Outside the station, the scene mirrored last year. Parents waited along the platform railings. The Grangers collected Hermione. The Weasleys gathered Ron and Ginny. Harry stood stiffly beside the relatives he loathed.
Sirius Black's name had been cleared, but the truth hadn't yet been made public. Fudge, eager to protect the Ministry's image, reached a quiet agreement with Dumbledore and Sirius. The full revelation would come later, at a carefully staged press conference, complete with speeches and medals. Rowan, as the central figure, would be formally honored then.
Until that day, Sirius remained officially a fugitive in the public eye. He stayed hidden at Hogwarts. Harry, for now, still had to return to his aunt and uncle. Once the announcement was made, Harry would finally be free to live with his godfather at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Rowan watched his friends leave. Then he vanished.
He didn't bother pretending to head home. Though underage, the Ministry's Trace no longer applied to him. He Apparated freely, reappearing moments later in a quiet London square.
"Number Twelve should be here."
His reason for coming was simple. Voldemort's locket.
He didn't intend to destroy every Horcrux immediately, but he wasn't foolish enough to leave them scattered. If Voldemort moved them, hunting them down later would be tedious. Better to gather them first, decide the timing later.
Invisible, Rowan scanned the Black family townhouse. The locket's presence was unmistakable.
He Apparated directly to a second-floor sitting room and faced a dusty glass cabinet filled with cursed relics. Rusted blades. Bottled blood. A silver box that snapped at fingers. And among them, an unopenable heirloom box.
Rowan lifted it, replaced it with a flawless duplicate, and disappeared.
The box was Salazar Slytherin's locket. Voldemort had once hidden it in a distant sea cave, protected by deadly enchantments. Regulus Black had stolen it at the cost of his life, ordering his house-elf to destroy it. The elf failed. The locket had sat here ever since, quietly poisoning the house.
Rowan sealed the locket's aura and stored it away.
Next stop: Little Hangleton.
The Gaunt shack lay half-swallowed by nettles and rot. Rowan stepped inside, brushed aside the decay with his awareness, and found what he was looking for beneath the floor.
He shattered the layered wards without ceremony.
A ring lay embedded in the stone, set with a blackened gem.
The moment Rowan touched it, a violent curse surged up his arm. Dark. Ancient. Malicious.
"So that's it," he said calmly.
Holy light flared in his hand, dispersing the curse instantly.
This was the trap that had doomed Dumbledore in another life. The Resurrection Stone, disguised within the ring, had preyed on guilt and longing. Rowan felt none of that. To him, the curse was crude.
He sealed the ring and stored it with the others.
He had no interest in Horcruxes. But the Resurrection Stone was different.
The Elder Wand was overrated. The Cloak was useful, but simple. The Stone, however, touched something deeper. Death. Return. The boundary between.
It was flawed. Dangerous. But worth studying.
His final destination was Gringotts.
The so-called safest place in the wizarding world.
Rowan almost laughed.
A dragon, vault wards, goblin contracts. Impressive to most. To someone at his level, they were obstacles, not barriers.
Once he had Hufflepuff's cup, he could finally go home.