"There's one more thing," Professor Weasley said as they settled back into the carriage. "An owl, or a cat, or a toad. Students are permitted one pet."
Rowan considered. An owl would be useful for communication. But they required care and feeding.
"How much does it cost to feed an owl?"
"Roughly two Sickles per week if you buy owl treats from the school. Less if the owl hunts for itself."
Two Sickles per week. Over five Galleons per year. Sustainable, with his current funds.
"All right. I'll get an owl."
Eeylops Owl Emporium was filled with hooting and ruffled feathers. The proprietor, a witch with actual feathers in her hair, showed Rowan the options.
"Barn owls are reliable. Tawny owls are clever. Screech owls are fast. Or if you want something exotic, I have eagle owls, though they're expensive."
Rowan walked the length of the shop, thinking about range and reliability and cost per week, when something landed on his shoulder.
He turned his head. A tawny owl, smaller than most of the others, brown-and-white plumage speckled across the breast. Amber eyes studied him from six inches away. He hadn't heard her leave her perch. Her talons gripped through his coat, firm enough to hold but careful enough not to puncture, and she leaned forward and sniffed his ear.
"Well," the proprietor said. "That's new."
The owl pulled back, tilted her head one way, then the other. Then she settled her weight, tucked one foot up, and fluffed her feathers in the manner of a bird who had decided something and was finished with the decision-making process.
"That's Athena," the proprietor said. She was staring. "She's been here for months. Bit every customer who tried to buy her. Drew blood on the last three."
Athena looked at the proprietor with an expression that suggested she found this summary reductive.
"Three Galleons. I'll throw in the cage and a month's treats because frankly I'm relieved."
Rowan ran a finger along Athena's chest. She closed her eyes halfway and leaned into it, then opened them again and nipped his finger, just hard enough to establish that tolerance and permission were different things.
He paid and carried her back to the carriage on his shoulder. She refused the cage. Thirty-five Galleons spent. He still had seven Galleons in his pocket and one hundred and twenty-eight in his vault.
For the first time in his life, he felt financially secure.
The carriage rattled back through Muggle London. Rowan watched the city pass, the familiar streets rearranged by what he now knew was behind them. Somewhere beyond these facades, hidden by enchantments older than the buildings themselves, an entire civilization conducted its business in parallel.
And in less than a month, he would enter that world fully.
"Nervous?" Professor Weasley asked.
"No. Excited." He met her eyes. "This is everything I've been waiting for."
"Good." She smiled. "You'll do well, Mr. Ashcroft. You have the mind for it, and now you have the resources. Just remember that magical power is meaningless without wisdom to guide it. Learn, grow, but stay humble. The moment you think you know everything is the moment you become dangerous."
Rowan nodded. He had no intention of becoming arrogant. But he also had no intention of being weak.
The carriage stopped outside the Foundling Hospital. Mrs. Patterson's eyes widened at the expensive trunk.
"This is far too much for an orphan boy," she protested.
"Mr. Ashcroft earned his funds through his own labor," Professor Weasley said coolly. "He's entitled to spend them as he sees fit."
She led Rowan to a quiet corner.
"On September first, you'll need to go to King's Cross station. The Hogwarts Express departs at eleven o'clock sharp from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."
Rowan arranged his expression into one of puzzlement. "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?"
"It's between platforms nine and ten. You'll see a barrier. Walk straight through it. Don't stop or hesitate, just walk through as though it's not there. The platform is on the other side." She smiled at his expression. "I know it sounds mad, but trust me. The barrier is enchanted to let magical folk through while remaining invisible to Muggles."
"King's Cross is fairly new," Rowan said. "Only opened in fifty-two. Where did the Express depart from before that?"
Weasley looked faintly surprised. "You know your history. The Express has been running since 1830, well before the station existed. Minister Gambol arranged for the train to be... acquired from Crewe." She chose the word carefully. "The platform at King's Cross was added later, under Minister Orpington. Before that, the departure point moved around quite a bit."
"Acquired."
"The Muggle railway workers in Crewe reportedly had the feeling they'd misplaced something for the rest of that year." Her tone was perfectly neutral. "I wouldn't dwell on it."
"How long is the journey?"
"The Express arrives at Hogsmeade station around six in the evening. The school's caretaker will escort all first years to the castle from there." She paused. "The term lasts until mid-June, with a Christmas holiday from mid-December to early January. You may remain at Hogwarts during holidays if you have nowhere else to go."
"I'll stay," Rowan said. The Foundling Hospital had never been home.
"Then I'll see you at the Sorting Feast on September fifth." Professor Weasley held out her hand, and Rowan shook it formally. "Welcome to the wizarding world, Mr. Ashcroft. Make the most of it."
She walked out. A moment later, a soft crack echoed from outside.
Apparition.
Rowan stood alone in the entrance hall, his new trunk beside him, his owl hooting softly. Mrs. Patterson watched him with suspicion and resentment.
He didn't care.
Everything had changed today. He was no longer just an orphan scrabbling for survival. He was a wizard with resources, with potential, with a future that stretched far beyond these gray walls.
He carried his trunk upstairs to the empty dormitory and sat down, pulling out his new wand. The yew wood felt warm in his hand, responsive. He gave it a gentle wave. Not attempting any spell, just feeling the magic flow through the connection.
Silver sparks danced at the tip, swirling in patterns that seemed almost alive.
Death and rebirth, Ollivander had said.
That was his story. He'd died in one world and been reborn in another. The wand knew. It had chosen him because it understood what he was.
Rowan carefully returned the wand to its box and placed it in his trunk's secure compartment, sealing it with his magical signature. Then he pulled out Magical Theory and began to read.
He had a month before Hogwarts. A month to learn as much as possible, to prepare himself for the challenges ahead.
He wouldn't waste a single day.