"Leave it to me," Amy said without hesitation, thumping her chest with confidence.
Without Rowan, she would still be running a half-forgotten crash course shop in Diagon Alley, drifting through her days and avoiding old regrets. Whatever he asked of her now, as long as it wasn't criminal, she would see it done. And with Dumbledore's recommendation already secured, this was hardly a dangerous favor. Rowan was simply too talented, and a little too young.
Rowan reached into his enchanted storage and produced a small case. When he opened it, stacks of gold galleons gleamed inside. Five thousand in total.
"These are for smoothing things over," he said calmly.
Amy froze, then waved her hands in alarm. "Rowan, that's excessive. I don't need money for this. I can handle it."
Five thousand galleons could buy someone a Ministry position even with terrible grades. This was far beyond what was necessary.
"I'm not looking for a junior post," Rowan replied patiently. "I need a role with real access. Something that lets me work with senior witches and wizards, and review Ministry-level magic and alchemical research. Spending more avoids complications."
To him, this really was a small sum.
Between the inheritance left behind by a dark wizard and the past two years of quiet harvesting, Rowan's vaults at Gringotts were already overflowing. As someone who could communicate with magical creatures and overpower dragons if needed, rare materials were never hard to come by.
Acromantula venom alone sold for a hundred galleons per pint. He collected it regularly, rotating markets across different countries to avoid driving down prices. Other rare components followed the same pattern. Gold accumulated quickly when time and distance meant nothing.
In the end, Amy accepted the case with a resigned smile. The Ministry wasn't what it used to be. Influence now required both connections and coin.
"Well then," Rowan said lightly as he stood. "I'll leave you two to… whatever it was I interrupted."
He vanished a second later.
The day before the N.E.W.T. examinations, Rowan sat alone in the Hogwarts library.
Seventh-year students didn't take standard finals. The N.E.W.T.s were optional, brutal, and decisive. Careers were built or broken on their results.
There were twelve subjects in total. Rowan had registered for all of them.
Eleven posed no difficulty. Only Divination slowed him down.
The discipline was inconsistent at best. True foresight wasn't something textbooks could teach. Prophets like Grindelwald or Professor Trelawney were born that way. The theory was mostly ritual, symbolism, and historical interpretation.
Fortunately, the exam rewarded memorization more than insight.
As Rowan absorbed the last few volumes, familiar voices reached him.
Hermione was fuming.
"I can't believe I missed the Cheering Charm! Professor Flitwick hinted it would be on the exam!"
Harry and Ron looked lost.
"How could you miss it?" Ron asked. "You were right there with us."
Hermione sighed, clearly done trying to explain.
She spotted Rowan and immediately dropped into the seat beside him. "Rowan, I overslept and missed Charms. It ruined my whole schedule."
He looked up, understanding immediately.
"The Cheering Charm was invented by Felix Summerbee," he said. "There's a detailed explanation in How to Calm an Enraged Lover on the third shelf row. It covers applications and counterbalances."
Hermione's frustration vanished. "You're a lifesaver!"
Ron blinked. "That's an actual book?"
Harry leaned forward. "Why are you reading seventh-year Divination?"
"Because I'm taking the N.E.W.T.s tomorrow," Rowan replied.
Hermione froze mid-step.
"What?"