More than a month slipped by without ceremony.
Rowan Mercer stood alone in the living room, wand raised, breathing slow and steady. He let his thoughts drift to the moments that still felt warm. Small victories. Quiet joys. The fragments of a life that finally felt like his own.
"Expecto Patronum."
White light spilled from the tip of his wand, thin at first, then swelling, folding in on itself until it shaped something solid. A silver creature padded into the air, half-transparent, luminous, unmistakable.
A panda.
Rowan blinked. "A panda… Really?"
Amy, lounging on the sofa in nothing but a loose shirt and holding an empty bottle, shot upright so fast the cushions bounced.
"That's a full corporeal Patronus!" she crowed. "Look at that. I knew it. I'm wasted teaching nobodies. Clearly I was born for real talent. You think Dumbledore's taking applications? I could send my résumé tomorrow."
In just over a month, Rowan had gone from barely stabilizing Apparition to casting a fully formed Patronus under her guidance. Amy took this as proof that her teaching was brilliant. The problem had never been her. The problem, she decided, was everyone else.
"This year's a lost cause," Rowan said mildly, guiding the silver panda on a lazy loop around the room. "Next year, maybe."
Defense Against the Dark Arts already had a professor this term. And next year's situation would not unfold the way history insisted it should. Rowan had no intention of letting dark rituals and convenient escapes play out on schedule. He wanted a calmer world. One that left room to study magic instead of dodging catastrophes.
If certain fugitives stayed locked away, a certain resurrection never happened. No impostor teachers. No elaborate schemes. Which meant Hogwarts would need a real replacement.
And Amy, with her Auror background and practical teaching experience, would actually have a shot.
"Hey, Rowan," Amy said, collapsing back onto the sofa and tossing the empty bottle aside. "Owl. Looks like another letter for you. Popular kid."
She was right. In the past month alone, this had happened dozens of times.
Rowan turned just in time to see an owl slam directly into the window with a dull thud, then slide down the glass in defeat.
"…Errol?" he muttered.
Only one owl was that hopeless.
He lifted the battered bird inside with a flick of his wand, gave it water and food, then opened the package tied to its leg. Inside was a letter and a carefully wrapped box.
Ginny Weasley had written. Her father had won a major prize from the Daily Prophet, and the entire family had gone to Egypt. As thanks for the bookmark Rowan had given her before the holidays, she had picked up several rare magic books and sent them his way.
A moving photograph slipped out with the letter. Nine redheads stood in front of a towering pyramid, waving furiously at the camera.
Mrs. Weasley, short and round. Mr. Weasley, tall and balding. Six sons and one daughter, all unmistakable. Ron stood in the middle, an arm around Ginny's shoulders, his pet rat perched comfortably on his shoulder.
Rowan folded the letter away and opened the box.
Three old volumes rested inside.
Explorations of the Human Soul.
Methods of Ghoul Creation.
The Theban Necromantic Codex.
None of them were in the school library. None of them were sold in ordinary shops.
Perfect.
He wrote back immediately, added a few magical trinkets he had picked up in Diagon Alley, and tied everything neatly for Errol to carry.
Amy watched this with narrowed eyes. "Returning gifts now? What's this, your secret girlfriend?"
Rowan released the owl and rolled his eyes. "I'm in my second year. Relax."
She crossed her legs and laughed. "So? I had a girlfriend in my second year."
"…A girlfriend?" Rowan asked, eyebrow raised.
Amy froze for half a second, then coughed. "Female friend. Obviously. Kids shouldn't date early. Bad for academics. Anyway, you asked about Disillusionment Charm techniques, right? Let me explain—"
The door burst open.
"Good news!" Lina said, nearly breathless as she rushed in. "We found him."
Amy was off the sofa instantly. "You mean Old One-Eye?"
"Yes." Lina grabbed her hands, eyes bright. "We've been tracking a smuggling ring dealing in restricted ancient magic artifacts. The trail finally led us back to him. He's resurfaced after five years. According to our intel, he's making a deal tonight in Diagon Alley."
Amy went pale.
"If we catch him," Lina continued, voice shaking with excitement, "your name is cleared. Everything."
Rowan said nothing, but he understood.
Amy had once been one of the Ministry's strongest Aurors. Five years ago, during a failed operation against Old One-Eye, dozens of Muggles had died. The spell that killed them had been cast with her wand. Politics demanded a culprit. She was convenient.
Since then, she had drowned herself in alcohol and regret.
Tonight could end that.
And Rowan, watching the fire return to her eyes, quietly decided he would not let history repeat itself.