The first two weeks at Hogwarts passed in a blur of classes, homework, and exploration.
Rowan fell into rhythm. Wake before dawn for Occlumency meditation, breakfast in the Great Hall, morning classes, lunch, afternoon classes, dinner, homework in the common room, and late-night practice in an abandoned classroom he'd discovered on the fourth floor.
The abandoned classroom had become his sanctuary.
It was tucked away at the end of a corridor that most students avoided due to a particularly cantankerous portrait of Percival the Pompous, who hurled insults at anyone who passed. But Rowan had learned that a simple compliment about the portrait's "magnificent beard" earned safe passage, and the room beyond was perfect. Spacious, with desks he could move aside, and most importantly, rarely visited.
Here, in the early hours before dawn or late at night after curfew, Rowan practiced spells beyond the first-year curriculum. He'd progressed far beyond Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa. Now he was working on the Severing Charm, the Mending Charm, and experimenting with variations on the Unlocking Charm that could handle more complex mechanisms.
Most importantly, his systematic magical depletion routine was working.
Each night, he pushed himself to cast spells until his magical reserves felt nearly empty. That bone-deep exhaustion Waffling had described. Then he'd sleep, and wake feeling restored and, he was increasingly certain, slightly stronger. He could cast perhaps fifteen to twenty percent more spells before depletion than he'd been able to on his first night at Hogwarts.
Classes were progressing well. In Transfiguration, Professor Weasley had moved them from matches to needles, then to transforming stones into buttons. Rowan excelled at each task, his visualizations becoming more precise and his transformations more perfect with each attempt. He'd earned Ravenclaw thirty points across various classes, which had drawn both admiration from his housemates and resentment from certain Slytherins.
Charms with Professor Abraham Ronen was equally engaging. Ronen was a jovial man with a magnificent mustache and an enthusiasm that was infectious. He taught them the Levitation Charm properly, building on what many students had attempted on their own, and introduced them to the Softening Charm and the Dancing Feet Spell.
"Charms are all about finesse, not power!" Ronen proclaimed during one lesson, making a teapot waltz across his desk. "Any buffoon can blast something with raw magic. A skilled wizard can make magic dance!"
Rowan found the precision and control suited his methodical approach, and Charms quickly became his strongest practical subject.
Potions remained challenging but rewarding. Professor Sharp had proven to be exactly as Margaret Whitmore had described. Harsh, fair, and genuinely invested in his students learning properly. He'd already assigned them three different basic potions: the Cure for Boils, a simple Sleeping Draught, and a Forgetfulness Potion. Rowan's careful attention to timing and temperature control produced consistent results, though Sharp found fault with even the best of them.
Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Dinah Hecat was perhaps his favorite class.
Hecat was in her early forties, a former Ministry Unspeakable with silver-streaked dark hair and a theatrical teaching style that kept students engaged.
"Dark wizards don't announce themselves with dramatic entrances and monologues!" she'd declared during their first lesson, pacing at the front of the classroom with her wand held loosely. "They attack from the shadows, use surprise, and exploit your weaknesses. Defense is about awareness, preparation, and the will to survive."
She'd started them with the Knockback Jinx, Flipendo, and the basic Shield Charm, Protego. The Shield Charm was difficult; most first years couldn't produce more than a faint shimmer. Rowan had managed a weak but visible shield after his third attempt, earning approval from Hecat and ten points to Ravenclaw.
"Good instincts, Ashcroft," she'd said, circling his desk. "Your shield held for almost three seconds. That's exceptional for a first year. Keep practicing. A solid shield can be the difference between life and death in a real fight."
The pace of instruction surprised him. These were competent teachers pushing a demanding curriculum, and Rowan suspected it wouldn't always be this way. His fragmentary knowledge of the future suggested that Defence Against the Dark Arts in particular would suffer over the coming century, if what he half-remembered about a curse on the position held any truth. Standards eroded slowly. A generation taught by inadequate professors would produce inadequate teachers, who would lower expectations further, and within a few decades a curriculum like Hecat's would look ambitious.
Herbology with Professor Mirabel Garlick was different from other classes in ways Rowan hadn't quite expected. The greenhouse was warm and humid, filled with plants that moved and occasionally made concerning noises. But what struck him most was Professor Garlick herself.
She was young for a professor. Probably only in her late twenties, with an infectious enthusiasm that reminded Rowan of someone who'd just discovered their life's calling and couldn't wait to share it.
"Good morning, everyone! Oh, wonderful, you're all here!" She beamed at the assembled Ravenclaws and Gryffindors as they filed into Greenhouse One. "Now, I know some of you might think plants are just... well, plants. Stationary. Boring. But I promise you, once you really get to know them, you'll find they're absolutely fascinating creatures with personalities all their own."
She gestured to the collection of potted plants arranged on the work tables. "Today we're working with Bouncing Bulbs. Yes, they bounce, hence the name, but they're also quite particular about how they're handled. Treat them roughly, and they'll bounce away. But if you're gentle and patient..." She demonstrated, coaxing one of the bulbs into her hands with soft movements. "...they'll settle right down for you. Just like that! Good girl."
She was talking to the plant. Actually talking to it, in the same tone someone might use with a friendly cat.
"Now, you'll be working in pairs today. The goal is to successfully transplant your Bouncing Bulb from its current pot into a larger one with fresh soil. Remember, gentle hands, calm approach. These little ones can sense nervousness, and it makes them anxious too."
Rowan was partnered with a quiet Gryffindor boy named Lucan Brattleby, and found himself working near Celeste, who had already started what appeared to be an animated struggle with her Bouncing Bulb.
"Come on, just—hold still for one second—" Celeste made a grab for the plant as it bounced past her. It evaded her easily, ricocheting off the table edge and bouncing enthusiastically across the greenhouse floor.
Professor Garlick appeared beside her with a patient smile. "Remember, Miss Pembroke, they respond to your energy. If you're frustrated, they'll be agitated. Try calming yourself first, then approach it again."
"Right. Calm. I can do calm." Celeste took a breath and moved more slowly toward the escaped bulb. This time, when she reached for it, her movements were deliberate rather than rushed. The bulb settled into her hands.
"There you go! Well done." Garlick patted her shoulder encouragingly. "You've got it now."
Rowan watched the exchange with interest. Most professors would have been irritated by the disruption. Garlick seemed genuinely pleased by Celeste's success, no matter how much chaos had preceded it.
He turned his attention to his own Bouncing Bulb. Following Garlick's advice, he approached it calmly, moving with steady confidence. The bulb wiggled but didn't bounce. When he lifted it carefully from its pot, it remained still in his hands.
"Excellent technique, Mr. Ashcroft!" Garlick had materialized beside his table. "Look at that. The bulb trusts you completely. That's the key to herbology, really. Building trust with your plants. They're living things, and they know when someone respects them."
She moved on to help another struggling pair, her voice carrying across the greenhouse: "Yes, yes, just like that! Oh, he likes you, doesn't he?"
Across the greenhouse, Iris was working with methodical precision, her Ravenclaw partner looking impressed by her careful technique. Her bulb sat contentedly in its new pot, already settling into the fresh soil.
By the end of class, most students had successfully transplanted their bulbs, though Celeste's had escaped twice more before she finally got it secured.
As they filed out, Garlick called after them cheerfully, "Don't forget, twelve inches on the care and handling of Bouncing Bulbs for next week! And really observe them, don't just write what you think I want to hear. Every plant is different!"