One evening in late May, as Rowan practiced advanced chain casting sequences in the Room, Iris watched from the sidelines and waited for him to finish.
"Can I ask you something?" she said when he finally lowered his wand.
"Of course."
"Why are you doing all this? The constant practice, the obsessive studying, the pushing yourself to exhaustion every night. You're already the best first year in the school, possibly the best first year Hogwarts has seen in decades. You could ease back and still excel. Why drive yourself so hard?"
Rowan considered his answer carefully. They'd made an Unbreakable Vow to protect each other's secrets, and he trusted Iris completely. But revealing the full scope of his ambitions felt like a risk.
"I told you before. I want to change the wizarding world. Make it better. That requires power, knowledge, and influence. I can't achieve any of that by being merely competent. I need to be exceptional. Undeniable. Someone who can't be ignored or dismissed because of blood status."
"And the tournament?"
"Is an opportunity to prove myself on an international stage. If I perform well, people will notice. That recognition opens doors, creates opportunities, establishes credibility." He met her eyes. "Everything I do is building toward something larger. The tournament is one piece. Hogwarts is one piece. But the ultimate goal is much bigger."
Iris nodded slowly. "I understand. And I'm still with you. Whatever you're planning, I want to help make it happen."
"Then help me stay sharp. I need someone who can point out my remaining weaknesses, who can push me when I'm tired, who I can trust absolutely. That's more valuable than you know."
"Then let's keep working."
They resumed practice, Iris casting spells at him for defense practice while offering critiques of his technique. The partnership was invaluable. Having someone he trusted completely, who understood his goals and supported them unconditionally, made the grueling preparation bearable.
By the time final exams arrived in late May, Rowan was as ready as he could be for the tournament.
His written exams were formalities. His Occlumency-enhanced memory meant he could recall textbook passages verbatim, and his deep understanding of magical theory allowed him to explain complex concepts with clarity.
His practical exams were equally successful. In Transfiguration, he transformed a guinea pig into a perfect golden pocket watch, earning approval from Professor Weasley. In Charms, he executed every spell Ronen tested with flawless technique. In Potions, his Forgetfulness Potion was deemed "adequate" by Sharp. In Defense, Hecat simply smiled and said, "I think we both know you've exceeded first-year requirements, Mr. Ashcroft."
The end-of-year feast took place three days after exams concluded. The Great Hall had been decorated in Ravenclaw's colors. Blue and bronze banners hung from the ceiling, and the house tables buzzed with anticipation.
Rowan sat with Iris, Lawrence, Edmund, and Celeste, who'd joined them from the Gryffindor table for the pre-feast conversation.
"Do you think we won?" Lawrence asked, eyeing the empty enchanted scoreboard above the Head Table.
"We'd better have," another Ravenclaw student said from down the table. "Ashcroft alone earned us what, one hundred points? Maybe more?"
Rowan said nothing. The House Cup was a nice symbolic victory, useful for house morale and inter-school prestige. But it offered no tangible reward beyond bragging rights. Still, he recognized that his housemates cared deeply about it, and he'd contributed significantly to Ravenclaw's standing throughout the year.
Headmistress Mole stood, and the hall fell silent.
"Another year concludes," she announced in her crisp, authoritative voice. "Before we begin our feast, we must award the House Cup. The points stand as follows:"
She paused, surveying the hall with her usual stern expression.
"In fourth place: Hufflepuff, with three hundred and ninety-eight points."
Polite applause from the Hufflepuff table.
"In third place: Slytherin, with four hundred and twelve points."
Slightly more enthusiastic applause from the Slytherins, though some looked disappointed.
"In second place: Gryffindor, with four hundred and fifty-six points."
The Gryffindor table cheered, though the celebration was muted by not winning first.
"And in first place: Ravenclaw, with five hundred and twenty-three points."
The Ravenclaw table erupted. Students were clapping, shouting, some standing to celebrate. Rowan felt hands slapping his back, heard his name being called with gratitude and excitement.
"Well done, Ravenclaw," Headmistress Mole said once the noise subsided. "Your academic excellence and consistent rule-following have earned you this honor."
The Hall transformed, blue and bronze banners multiplying, streamers appearing, the Ravenclaw crest gleaming on the wall behind the Head Table. The feast appeared moments later. Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables, pies, cakes, and more food than even the hungriest students could consume.
Alexander Sterling, the sixth-year prefect who'd been helping train during Dueling Club, leaned over from further down the table to shake Rowan's hand. "First House Cup in three years. Thank you. Seriously. You carried us this year."
"It was a collective effort," Rowan replied diplomatically, though they both knew the truth. His dueling victories, his perfect academic work, his class demonstrations. He'd single-handedly earned Ravenclaw at least a quarter of their total points, possibly more.
Iris nudged him. "You could look a bit more excited. We won."
Rowan felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I am excited," he admitted. "I know it doesn't mean anything really. But damn, it feels good."
"There's the human reaction I was looking for," Iris said, grinning.
"All those hours studying, all those perfect essays, all those dueling matches. It adds up to something." Rowan raised his goblet. "To Ravenclaw. First House Cup in three years. And to the friends who made this year worth the effort."
They drank, and the conversation shifted to summer plans, speculation about next year's classes, and reminiscing about the year's highlights and disasters.
But as Rowan packed his trunk on the evening of May thirty-first, his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Paris. The tournament. The opportunities it represented.
Tomorrow, they would travel by Portkey to France. He would step onto an international stage and prove that blood didn't determine worth. That a Muggleborn orphan could stand alongside, or above, the privileged children of ancient families.