The journey back to Hogwarts by Portkey was bittersweet. Rowan was exhausted, his silver medal secured in his trunk alongside his other belongings. The tournament had exceeded every expectation. Even if he hadn't won gold, second place at an international championship created opportunities he'd never imagined.
When they landed in Professor Hecat's office, the sun was setting over Hogwarts' towers, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and purples.
"Exceptional work, Mr. Ashcroft," Hecat said as they recovered from the Portkey travel. "You've brought great prestige to Hogwarts." She looked at the team. Sterling, Greengrass, and Bones, all still buzzing with energy despite the journey. "All of you have. The Headmistress will want to speak with you tomorrow, I'm sure. But tonight, I think you've earned some rest. Or celebration, if you prefer."
Sterling grinned. "Professor, with all due respect, we didn't get to properly congratulate Rowan after his win. The Flamels whisked him away immediately. We were thinking the common room—"
"I think that's an excellent idea, Mr. Sterling. The castle is mostly empty for summer holiday, but those who remain should hear about Hogwarts' victory." Hecat smiled. "Just keep the celebration reasonable, please."
"Yes, Professor," they chorused.
As they left Hecat's office and climbed toward Ravenclaw Tower, Sterling clapped Rowan on the shoulder. "Youngest finalist in tournament history. Silver medal at eleven years old. And that wandless magic against Ward. Bet that shocked them."
"Half the crowd thought you'd somehow studied at Uagadou," Greengrass said. "Wandless magic is their specialty. Not exactly common at Hogwarts."
"Ward's face when you cast that wandless Finite was priceless," Bones added with a grin. "Completely blindsided him."
"The final was incredible though," Sterling said. "Beaumont's been competing for years. Seven tournaments. And you very nearly beat her."
"Those shadow duplicates nearly got me," Rowan said. "And then I overextended at the end. Burned through my reserves too fast."
"Silver medal is still extraordinary," Greengrass said. "I've been dueling competitively for threee years, and I've never seen a younger student compete at that level."
They reached Ravenclaw Tower. The common room was nearly empty. Most students had left for summer before the tournament team departed for Paris. Only a handful remained, and sitting by the fireplace with a book in her lap was—
"Iris?"
Rowan blinked in surprise. Iris looked up as they entered, and her face broke into a relieved smile when she saw him.
"You're back! I was starting to worry—" She stood quickly, setting the book aside. Then she noticed the medal around his neck and her eyes widened. "Silver. You made the finals."
"Youngest finalist ever," Sterling said proudly. "Made Hogwarts history."
Iris's smile was brilliant. "I knew you would."
The small group gathered around as the tournament team settled into chairs near the fireplace. Sterling launched into an animated retelling of the tournament, with Greengrass and Bones adding commentary and corrections.
"The finals were something else. Beaumont used Ballerina Mortis. Those shadow duplicates. Four of them, all casting real spells. We've seen her use it before in competitions. Usually ends the match in under a minute."
"Not this time," Greengrass said with satisfaction. "Rowan went flat on the platform. The duplicates' spells passed right over him, then he picked them off one by one."
"Then she hit him with Fulmen Saltare," Bones said, grimacing at the memory. "Lightning. We thought it was over. You could see the impact from the stands, see him seize up—"
"But Occlumency training," Rowan said quietly. "Pushed through the pain, broke the connection."
Iris's hand had gone to her mouth. "Lightning? You were struck by lightning?"
"It wasn't pleasant," Rowan said.
"Fulmen Saltare has hospitalized adult duelists," Sterling said seriously. "The fact that you stayed conscious, let alone kept fighting..." He shook his head. "Incredible."
They talked for nearly an hour, the tournament team recounting matches, strategies, the reactions of other schools. Iris stayed quiet, but Rowan could see her watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Pride mixed with concern.
It was comfortable. Easy. The kind of celebration that had been impossible in Paris, where everything was formal and scrutinized.
Then the owls arrived.
It was unusual. The evening post normally came during breakfast, not after dinner. But dozens of barn owls, tawny owls, and even a few eagle owls swept through the common room windows, dropping newspapers on the tables and floor.
Sterling caught one mid-air, frowning. "That's odd. Why evening post—" He unfolded the Daily Prophet and his expression changed. "Oh. Oh, bloody hell."
Greengrass grabbed another copy. Her jaw tightened. "Those bastards."
Rowan felt his stomach sink. "What is it?"
Sterling wordlessly handed him the newspaper.
The headline filled half the front page:
MUDBLOOD FINALIST: FIRST-YEAR ORPHAN REACHES INTERNATIONAL FINALS IN SHOCKING UPSET
By Barnabas Flint, Editor
The photograph beneath showed the final moment of the match, playing on loop. Rowan on his knees as his wand slipped from his fingers, Apolline Beaumont standing over him with her wand leveled and the crowd behind them blurred into a wall of colour.
Rowan's jaw tightened as he began to read.