“I’ve completely lost faith in Hogwarts.” Hedoc Parkinson cut into his steak with unnecessary force.
“If you were still living in Sweden, I’d rather send Pansy to Durmstrang.” He looked across the dining table at Mary.
“At least they only accept pure-blood witches and wizards.” “Sorry, Hedoc.” Mary’s mouth tightened slightly.
She glanced towards James and smoothly changed the subject.
“John has gone to Africa, so he couldn’t make it back.” “That’s quite all right, Mary.” Hedoc took a sip of red wine before turning towards David with a smile.
“We have David here, don’t we, nephew?” David politely inclined his head.
Hedoc cut another piece of steak, then looked towards James.
“This is excellent, by the way.” He gestured towards his plate.
“No wonder the Queen visits Norfolk every year.” David quietly motioned to Barclay for another serving.
Then he turned back to his uncle.
“The last time I saw you was a few days before I left for Beauxbatons.” He thought for a moment.
“Are you still dealing in antiques?” “Of course.” Hedoc smiled as Barclay placed another plate before him.
“Thank you.” Then he looked back at David.
“I love the trade.” “There’s something special about old magical objects.
Sometimes you can almost see the soul inside them moving.” “That sounds interesting.” David continued the conversation with flawless politeness.
Unfortunately, the subject itself was painfully dull.
Still, his posture was proper, his answers measured, and his manners impeccable.
Pansy, sitting across from him, found herself watching him more than eating.
Their conversation outside the castle had been rather outrageous.
That apparently did nothing to make her less interested in her cousin.
If anything, it had made David considerably more interesting.
After dinner, Hedoc rested for a short while before preparing to leave with his daughter.
David and Mary accompanied them towards the entrance.
On the way, Hedoc—who remained deeply committed to pure-blood traditions—gave David another piece of advice.
“Don’t place too much trust in house-elves.” David glanced at him.
Hedoc continued seriously.
“Werewolves are different.” That certainly wasn’t the direction David had expected the conversation to take.
“The thing controlling house-elves is magical law and inherited rules.” Hedoc tapped his walking stick against the floor.
“Werewolves, on the other hand, need Wolfsbane Potion.” David still wasn’t entirely sure how Hedoc and James had found common ground.
Their personalities seemed completely different.
Yet whenever the two men sat down together, they somehow always found something to discuss.
Before leaving, Hedoc invited Mary and David to visit his home before the school year began.
Then he gave David one final instruction.
“If you do choose Hogwarts, go to Slytherin.” His expression was serious.
“It’s much more welcoming to pure-blood families.” “Goodbye, cousin.” After hugging Mary, Pansy hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and hugging David as well.
Then she followed her father into the carriage.
David watched the elegant four-wheeled carriage pass through the estate gates and rise into the sky.
Only when it disappeared did he turn to his mother.
“Do old wizarding families all travel by carriage?” “Not all of them.” Mary looked slightly melancholy after watching her brother leave.
“But sufficiently old families tend to preserve certain traditions.” She began walking back towards the castle, and David followed.
“Some consider travelling by Floo Powder undignified because you arrive covered in soot.” “Apparition isn’t ideal for long journeys either, and there are risks.” “Flying carpets exist.” David shrugged.
“They’re comfortable.” “They’re also banned as a means of transport in Britain.” Mary glanced at him.
“Britain insists on broomsticks or other approved methods.” David thought about that.
Mary continued.
“And broomsticks aren’t particularly convenient for women wearing robes and dresses.” “So families with the means often prefer carriages.” “That makes sense.” David looked back towards the sky.
“Does Uncle Hedoc own a castle and estate too?” “Pansy said the Parkinson family also produced a Minister for Magic.” “No.” Mary shook her head.
“Not every old family owns a castle or enormous estate, and having produced a Minister has nothing to do with it.” Her expression softened slightly.
“After your aunt died, Hedoc grew to dislike large, empty houses even more.” “So he and Pansy live in a wizarding village in Wiltshire.” She gestured vaguely.
“On the other side of London.” David nodded.
“Uncle Hedoc seems like a good person.” Mary looked at him.
“He just talks too much.” David considered the matter seriously.
“You should introduce him to someone.” Mary blinked.
David continued, “A man in love becomes much more charming.” Mary stared at her son for several seconds.
Then decided not to respond.
June 30th.
David finally received the belongings he had left behind at Durmstrang.
Yule had arranged for everything to be forwarded.
David opened the suitcase.
Books.
School robes.
Shoes.
Several distinctly unpleasant socks.
His Durmstrang walking stick lay along one side.
David lifted it out, then noticed a neatly tied bundle of letters resting on top of everything else.
All of them were from Shirley.
David stared at the stack.
Then sighed.
He almost didn’t have the courage to open them.
What explanation was he supposed to give her?
Sorry I vanished without saying goodbye.
My internationally wanted uncle dragged me out of school because Aurors were coming to arrest him.
Then my family released magical creatures, detonated experimental alchemical bombs, fled the country, and now I may never return.
Perfectly reasonable.
David placed the letters aside.
Durmstrang was probably no longer an option.
Which meant his girlfriend— Well.
Former girlfriend.
Another tragic day in the life of David Rowle.
He had just finished organising the mess inside his suitcase when someone knocked.
James entered the study.
“You all right, David?” His eyes moved towards the open luggage.
“I heard you skipped breakfast.” “I lost track of time.” David lifted his copy of The Standard Book of Spells and slid it onto a shelf.
The study belonged entirely to him.
It connected directly to his bedroom, while a bathroom, dressing room, and storage room completed the private suite.
James looked around and seemed to understand exactly what was bothering his grandson.
“The house-elves can deal with the rest.” He nodded towards the dressing room.
“You should put on something presentable.” “We’re going to visit an old friend shortly.” David looked up.
“We’re going out?” “Now?” During the month since his return, James had made a considerable effort to keep him occupied.
Aside from the first week, they had gone hunting.
Fishing.
Visited the coast.
Explored nearby Muggle towns.
With magic and a flying carriage, seeing almost everything worth seeing in the surrounding region hadn’t taken very long.
David didn’t dislike Norfolk.
He simply felt… isolated.
And uncertain.
The only outsiders he had met recently were the group on the mountain, along with Uncle Hedoc and Pansy.
James clearly noticed the sudden spark of interest in his eyes.
“Of course.” He smiled.
“Assuming you can get ready quickly enough.” David immediately stood.
“Give me fifteen minutes.” He headed towards the dressing room, which James had already filled with all manner of new clothes since his arrival.
“And eat your breakfast,” James called after him.
“The house-elves have prepared another one.” Then he left.
Raising a child in retirement, apparently, was exhausting work.
“Hogsmeade?” David read the sign through the carriage window.
He looked across at his grandfather.
James nodded.
“A wizarding village.” He turned his attention towards the street outside.
“The old friend we’re visiting lives here.” “He lives quite far away.” David watched the shops pass by.
The carriage ride from Norfolk had taken more than an hour.
Fortunately, David had developed the habit of carrying a book whenever he travelled.
Otherwise, he had no idea how he would have endured the journey.
The carriage moved through the village, crossed a wooden bridge, and eventually stopped beside an old stone building near the outskirts.
David looked outside.
Then looked again.
This was where one of James Rowle’s old friends lived?
David had assumed that anyone his grandfather visited would at least have a respectable house.
Instead, the building looked shabby enough to have been abandoned.
Then David realised something even more surprising.
It wasn’t a house.
It was a pub.
David stared at the filthy exterior.
Who voluntarily drank in a place like this?
Pigs?
His gaze moved upward.
The weathered sign above the entrance answered his question.
THE HOG’S HEAD.
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