The incident happened on a Friday evening, two weeks into term.
Rowan was walking back from the library, arms full of books, when he turned a corner and found his path blocked by three older students. All Slytherins, all wearing expressions that suggested they'd been waiting for him.
He recognized one of them. Mulciber, the fourth year who'd sneered at Muggleborns in the corridor multiple times. The other two he didn't know by name, but their expressions told him everything he needed to know.
"Lost, Mudblood?" Mulciber asked, his wand already drawn.
Rowan set his books down carefully on a nearby windowsill. His mind was cold, analytical, running through options. Three against one. Older students. Armed. His wand was in his holster. He could draw it quickly, but they'd have the initiative.
"I was heading back to my common room," he said calmly. "You're blocking the way."
"Are we?" The girl, Eugenia Carrow, he remembered from Potions, stepped forward. "Maybe you should find another route. This corridor isn't for your kind."
The third student, a boy named Avery, already had his wand pointed. "Maybe we should teach him—"
Rowan drew his wand and cast before Avery finished speaking.
"Expelliarmus!"
Avery's wand flew from his hand and clattered against the wall. The other two reacted immediately. Mulciber firing a Tripping Jinx while Carrow cast something Rowan didn't recognize, a purple bolt that looked decidedly dark.
"Protego!"
His shield sprang up, weak but solid enough. The Tripping Jinx bounced off harmlessly. The purple bolt struck his shield and burst into sparks, and Rowan felt his shield shudder but hold.
Then he dropped it and attacked.
Three rapid spells in succession. A Knockback Jinx at Mulciber, a Stunning Spell at Carrow that he'd learned from advanced reading, and another Disarming Charm at the still-wandless Avery who was reaching for his fallen wand.
Mulciber went flying backward into the wall with a painful thud. Carrow barely managed to shield, but the force still knocked her backward. Avery gave up reaching for his wand and scrambled back.
"Next time you want to attack someone," Rowan said quietly, his voice carrying in the silent corridor, "make sure they're actually helpless. I'm not."
He collected Avery and Carrow's wands from where they'd fallen. Insurance, and proof of what had happened. Then he turned and walked away, leaving his attackers groaning behind him.
The confrontation had taken perhaps ninety seconds.
But word spread through the school within hours.
The Mudblood first-year had fought off three older pure-bloods and won. Decisively.
By the next morning, every student in Hogwarts seemed to know about it. The story had grown in the telling. Some versions had Rowan fighting off five attackers, others claimed he'd used Dark magic himself, still others said he'd hospitalized all three.
The truth was impressive enough without embellishment, but Rowan didn't correct the exaggerations. Let the rumors grow. Let the Slytherins wonder exactly how powerful he was, exactly what he was capable of.
Sebastian approached Rowan in the Great Hall at breakfast, sliding onto the bench across from where Rowan sat with Iris and Lawrence.
"Heard you put three Slytherins in the Hospital Wing," Sebastian said, leaning forward with an expression that was hard to read. "Mulciber, Avery, and Carrow. Three against one, and you dropped all of them."
"They attacked me in a corridor," Rowan replied carefully. "I defended myself."
"I know. They're idiots." Sebastian waved a dismissive hand. "Ambushing a first-year because their pride was hurt? Pathetic." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "But here's the thing, Ashcroft—you could press charges. Get all three expelled. You'd have every right to."
Rowan waited, sensing there was more.
"But if you do," Sebastian continued, "the Averys and Carrows will make a huge deal of it. Both families are old money and part of the Wizengamot. They'll turn this into a political circus. Your name will get dragged through every pure-blood drawing room in Britain. They'll make it about blood status, and use it to discredit Muggleborns in general." He leaned back with a shrug. "Alternatively, we handle it internally. All three of them know they screwed up. Their pride's already shattered, losing to a first-year. You let it drop, and it stays a school matter. No politics, no Ministry."
Rowan studied him. "Why do you care what happens to them?"
"I don't," Sebastian said bluntly. "I care about what happens to you. If this blows up politically, you're the one who suffers, not them. The Averys and Carrows have connections. Yours..." He trailed off, not unkindly. "I'm just saying, sometimes winning quietly is smarter than winning publicly."
After a long moment, Rowan nodded. "Handled internally. But if anyone tries again—"
"They won't," Sebastian said firmly. Then, standing to leave, he added with that crooked smile, "Besides, I'm planning to join Dueling Club this year. Can't have you getting expelled before I get a chance to duel you properly."
He walked away before Rowan could respond.
Iris and Lawrence both stared at Rowan.
"What," Iris said slowly, "was that?"
"I have no idea," Rowan admitted.
The harassment stopped after that. Oh, there were still sneers and muttered insults, still the casual prejudice that pervaded magical society. But no more ambushes, no more coordinated attacks, no more three-on-one confrontations in dark corridors.
The Slytherins had learned that targeting Rowan Ashcroft came with consequences.
Two days later, Professor Hecat asked both Rowan and Sebastian to stay after Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
The request was unexpected. Rowan caught Sebastian's eye across the classroom, and the Slytherin smirked back. When the other students had filed out, Hecat sat on the edge of her desk and regarded them both thoughtfully.
"I've been watching your performances in class," she said without preamble. "Both of you are exceptional. Ashcroft, your shield work is better than most third years, possibly better than some fourth years. Sallow, your offensive spell work and tactical instincts are remarkably advanced for a first year."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"I don't normally invite first years to join the Crossed Wands. It's meant for older students who've mastered the basics. But I'm making an exception for both of you."
Rowan's pulse quickened. Sebastian's expression showed genuine interest.
"Crossed Wands?" Rowan asked.
"A dueling club founded fifteen years ago to teach students proper dueling technique and deportment. We meet twice weekly in the evening. Tuesdays and Thursdays after dinner. Beyond simple instruction, we prepare students for the International Youth Dueling Championship, where underage witches and wizards from schools around the world compete."
She pulled out two pieces of parchment and handed one to each of them. Schedules and lists of rules for the club.
"I won't lie to you. You'll be the youngest members by two years. The older students won't go easy on you, and some may resent first-years joining their ranks. But you've both demonstrated skill and temperament. You keep your heads under pressure, you think tactically, and you have excellent instincts." She looked between them. "You're both natural duelists. It would be a waste not to develop that talent properly."
Sebastian spoke first. "I accept. Thank you, Professor."
"I accept as well," Rowan said. "Thank you."
Hecat smiled slightly. "Don't thank me yet. Come to the first session Tuesday evening and see if you still want to continue after you've been knocked on your arses a few times by fourth years." Her smile widened fractionally. "Though I suspect having two first-years will create some interesting dynamics. You'll push each other to improve."
She glanced between them, and Rowan got the distinct impression she knew exactly what she was doing by inviting them together.
"Dismissed."
They left the classroom together, an awkward silence between them.
"So," Sebastian said finally, that crooked smile returning. "Guess I'll get that duel after all."
"Guess so," Rowan replied.
"May the best duelist win." Sebastian's tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, competitive. Then he walked off toward the dungeons, leaving Rowan standing in the corridor with the parchment clutched in his hand.
Rowan's mind was already racing ahead. Dueling Club. International Youth Dueling Championship. A chance to train properly, to face opponents who would push him to his limits.
This was an opportunity he couldn't afford to waste.
That night, lying in bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory, Rowan should have been thinking about the Dueling Club, about the tournament, about the opportunity Hecat had given him.
Instead, his mind kept circling back to the day's events. The whispers in the corridors after the flying lesson. The way students had looked at him and Iris. Like they were something distasteful that had been tracked in on someone's shoe.
He was working twice as hard as most of his classmates. He'd mastered every spell assigned. He'd made friends, earned respect from professors, even defeated three attackers at once.
And still, to people like Imelda Reyes and half of Slytherin house, he would always be less than. Always be other. Always be Mudblood.
The anger burned hot for a moment. Then he channeled it, the way he'd learned to channel everything else. Anger into motivation. Frustration into determination.
The Crossed Wands invitation sat on his nightstand, the parchment catching the moonlight. Hecat had called him a natural duelist. Sebastian had challenged him to compete. Sterling, Greengrass, and the others would push him to his limits.
He would prove them wrong. Not by arguing or defending himself, but by becoming so undeniably excellent that even blood prejudice couldn't dismiss him.
Let them whisper. Let them sneer.
He'd show them what a Mudblood could do.