She stared at him. "You can't be serious."
"How much?"
Clara's jaw worked. The embarrassment won briefly, colouring her cheeks. "Three Galleons a month."
Three Galleons. Rowan kept his expression neutral, but the number hit harder than he showed. Slug & Jiggers was one of the most established apothecaries in Britain, and they were paying a qualified witch less than half a fair wage. Because they could. Because she was Muggleborn, and Muggleborn workers took what was offered or they took nothing at all.
"I'll pay you eight," Rowan said. "Same work you're doing now. Managing a shop, handling customers, maintaining inventory. But for Crucible instead of Slug & Jiggers. Eight Galleons a month, paid on the first."
"Eight Galleons." Clara repeated it as if testing whether the words made sense in sequence. "From a child."
"From an employer who values your work at what it's worth."
"Mr. Ashcroft—"
"The position is storefront manager. You'd run the shop when Lawrence and I are at Hogwarts during the school year. Sales, customer relations, restocking from finished product I'll prepare before term starts. Full operational authority over daily business."
"I appreciate the offer, but I can't take money from a child. It isn't—" She searched for the word. "It isn't appropriate."
"It's a salary, Mrs. Goode. You'd be earning it." He leaned forward slightly. "I've been trying for weeks to find someone trustworthy to manage the shop year-round. You already know potions and apothecary work. Lawrence trusts you completely, which means I can trust you. And you'd be there to keep an eye on both of us, which is what you came here to ensure."
Clara was quiet for a long time. The firelight played across her features, and Rowan could see the war happening behind her eyes. The mother's protectiveness against the practical reality of three Galleons a month and the knowledge that Slug and Jiggers would replace her within the week.
"This would mean leaving my position," she said slowly. "If your business fails—"
"Then the contract I'm offering guarantees continued payment for three months after termination, giving you time to find other work. And you'd be free of all contractual obligations at that point."
"You have a contract prepared."
Rowan reached into his bag and produced a scroll of parchment. "Standard employment agreement. I wrote it before Professor Weasley told me her former students had refused. It includes a confidentiality clause regarding proprietary processes, the specifics of how the luminaires are made. A non-compete clause preventing you from manufacturing or selling competing products for one year after departure. And binding terms that require me to pay your salary in full and on time for as long as you're employed, or until the three-month severance period ends."
He unrolled it on the table between them.
"The contract binds us equally. You're bound to confidentiality. I'm bound to fair payment. If either party violates their terms, the other is released from all obligations."
Clara read the contract. Slowly and carefully, the way someone reads who has learned that details matter. When she reached the end, she returned to the beginning and read it again.
"You wrote this yourself," she said.
"Professor Weasley reviewed the legal framework. The specific terms are mine."
Clara set the parchment down and looked at him. The assessment in her eyes had deepened into something Rowan couldn't entirely read. Wonder, perhaps, or the discomfort of an adult realising a child had outpaced her in ways that mattered.
"There's one more thing," Rowan said. "I'd like to offer Lawrence an ownership stake in the business. A percentage of Crucible, in recognition of his ongoing contributions to product development."
Clara's expression shifted. "Lawrence."
"He's earned it. His artificing work is integral to what we're building. I wouldn't offer it out of charity."
"And me? Are you offering me a stake as well?"
"If you'd like one."
She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm an employee. I'll do my job and earn my wage and that will be enough." She paused. "But for Lawrence, yes. I'll accept on his behalf." Something moved behind her eyes. "His father would have wanted him to build things. To make something of his own."
"Then we have an agreement?"
Clara Goode looked at the contract on the table, at the boy sitting across from her, and at the future that had just shifted beneath her feet.
She picked up the quill and signed.
"When do we start?" she asked.
"Tomorrow. I'll need you to accompany me to Diagon Alley to begin scouting properties. Professor Weasley requires that I have an adult present."
"Then I'll need to resign from Slug & Jiggers tonight."
"Send an owl. Don't go in person. They'll try to make you feel guilty for leaving."
Clara almost smiled. "You think you know everything, don't you?"
"I know what it's like to be undervalued by people who think they're doing you a favour by employing you at all."
The almost-smile became real, brief and sharp and genuine. "Yes," she said. "I expect you do."
After Clara left, Rowan wrote two letters.
The first was to Lawrence.
Lawrence,
Your mother has agreed to join Crucible as our storefront manager. She's formidable, which you already knew and I now understand firsthand. We begin scouting properties on Diagon Alley tomorrow. Be ready to work when you arrive.
Rowan
The second was to Weasley.
Professor,
I've secured adult supervision for the summer. Mrs. Clara Goode, Lawrence's mother, has agreed to accompany me in Diagon Alley as storefront manager for the business. She's a qualified witch, formerly employed at Slug & Jiggers, and more than capable of ensuring that I don't do anything reckless.
I trust this satisfies your conditions.
Ashcroft
He tied both letters to two of Sirona's pub owls. Athena was asleep on her perch and would remain so for at least another day if she had anything to say about it. He watched them disappear into the evening sky.
Then he went back to his room, opened the ledger, and began planning tomorrow.