History of Magic remained as dull as predicted. Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions, giant wars, and the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards. Rowan took meticulous notes despite the boring delivery, recognizing that understanding magical history was crucial for understanding the present political landscape.
Flying Lessons were a mixed experience. They were taught by Madam Chiyo Kogawa, a stern Japanese witch who'd attended Mahoutokoro and tried out for the Toyohashi Tengu before coming to Hogwarts. She was exacting in her standards, pushed students hard, and had a competitive edge that made every lesson feel like preparation for professional Quidditch.
"Flying is no leisure activity," she announced as the class assembled on the grounds, school brooms laid out in neat rows. "It is a skill that requires discipline, technique, and dedication. Some of you will have natural talent. Most of you will not. What matters is whether you're willing to work."
She demonstrated the proper mounting stance, the correct grip, the way to distribute weight for optimal control. "Precision matters. Every movement, every shift of your body affects the broom's response. Sloppy technique means sloppy flying."
Rowan mounted his broom cautiously. He'd read about flying in theory, but theory and practice were vastly different things. When Kogawa called for them to kick off, he rose into the air smoothly enough. But his control was shaky, his turns awkward, his overall performance thoroughly mediocre compared to students who'd grown up on brooms.
He was hovering uncertainly about fifteen feet up when a voice cut through the air beside him.
"Is that really the best the great Rowan Ashcroft can do?"
He turned to see Imelda Reyes circling him with effortless grace. The Slytherin girl was a natural flyer, her movements fluid and confident, and her expression held nothing but contempt.
"Flying requires actual talent, Ashcroft. Pretending to be smart won't help you up here." She executed a perfect barrel roll, showing off. "But I suppose we can't expect much from a Mudblood who only learned magic existed a few weeks ago."
Several students below had stopped to watch. Some Slytherins were smirking. Others looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
Rowan kept his expression neutral, though anger burned beneath the surface. "I'm learning. Like everyone else."
"Learning?" Imelda laughed, sharp and mocking. "You're flailing around like a first-time Muggle on a toy broom. It's embarrassing. Honestly, I don't know how you got into Hogwarts at all—oh wait, they had to lower standards to let your kind in, didn't they?"
"That's enough, Reyes." Iris's voice came from below, sharp with anger. She'd landed and was glaring up at Imelda. "Leave him alone."
"Oh, look. Caldwell rushing to defend her fellow Mudblood." Imelda's sneer deepened. "How touching. Two Mudbloods sticking together. Though I suppose you have to—no one with any real magic would want to—"
"Miss Reyes!"
Madam Kogawa's voice cut through the air like a blade. She strode across the grounds, her expression severe. Imelda's smirk vanished instantly.
"On the ground. Now."
Imelda descended smoothly, her face carefully blank.
Kogawa's tone was ice. "I teach flying because I respect the skill. Because I believe dedication and hard work matter more than natural talent or where you were born. What I will not tolerate is a student using my lessons to demonstrate their ignorance."
"But Madam—"
"Twenty points from Slytherin. And an essay on the contributions of Muggleborn flyers to modern Quidditch techniques. Three feet of parchment, due Monday."
Imelda's jaw tightened. "Yes, Madam."
Kogawa's gaze swept across the other students, many of whom suddenly found their brooms fascinating. "This is a flying lesson. If you want to discuss your classmates' backgrounds instead of improving your technique, you can write essays too. Anyone else?"
Silence.
"Good. Back to practice." She turned to Rowan, her expression still stern but not unkind. "Ashcroft. Your grip is too rigid. You're fighting the broom instead of working with it. Relax your shoulders. Let the broom respond to subtle shifts, not forced movements."
Rowan nodded, grateful for the intervention but hating that he'd needed it. He adjusted his grip as instructed and kicked off again, acutely aware of the stares following him.
Imelda didn't say anything else for the rest of the lesson, but her glares were pointed every time Kogawa wasn't looking. And Rowan noticed other Slytherins whispering to each other, their eyes on him.
After class, as students filed back toward the castle, Iris fell into step beside him.
"You okay?"
"Fine," Rowan said shortly.
"She's awful. The way she talked to you—"
"Isn't anything I haven't dealt with before." He kept his voice level. "Reyes is just louder about it than most. Half the Slytherin house thinks the same thing; they were just smart enough not to say it in front of Madam Kogawa."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No," Rowan agreed. "But getting angry won't change their minds. Proving them wrong will."
Edmund joined them, looking troubled. "That was horrible. I wanted to say something, but by the time I flew over, Madam Kogawa had already intervened."
"It's fine," Rowan said, meaning it.
But as they walked back to the castle, Rowan was acutely aware of the weight of stares from other students. The confrontation had been public. Now everyone knew exactly where people like Imelda Reyes stood.
And judging by the whispers that followed him, plenty of students agreed with her.
Astronomy, taught at midnight on Wednesdays, was fascinating despite the late hour. Professor Satyavati Shah was an elderly witch with long gray hair and an obsessive attention to detail. She spoke more to the stars than to her students, often trailing off mid-sentence to observe some celestial phenomenon through her telescope.
"Magic is influenced by the cosmos," Shah explained one night as they stood atop the Astronomy Tower, telescopes pointed at the sky. "Certain potions are more potent when brewed under a full moon. Some spells work better during planetary alignments. A wise witch pays attention to the heavens." She paused, squinting at Mars. "Hmm. Red planet's position suggests conflict ahead. War, perhaps. Or merely academic disputes. Celestial signs are imprecise..."
Rowan filed this information away carefully. If celestial timing could enhance magical effects, that was knowledge worth having.
Beyond classes, Rowan had begun exploring the castle systematically. Hogwarts was vast and labyrinthine, with secrets hidden in every corner. He'd discovered multiple shortcuts between floors, found three different passages that seemed to lead to hidden areas, and located the kitchens by following the smell of fresh bread one morning.
The house-elves in the kitchens had been startled by his appearance but pleased when he thanked them for the excellent food. One elf named Deek had offered him fresh pastries, which he'd accepted gratefully. Building good relationships with the house-elves seemed wise. They saw and heard everything in the castle, and their goodwill might prove valuable.
His friendships were also developing. Iris had become his closest companion in Ravenclaw. They studied together most evenings, and she'd begun to open up about her background. Her father was a banker in Manchester, her mother a seamstress, both entirely Muggle and bewildered by their daughter's magical abilities. She felt guilty sometimes, she confessed, for leaving them behind to enter a world they couldn't understand.
"They tried to be supportive," she said one evening as they worked on Transfiguration homework. "But I could see the fear in their eyes. Like I'd become something alien. Something dangerous."
"You're not dangerous," Rowan said. "You're powerful. There's a difference."
"Is there?" She looked at him seriously. "Power without control is dangerous. And I feel so out of control here sometimes. Everyone else seems to know things I don't. Social rules, magical customs, family histories. I'm always catching up."
"Then we catch up together," Rowan replied. "Neither of us has family connections or inherited knowledge. We have to build our own foundation."
She smiled at that, and they returned to their essays.
He'd also grown closer to his roommates. Lawrence Goode shared his interest in theoretical magic and they often discussed spell mechanics late into the night. Hector Fawley was nervous but kind, always willing to help other students who were struggling. Amit Thadakkar was quiet but perceptive, often making observations that others missed. And Timothy Fletcher, despite his pure-blood background, had proven to be progressive in his views and genuinely curious about the Muggle world.
"My family's old-fashioned," Timothy had explained once. "But I don't see why that means I have to be. Magic is magic, regardless of who casts it. Anyone who can't see that is an idiot."
Rowan appreciated the sentiment, even if he suspected Timothy's progressive views would face testing if his family applied pressure.
But beneath the surface of classes and friendship, tension was building.