excellent!" Nicholas clapped his hands together. "Now, tell me about these enhancement spells you used. I noticed you overcharged the mental acceleration at the end. Risky but effective. Where did you learn that technique? And have you considered the potential long-term effects on your magical core from repeated overcharging?"

  They spent the next two hours in deep discussion about magical theory, spell mechanics, and the intricacies of enhancement magic. Nicholas was endlessly curious, asking probing questions about Rowan's techniques and offering insights drawn from centuries of experience. Perenelle contributed observations about the mental disciplines required for advanced magic, and Rowan found himself discussing Occlumency at a level of sophistication he'd never reached even with Iris.

  When he finally left to rejoin the Hogwarts team, his mind was buzzing with new ideas and his summer suddenly promised to be the most educational experience of his life.