"Satisfying," Rowan said after a moment. "It proved I'd prepared adequately and executed well under pressure."

  Inkwood's quill scratched across her notebook. "That's quite measured for someone who just made history. Most eleven-year-olds would be more excited."

  "I don't see much value in excessive celebration. The tournament was a goal I worked toward, I achieved it, and now I'm focused on what comes next."

  "Always planning ahead." Inkwood flipped to a new page. "Let's talk about your background. You're from the Foundling Hospital?"

  Rowan had prepared for this. "Yes. I was left there as an infant. No note, no explanation. The administrators gave me the surname Ashcroft. It's not a family name, just one they assigned."

  "And your childhood?"

  "Standard for foundlings. Wet nurse in the countryside until I was five, then back to London. I worked in a cotton mill as a scavenger. Collecting waste fibers beneath the machines. Five shillings a week."

  Inkwood's quill paused. "Five years old. In a cotton mill."

  "It was necessary. The Hospital provides basic food and shelter, but if you want anything beyond that, you work." Rowan kept his voice matter-of-fact. "I was fortunate to be careful. I saw other children lose fingers to the machines."

  "How did someone in your situation end up at Hogwarts?"

  "Deputy Headmistress Weasley arrived at the Hospital last summer and informed me I was magical. Before that, I had no idea magic existed."

  "What was your reaction?"

  "Relieved. Excited. It meant a path out of the mills, a chance for education I could never have afforded otherwise."

  "You arrived at Hogwarts with no magical background, yet nine months later you're a dueling finalist defeating fifth-years. Walk me through that."

  This was dangerous ground. Rowan kept his answer factual. "I work harder than anyone else. I have to. I came to Hogwarts months behind in basic knowledge. Most students had years of exposure to magic before their first class. I read ahead extensively. I practiced constantly. I joined the dueling club despite being three years younger than any other member."

  "The original article mentioned enhancement charms, wandless magic, advanced transfiguration. Spells well beyond first-year curriculum. Where did you learn those?"

  "From books I purchased in Diagon Alley. From practicing with older students in dueling club. From Professor Hecat during extra training sessions." Rowan met her eyes. "There's nothing sinister about any of it. I simply refused to be limited by what first-years are typically expected to know."

  "Let me ask directly. Did you use any methods, Dark magic, illegal enhancements, anything of that nature, to accelerate your progress?"

  "No. Every spell I used during the tournament is documented in approved textbooks. Every technique I employed can be learned through legitimate study. Tournament officials examined all competitors for magical tampering before each match. I passed every examination."

  "Fair enough." Inkwood flipped to a new page. "Let's address Mr. Flint's characterization of you as a 'Mudblood.' How do you respond to that?"

  Rowan had expected this. "It's a slur designed to suggest Muggleborn wizards are inferior, that our magic is somehow lesser. Your editor used it as casual editorial language, not as a quoted term. That's prejudice in print."

  "Many in our society use that term. Are you suggesting the Daily Prophet shouldn't report language that's commonly used?"

  "I'm suggesting there's a difference between quoting someone using a slur and choosing to use it yourselves in your own editorial voice. Mr. Flint used it three times in his article. In the headline, in the body, in casual reference to me. That was a choice your editor made."

  Inkwood's expression remained professional, but she made a note. "The article quoted Phineas Nigellus Black expressing concern about your rapid advancement, suggesting the Department of Mysteries might take interest. Your response?"

  "I'd point out that his concerns seem focused more on my blood status than my actual abilities. If a pure-blood student had reached the finals at eleven, would he be calling for investigation or celebrating British magical excellence? His standards appear to shift based on the competitor's parentage."

  "You're accusing a member of the Wizengamot of prejudice."

  "I'm observing that his reaction to a Muggleborn victory differs from how he'd likely react to a pure-blood victory. Draw your own conclusions about why that might be."

  Inkwood studied him for a moment. "You don't seem particularly intimidated by powerful families."

  "Should I be? Intimidation only works if I value their approval more than I value honesty." Rowan shifted in his chair. "Miss Inkwood, I know many people believe blood status determines worth. I can't change those beliefs through one interview. But I can demonstrate through my actions that they're wrong."

  "How do you intend to do that?"

  "By excelling at everything I attempt. By contributing to magical society in ways that can't be dismissed or attributed to luck." He paused, considering how much to reveal. "I'm interested in magical innovation. Applying magic to solve everyday problems. Modernizing systems that haven't changed in centuries."

  "That's quite vague. Can you be more specific?"

  "Think about how Muggle society has transformed in the past fifty years. Railways, telegraphs, indoor plumbing. The wizarding world could experience similar advancement if we were willing to innovate instead of just preserving traditions."

  "You're suggesting our traditions are holding us back."

  "Some traditions are valuable wisdom worth preserving. Others are just obstacles we've gotten used to. The challenge is distinguishing between them." Rowan met her eyes. "Traditions rooted in prejudice and exclusion should be discarded. Traditions rooted in genuine wisdom should be preserved and built upon."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Inkwood made extensive notes. "Let's return to the tournament itself. Your final match against Apolline Beaumont. What was going through your mind?"

  "I was focused on winning. Apolline is skilled. She used spells I'd never seen before, techniques from French magical tradition. But I've learned to adapt quickly, to analyze unfamiliar magic and develop counters."

  "The wandless magic you used in your semifinal. That's not typically taught at Hogwarts."

  "It isn't. Professor Hecat taught me during dueling practice. The goal was to cast with both hands independently. Ward hit me with an Impediment Jinx while I was holding a shield, so I used my off hand for the counter-spell."

  "Some have questioned whether allowing an eleven-year-old to compete was appropriate, given the risks involved."

  "Every competitor faced those same risks regardless of age. I was examined by healers before and after each match. Professor Hecat and Headmistress Mole both approved my participation based on demonstrated skill." Rowan kept his voice measured. "Nobody forced me to compete. Those were my choices."

  Inkwood set down her quill, looking at him directly. "Mr. Flint's article presented you as either an inspiration or a concerning anomaly, depending on perspective. How do you see yourself?"

  Rowan considered carefully. This would shape how readers interpreted everything else.

  "I see myself as someone who refuses to accept arbitrary limitations. Whether that makes me inspiring or threatening depends entirely on whether you believe Muggleborns should know our place or deserve the same opportunities as everyone else." He paused. "I'd encourage other Muggleborn students to refuse those limitations too. To prove through excellence that blood status is irrelevant. Arguments won't change prejudiced minds, but achievement can make prejudice impossible to justify."

  Inkwood deactivated her recording quill. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ashcroft. The article will run in tomorrow's edition."

  "I hope you'll include the full context of my answers."

  "I report what I observe, Mr. Ashcroft. How readers interpret that is up to them."

  After Inkwood left, Professor Hecat emerged from her office. "How did it go?"

  "She asked every difficult question I expected. I answered them." Rowan stood. "We'll see what she actually publishes."

  "You sounded calm. That's good." Hecat's expression grew serious. "But be prepared for backlash. Speaking that directly about blood prejudice will anger people."

  "I know. But staying silent wasn't an option."

  Iris was waiting in the corridor when Rowan emerged.

  "How did it go?" she asked immediately.

  "As well as I could have hoped. Now we wait to see what she writes."

  They started walking toward Ravenclaw Tower. "You don't seem worried."

  "Worrying won't change what she publishes."

  They climbed the stairs in comfortable silence.

  At the common room, Iris turned to face him. "What you said about modernizing the wizarding world. Do you really think you can?"

  "Eventually. Not immediately, not alone, and not without resistance. But yes."

  "And you want my help?"

  "I'd be grateful for it. But I won't ask you to commit without understanding the cost. Supporting me publicly might damage your reputation."

  "My reputation doesn't matter if it's based on staying silent about injustice." She smiled slightly. "Besides, you'll need someone to keep you from getting too focused on strategy and forgetting about people."

  "Probably true."

  They settled by the fireplace with their Occlumency practice journals. The trust built through their Unbreakable Vow allowed them to practice techniques that would be dangerous with anyone else.

  That evening, the few remaining students asked about the interview. Rowan answered briefly. They'd have to read tomorrow's Prophet for details.

  But as he lay in bed that night, his mind kept analyzing every answer, wondering how readers would interpret his words.

  He'd been honest. As honest as he could be. He'd been strategic, framing himself as hardworking and principled. He'd been clear about his views while avoiding rhetoric that might seem unreasonable.

  Now he had to wait.

  The next morning, the Prophet owls arrived during breakfast with the Sunday edition.

  Rowan's subscription copy landed beside his plate. The front page covered a Ministry scandal involving Floo powder regulation, but a small notice at the bottom read: "Exclusive Interview with Tournament Finalist - Page 3."

  He turned to page three.

  MUDBLOOD FINALIST SPEAKS: "BLOOD STATUS IS IRRELEVANT"

  Exclusive Interview with Tournament Victor Rowan Ashcroft

  By Sophronia Inkwood, Senior Correspondent

  The photograph showed him from the tournament, mid-duel.

  Rowan read quickly.

  Inkwood had been fair. Surprisingly so. She'd included his full responses rather than cherry-picking inflammatory snippets. His observation about Black's double standards was quoted accurately. His challenges to the original article's framing were presented clearly. Even his statements about modernizing the wizarding world were included without excessive editorial commentary.

  She'd added some contextual notes. "Ashcroft's confidence may strike some as arrogance," "His criticism of wizarding tradition may alarm conservative readers," "Whether his ambitions exceed his abilities remains to be seen." But these felt like professional balance rather than deliberate poison.

  The article concluded with his final quote: "We can't change prejudiced minds through arguments. We can make prejudice impossible to justify through achievement."

  "That's actually quite good," Iris said from across the table, reading her own copy. "She let you speak."

  "She did." Rowan rolled up the parchment carefully. "Now we see how people react."

  The few remaining students in the Great Hall read the article with varied reactions. Some curious, others skeptical.

  Over the next few days, Rowan received dozens of owls. Supportive letters from Muggleborns thanking him for speaking out. Hateful screeds from blood purists. A few simply curious.

  He answered the supportive ones briefly, ignored the hateful ones entirely, and responded to curious ones with carefully worded explanations.

  One letter stood out. It arrived on Wednesday, carried by a magnificent eagle owl. The parchment bore the Flamel family crest.

  Dear Rowan,

  Perenelle and I read your interview with great interest. Your articulation of blood prejudice was both accurate and admirably bold. Few eleven-year-olds would challenge Phineas Nigellus Black publicly, even indirectly.

  We are even more convinced that having you study with us this summer will be worthwhile. Your perspective on magical innovation aligns with several projects I've been considering. Perhaps we can collaborate.

  We will send the Portkey for your arrival on June 20th at noon. Pack lightly—we have everything you might need, including an extensive library.

  Looking forward to our time together.

  Nicholas Flamel

  Rowan read the letter three times, relief settling in his chest.

  Whatever controversy the interview had generated, it hadn't damaged his relationship with the Flamels. If anything, it seemed to have strengthened it.

  He had ten days remaining at Hogwarts. Ten days to prepare for an entirely new kind of education.

  The Prophet articles, the fame, the controversy. All of it faded compared to the opportunity waiting.

  Rowan pulled out fresh parchment and began making lists: books to review, questions about alchemy, topics he wanted to discuss. By the time he finished, he had three full pages of notes.

  Let magical Britain debate whether a Mudblood should be taken seriously.

  Rowan had more important things to focus on.

  He had two alchemists to impress.