The Flamels' letter arrived two days later.
Rowan recognized the owl before the handwriting, a handsome tawny bird he'd seen dozens of times at the Flamel residence, always waiting with the patient composure of an animal accustomed to international flights. The letter was rolled in the particular way Nicholas always rolled his correspondence, slightly off-centre, the seal pressed crookedly because Nicholas applied his seal ring while already reaching for the next thing.
The offer was the same as last year. Room and board outside Paris, continued instruction. Nicholas had outlined a curriculum involving intermediate transmutation techniques and the theoretical foundations of the Philosopher's Stone, his handwriting growing larger and more slanted as his enthusiasm built across the page. He'd underlined theoretical foundations three times and added an exclamation mark that had torn slightly through the parchment.
Perenelle had added a postscript in her careful hand: Nicholas has been planning your curriculum since January. Please don't feel obligated to accept simply because he's been insufferably excited about it.
He sat with the letter for a long time.
The honest answer was that he wanted to go. Another summer with the Flamels would push him into intermediate transmutation, faster refinement of base metals, more efficient purification processes. And whatever Nicholas had planned for the Philosopher's Stone curriculum would be fascinating in ways he couldn't even anticipate yet.
But he could already purify metals and perform basic transmutations. He could inscribe and activate runic arrays. The lead-to-silver path he needed for the luminaires was within reach with what he already knew, even if intermediate techniques would make it faster.
The luminaire worked, the press design was sound, and what he lacked had nothing to do with theory. He needed a shopkeeper he could trust, a lease in Diagon Alley signed by someone willing to deal with a Muggleborn buyer, a supply chain that wouldn't collapse the moment a vendor learned his blood status. Those were problems that required him to be present, visible, and building.
Rowan wrote his response that evening, taking more time with it than usual. He described the shop, the luminaire, the production system, the company registration. He explained that everything he was building rested on what they'd taught him, that their mentorship was the reason any of this was possible in the first place.
He read the letter back twice before sealing it, making sure the tone was right. The Flamels had given him the most transformative education of his life, and the least he owed them was honesty about why he was choosing a different path this summer. Their reply arrived four days later. Shorter, and the handwriting was different. Perenelle had written this one.
Dear Rowan,
Nicholas is delighted. He spent the evening after reading your letter pacing the laboratory and talking about industrial applications of runic theory until I made him sit down. He wants you to know that watching a student apply alchemical knowledge to practical innovation is one of the great pleasures of teaching, and that your luminaire concept is, in his words, "exactly the kind of thing the wizarding world needs and is too hidebound to build for itself."
We have discussed it, and we would like to help. The alchemical equipment you trained with last summer — the athanor, the alembics, the distillation apparatus, the reagent sets — has been sitting unused in our workshop since you left. We would like to ship it to wherever you establish your workspace, free of charge. Consider it a gift, and an investment.
Build something remarkable.
Perenelle
P.S. Nicholas insists I add that the moonstone catalyst he recommended for the Lunar fixation stage works best when ground to a powder finer than flour. He says you'll know what this means.
Rowan read the letter twice, then sat with it in his lap for a long time.
He had spent most of his life, both lives, earning what he got and keeping what he could hold. Generosity hadn't been part of the world he'd grown up in, and he'd stopped expecting it long before he stopped needing it.
The Flamels were offering him equipment worth more than his entire savings because they believed in what he was trying to do.
He wrote back that night. Short, because anything longer would have said less. He thanked them, told them he would send the delivery address as soon as he had a workspace, and signed it. Athena took the letter and flew out the Owlery window into the evening sky, her dark wings disappearing against the darkening clouds.