Night returned Rowan's awareness to his Marvel body. Training was the same as always—exhausting, relentless, monotonous—but beneath the routine, something in the air felt taut.
A storm waiting for its cue.
The children had a new comic book: The Uncanny X-Men. That alone told Rowan the breakout was close. If mutants existed in this universe, and comics about them circulated publicly, then the history here was tangled—X-Men lore mixed with the existence of Captain America, probably the Super Soldier Program too. Only after he escaped would he be able to sort out what this world actually was.
Morning arrived in the wizarding world. Rowan opened the shop's mailbox and froze.
A letter.Cream-colored parchment.Emerald ink.
His Hogwarts acceptance.
Even knowing it would come, holding it made something warm unfurl in his chest. Hogwarts wasn't a myth. He would walk its halls, learn its magic, bend both his worlds into weapons he could survive with.
Time to prepare.
He finished breakfast quickly, grabbed the supply list from the envelope, and stepped outside—only to run directly into trouble.
"Well, if it isn't little Dola."A hunched man with lank, oily hair lounged outside the shop opposite. Borgin. Owner of Borgin and Burkes. His stare was thin and poisonous. "Off to buy school supplies, are we? I heard Hogwarts reinstated your enrollment."
"Good morning, Mr. Borgin," Rowan said politely. "And my name is Rowan now."
Borgin was more than a local shopkeeper. He was one of Knockturn Alley's oldest surviving predators. His connections stretched back decades—and included Tom Riddle himself. If he decided Rowan's inheritance was worth taking, the rest of the Alley would follow.
Borgin's smile sharpened. "I saw that pleasant Auror woman leaving your store yesterday. Lunch, was it?"
Rowan returned the smile with something sunnier than sunlight."Yes. Tonks really enjoyed my cooking. She said next time she'd bring her colleagues. Maybe even Director Scrimgeour."
The flicker in Borgin's eyes was unmistakeable.
"That sounds… lovely," he said thinly.
Rowan pressed, tone bright and innocent. "You're welcome to join them, Mr. Borgin. I'd be happy to cook for you too."
"No need." Borgin stiffened, then retreated quickly into the shadows of his dim shop.
Rowan watched him disappear. Try anything, he thought, and I'll take your shop the way I took Merton's life.
He turned toward Diagon Alley, letting the sour encounter roll off him.
The street beyond was a different world—open, bustling, bright. Families darted between shops while vendors shouted their wares:
"Dragon liver! Sixteen Sickles an ounce!""Cauldrons—copper, brass, pewter, silver! Folding models available!""Owls! Screech, tawny, snow, barn—pick your messenger!""The Nimbus Two Thousand and One! Fastest broom on the market!"
Rowan didn't bother being frugal. Good tools were advantages, and advantages kept you alive. He bought quality across the board—robes, cauldron, telescope, potions kit, scales. Even the wand selection went quickly; a few tries, and he found one that pulsed in his hand like it recognized him.
Uniform fitting slowed him down, but by midday, the trolley was stacked to the brim.
"Books left… and a pet," Rowan muttered, checking the list.
The owl shop caught his eye.
Inside, dozens of birds perched in rows—restless, hooting, swiveling their heads toward new customers.
Owls weren't just pets; they were utility incarnate. Wizarding owls traveled anywhere without directions and carried packages many times their size. Rowan didn't need companionship. He needed reliability.
"Welcome to Eeylops Owl Emporium," the clerk said warmly. "Looking for a companion?"
"That one."
Rowan pointed without hesitation.
The clerk followed his gaze—and blinked."You're certain?"
A massive eagle owl—standing nearly a meter tall—glared from its perch, feathers mottled and regal. A beast built for the wild, not a wizarding child's bedroom.
"I'm certain," Rowan said.
The clerk hesitated. "It costs ten times the price of a normal owl. One hundred galleons."
A small fortune for most families. But Rowan wasn't most families, and he didn't plan on sending letters with a dainty little Screech Owl.
He nodded once. "I'll take it."