He unpacked efficiently, organizing his belongings in the wardrobe and arranging his books on the empty shelves. Then he splashed water on his face in the bathroom, checked his appearance in the mirror, and made his way downstairs to the garden.
The garden was even more impressive than the courtyard. Carefully tended beds overflowed with plants Rowan didn't recognize. Some growing in patterns that suggested deliberate magical arrangement, others in wild profusion that somehow still looked intentional. A large table sat beneath an old oak tree, already set with plates, glasses, and a pitcher of what looked like lemonade.
Perenelle was seated at the table, reading a leather-bound tome. She looked up as Rowan approached.
"Ah, our guest. I trust Nicholas showed you to your room adequately?"
"He did, madam. Thank you for having me."
"Sit, sit. Nicholas will be along shortly. He's fetching lunch from the kitchen. Tell me, Rowan, what specifically do you hope to learn this summer?"
Rowan had prepared for this question. "Everything I can about alchemy, primarily. But also about magical innovation, about combining different disciplines to create new applications, about the theoretical foundations that underlie advanced magic."
"Ambitious. Good. We don't have patience for students who want easy answers or quick results. Alchemy demands dedication." Perenelle closed her book. "I should warn you. We're not traditional teachers. We don't follow a curriculum or assign homework in the conventional sense. We'll expose you to knowledge, demonstrate techniques, answer questions. But the learning itself is your responsibility."
"I understand. I prefer it that way, actually."
"Excellent. Then we should get along well."
Nicholas emerged from the house carrying a platter of sandwiches and a bowl of fruit. "Lunch! Nothing fancy. Perenelle insists we don't waste time on elaborate meals when there's work to be done. I'd spend hours cooking if she let me. I find the process meditative, you see, much like potion-making but with more immediate gratification."
They ate lunch in the garden, and Rowan found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did. The Flamels were brilliant, yes, but also warm, welcoming, genuinely interested in him as a person rather than just a prodigy to study.
After lunch, Nicholas gave him a tour of the ground floor.
The library was magnificent. Three walls of books from floor to ceiling, with a rolling ladder to access the higher shelves. Rowan recognized titles he'd only heard of in references, rare volumes that no Hogwarts student would have access to, and entire sections devoted to subjects he'd barely begun to explore.
"Take your time exploring," Nicholas said. "Everything here is available to you except the locked cabinet in the corner. That contains genuinely dangerous material that requires more experience to handle safely. But everything else? Read whatever interests you."
The laboratory was exactly what Rowan had imagined when he thought "alchemist's workshop." Workbenches lined the walls, covered with cauldrons, retorts, alembics, and other apparatus. Shelves held jars of ingredients, bottles of reagents, and containers of substances that glowed, bubbled, or otherwise demonstrated their magical nature. The air smelled of herbs and metal and something indefinably alchemical.
"This is where the real work happens," Nicholas said, his voice reverent despite his usual enthusiasm. "Alchemy isn't just theory. It's practice, experimentation, careful observation of how substances interact and transform. You'll spend considerable time here once we've covered the foundational concepts."
"And try not to blow anything up," he added cheerfully. "Though if you do, the laboratory has excellent fire-suppression charms. I replaced them after the third incident."
"This year or total?" Rowan asked.
"This year. Alchemy is an experimental art. Failures are learning opportunities!"
The workshop was the final room. A space devoted to more physical magical work. Rune-carving tools, enchanting implements, half-finished magical devices, and shelves full of raw materials filled the space.
"This is where I work on practical applications," Nicholas said. "Magical devices, enchanted objects, that sort of thing. You mentioned interest in innovation. This is where that happens. Feel free to use the space for your own projects."
Rowan's mind was already spinning with possibilities.
They returned to the garden, where Perenelle poured more lemonade and they settled into comfortable chairs in the shade.
"I should mention," Perenelle said, "that while we're happy to have you here and eager to teach you, we do expect you to take your studies seriously. Nicholas can be quite jovial, but don't mistake that for lack of rigor. Alchemy demands precision, patience, and genuine intellectual engagement. If you're not willing to put in the work, you won't accomplish anything."
"I'm willing to work harder than you can imagine," Rowan said. "I didn't survive the mills through lack of dedication."
"Fair enough." She nodded. "Then we'll see what you're capable of. Nicholas, what did you plan for his first theoretical lesson tomorrow?"
"I thought we'd start with the basic principles. The three philosophical stages, the four elements, the relationship between microcosm and macrocosm. Build the conceptual framework before moving to practical transmutation."
"Solid approach. I'll prepare some reading materials for him this evening."
As afternoon faded toward evening, Rowan found himself relaxing completely. Nicholas's enthusiasm was infectious, while Perenelle's sharp intellect reminded him of Professor Weasley. Demanding but fair.
When dinner came, a light meal of soup and fresh bread eaten at the same garden table, the conversation shifted.
"So," Nicholas said, tearing off a piece of bread, "we've read your interview, and you've told us plenty about the vision. What I want to hear about are specifics. What do you actually want to build first?"
Rowan had been thinking about this for weeks. "Communication. We rely on owls, which are slow and unreliable over long distances. Muggles have telegraphs that send messages instantly across hundreds of miles. There's no reason magic can't achieve the same result, some kind of enchanted device that transmits voices or written messages over any distance, privately, without requiring both parties to be present."
"The Floo Network allows communication," Nicholas pointed out.
"It requires a connected fireplace, both parties present at the same time, and no privacy whatsoever. I'm thinking about something portable. A device you carry with you."
Nicholas stroked his beard. "You're talking about combining enchantment, charms work, and runic magic into a single integrated system. Runic arrays for the sustained function, alchemical bonding to link paired devices, charms for the actual transmission." He was already thinking through the architecture. "The core challenge is maintaining the magical connection over distance. Paired objects lose sympathetic resonance beyond a certain range."
"Which is why I need to understand how those disciplines actually interact at a fundamental level. Hogwarts teaches them separately. I need to learn how to make them work together."
"That," Perenelle said, "is exactly what alchemy is. The art of combining things that don't naturally combine." She poured more lemonade. "What else?"
"Lighting. Permanent magical lighting that doesn't require a wand or a caster. Food preservation. Medical applications. Dozens of problems the wizarding world accepts as unsolvable because no one's approached them as engineering challenges."
"Good," Nicholas said. "Ambitious, but good. The communication device is the right place to start. It's complex enough to teach you the fundamentals of multi-discipline integration, but contained enough to actually build in a summer. We'll get to the rest over time."
They talked until the stars came out. Nicholas described devices he'd seen attempted over the centuries, a paired set of journals that copied each other's writing until the binding charm degraded and they started copying every book in the room, a French alchemist's singing teapot that wouldn't stop, a self-stirring potion rod that worked beautifully until it stirred its way through the bottom of the cauldron.
By the time Rowan retired to his room, his mind was quieter than it had been in months.
He climbed into bed and extinguished the lamp with a whispered "Nox." Through the window, stars were visible in the clear French sky, brighter than they ever appeared in London.
Tomorrow, his real education would begin.