"Rowan, thank you for getting me out of there!"
The moment they stepped from the gloom of Knockturn Alley into the warmth and noise of Diagon Alley, Harry let out a shaky breath. Relief washed over him; without Rowan, he was certain one of those shadowy shopkeepers would have spirited him away.
"Harry! Harry!"
A girl with a mane of brown curls sprinted toward them, worry etched across her face.
"Oh, thank goodness—you're covered in soot! And your glasses—"
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said, smiling despite himself. "It was… an accident."
Hermione flicked out her wand. "Let me fix that. Reparo."
The lenses healed instantly, cracks vanishing as though rewound through time.
Rowan found himself admiring the spellwork. The Mending Charm wasn't just for broken glasses; in skilled hands, it could repair structural collapse. In the Marvel world, that single spell could earn him a fortune.
"You're…?" Hermione finally noticed Rowan, her brows lifting.
"He's a friend I just met," Harry said. "Rowan Mercer—this is Hermione Granger."
Rowan offered a courteous nod. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger."
Color touched her cheeks at the unexpected compliment, and she shook his hand with surprising enthusiasm. Compliments on her intelligence were common; compliments on her appearance, rare enough to catch her off guard.
"Well," Rowan said gently, "I should leave you two. See you at Hogwarts."
He slipped back toward Knockturn Alley. There was no need to cling. First impressions were enough for now, and he still had studies waiting. More importantly, he had no intention of interfering with the diary Malfoy had slipped into Ginny Weasley's cauldron. Voldemort's fragment was a hazard he didn't want near his own mind—and Dumbledore would ensure Harry survived the ordeal anyway.
Better to let the plot unfold and harvest opportunities from the edges.
As he rounded the corner toward his shop, Rowan stopped short. A colossal figure—towering, broad-shouldered, unmistakable—stood peering awkwardly into his doorway.
Hagrid.
Half-giant, keeper of Hogwarts' keys, guardian of the grounds, and a man whose heart was as enormous as his boots.
Rowan couldn't help the brief flicker of awe. He had read the descriptions, but seeing Hagrid in person made it clear: the man was massive. Rowan would barely reach his waist.
"Sir, can I help you?" Rowan asked.
Hagrid turned, blinking down at him. His voice boomed—softened only slightly by its natural warmth. "I'm lookin' for a potion to deal with flesh-eatin' slugs. Heard this place stocks it, but the shop seemed closed."
"The owner passed away recently," Rowan explained as he unlocked the door. "I took over. I know the potion you mean—give me a moment."
He retrieved a vial from behind the counter. "Repellent draught. Good for slugs, caterpillars, and a few others."
"Thanks kindly, lad," Hagrid said, visibly delighted. "How much?"
"Fourteen sickles."
"Cheaper than I thought!" Hagrid rummaged through the cavernous pocket of his moleskin coat and handed over the coins.
"I'm heading to Hogwarts soon," Rowan added lightly. "New students get generous, I suppose—consider it a welcome-season discount."
Hagrid paused mid-pocket, his expression softening. "You're joinin' Hogwarts this year?"
"Yes. First year."
A grin spread through the giant's beard. "Well then—name's Rubeus Hagrid. Groundskeeper an' all that. You come find me once term starts. I'll make yeh some rock cakes."
Rock cakes. Rowan managed not to flinch. Still, an ally like Hagrid was worth far worse culinary hazards.
"Thank you," Rowan said sincerely. "I look forward to it."