When I learn alchemy properly, Rowan thought as the Knight Bus tore through the night, I'll build something like this for the school.
The idea had been sitting in the back of his mind for a long time.
Reopening the mutant school, but under a different name.
The age of "mutants" was over. The word itself carried too much weight, too much fear. History files, black ops reports, classified archives. The children couldn't live behind walls forever. They would have to step into the world eventually, and when they did, labels would matter.
So why not change it?
Not a mutant school. A school for enhanced humans.
Mutants. Children with unusual abilities. Even future heroes. Teachers drawn from those already walking the line between legend and reality. A place that diluted fear through familiarity. If trouble came, teachers and students together could handle it.
And Rowan could finally be left alone to study magic in peace.
It was only a concept for now. Whether it could work, or how to make it work, would depend on the future.
Less than ten minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside the Leaky Cauldron.
"Thanks, Mr. Shunpike," Rowan said, stepping down with his trunk.
Night had fully fallen by the time he passed through into Diagon Alley. Most shops were shuttered. Only a handful of witches and wizards remained on the streets, their footsteps echoing between closed storefronts. The cold wind cut sharply across his face.
Crossing past apothecaries and potion shops, Rowan turned toward Knockturn Alley.
If Diagon Alley slept at night, Knockturn Alley woke up.
Dark wizards drifted through the shadows, trading in things better left unspoken. Rowan used to avoid coming here after sunset. Tonight, he didn't slow his pace.
"Oi. Isn't that little Dora's boy?"
A gaunt old wizard stepped into his path, eyes fixed on Rowan's trunk. Others nearby paused to watch, curiosity turning quickly into expectation.
They all knew him. The orphan taken in by old Morton the potion seller. The boy who inherited everything. The boy who went to Hogwarts.
Jealousy ran deep in Knockturn Alley.
They weren't going to kill him. Killing a Hogwarts student would bring Aurors down like a hammer. But robbery? That was another matter entirely.
"I suggest you move," Rowan said calmly.
His wand snapped up.
A thin blade shot from his sleeve and stopped at the old wizard's throat, hovering there, humming softly.
No incantation. No visible motion. Just speed.
The alley went silent.
"How… how was that so fast?" the old wizard whispered, frozen in place.
It wasn't the spell itself that frightened them. Object manipulation was common enough. What shook them was the execution. No wand flourish. No chant. No warning. The blade had moved before anyone could react.
At that distance, a single thought from Rowan would have been enough to end it.
"I'm moving," the old wizard said hoarsely. "Right now."
He backed away, hands raised. No one else stepped forward.
In Knockturn Alley, power was the only language that mattered.
Rowan flicked his wand. The blade snapped back into his sleeve. He walked on.
As he passed, the owl perched on his trunk struck out with a talon, shredding half the old wizard's robe. The man yelped and collapsed backward, scrambling away, too terrified to retaliate.
Good, Rowan thought. That should discourage repeat performances.
He reached his shop without further trouble.
Behind him, the alley remained silent.
"That kid," someone muttered, barely audible. "He's going to be dangerous."
Inside, Rowan shut the door and exhaled slowly.
What he'd used wasn't a spell at all. His object-manipulation magic wasn't good enough for combat yet. The wand had been misdirection.
It was magnetism.
And it had worked exactly as intended.