“I don’t agree with Hogwarts’ admissions policy.” Draco lounged against the arm of the sofa, his chin raised with the confidence of someone discussing a subject he considered himself an expert on.
“What do you think, David?” He gestured vaguely.
“Those outsiders don’t grow up with the same education we do.
They know practically nothing about our world.” “Think about it!” Draco sat upright.
“Some of them haven’t even heard of Hogwarts until their letter arrives!” His expression soured.
“It’s a shame Dumbledore’s gone senile.” He slapped the arm of the sofa and stood.
“Hogwarts should only accept students from old wizarding families.” David remained sprawled comfortably across the opposite sofa.
He glanced at Draco with an amused smile.
“So you believe in pure-blood supremacy?” Draco’s expression changed.
“You support blood traitors?” His tone immediately became colder.
“The Rowle family has never produced one before.” He narrowed his eyes.
“I thought that since Durmstrang accepted you, you’d be one of us.” “No.” David sat up.
“I don’t support some ideology of mixed blood either.” Then he corrected the rest of Draco’s assumption.
“The Rowle family has never cared much about blood purity.” “And neither does Durmstrang.” Draco stared at him.
“What?” For a moment, he looked as though David had claimed the moon was made of cheese.
“That’s rubbish!” Then Draco’s eyes narrowed.
His mouth curled into a sneer.
“No wonder your grandfather became the Queen’s lover.” “Draco Malfoy!” Pansy snapped.
Then she immediately turned towards David.
“He’s talking nonsense.” She looked genuinely nervous.
After what she had seen David do to the ghoul, she was half afraid her cousin might respond to the insult with the same sequence of spells.
David didn’t even reach for his wand.
Draco was just a spoiled child who hadn’t received any formal magical education yet.
Drawing a wand over an argument would only lower David to his level.
“First of all,” David said calmly, “the Rowle family values magic.” “But our creed is family above all.” He looked directly at Draco.
“Durmstrang prefers students from pure-blood families because those families give the school strong regional support.” “Children raised in wizarding households also grow up surrounded by magic.
They generally enter school with better discipline, stronger wills, and more familiarity with combat.” David rose.
“Durmstrang respects strength.” “That isn’t the same thing as worshipping pure blood.” He was slightly taller than Draco, forcing the blond boy to look up.
“And since you brought up the Queen…” David smiled.
“I should remind you of something.” “Your ancestor, Lucius Malfoy the First, courted Queen Elizabeth the First.” Draco froze.
David’s smile widened.
“Unfortunately for him, she rejected him.” “I don’t believe you!” Draco’s face flushed red.
He backed towards the doorway.
“Just you wait.” He pointed accusingly at David.
“I’ll see you at school!” “Good.” David waved pleasantly.
“I’ll be waiting.” Then he added, “I’ll beat you eight times a day.” Draco stormed out.
Pansy stared after him.
David calmly sat back down.
Children’s friendships were remarkably fragile.
Rather like summer holidays themselves.
Here one moment.
Gone the next.
After returning from his uncle’s home, David devoted most of his remaining holiday to his third-year textbooks and the alchemy notes James had given him.
Durmstrang had taught more than wand-based duelling.
Swordsmanship.
Footwork.
Even staff combat had been part of its curriculum.
The Rowle castle contained several suits of enchanted armour that could move on their own.
They weren’t particularly agile, but David used them for sword practice every morning.
It was good exercise if nothing else.
In truth, wizards weren’t so different from Muggles.
Not everyone needed to learn how to fight.
Most people needed magic for their lives and professions, not for battle.
Time and energy were limited.
Learning dozens of combat spells only to never use them again was hardly efficient.
If the wizarding world went a hundred years without another war, what exactly were ordinary people supposed to do with advanced Dark Magic?
Was some dark wizard really going to break into their house for the handful of Galleons sitting in a drawer?
Probably not.
They might get beaten to death for the trouble.
James had once told David that no matter how powerful a wizard became in battle, duelling skill alone would never earn him a castle and thousands of acres.
Alchemy could.
John and his companions were living examples of the opposite approach.
They had somehow taken one of the most dangerous professions imaginable—magical creature poaching—and turned it into a business that barely made money.
If nothing else, that demonstrated the importance of using one’s brain.
David didn’t entirely agree with his grandfather.
He wanted the Galleons.
But he also wanted the strength to protect those Galleons.
Why choose?
If the alchemy passed down through his family could guarantee him wealth and comfort, David had no intention of abandoning it just to struggle from nothing.
So when James quietly began steering him towards becoming an alchemist, David didn’t rebel.
He simply studied harder.
But David had ambitions of his own as well.
In his eyes, John was hardly a complete failure.
His father possessed something money alone couldn’t buy.
Strength enough to act as he pleased.
Strength enough not to live in fear of tomorrow.
David wanted both.
On the final evening of August, the entire family returned to the castle for one last dinner before he left for Hogwarts.
The Rowle creed—family above all—wasn’t merely a phrase.
It could be seen in the way James treated his children.
In the way John and the others treated their father.
And in the way all of them treated David.
That didn’t mean James controlled every aspect of their lives.
John, Yule, Susan, and the others all had their own ambitions and careers.
James had opinions.
Plenty of them.
But he knew when to stop.
Having retired, he had completely handed the two family shops over to his children.
He occasionally visited.
He offered advice when asked.
But he didn’t interfere with how they were run.
Perhaps that was the real reason the family could still sit around the same table and enjoy one another’s company.
Respect.
“Which platform?” “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.” “Don’t be ridiculous!” Vernon snapped.
“There’s no such thing as Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!” Harry looked down at the ticket in his hand.
“That’s what it says.” While the two argued, the surrounding concourse suddenly went strangely quiet.
A blond boy in an expensive casual suit strode past them.
A polished walking stick rested in one hand.
His clothes, posture, and effortless confidence immediately drew the eyes of more than a few women nearby.
A servant followed a few paces behind, dressed just as neatly and pushing a luggage trolley.
The main trunk was enormous—more than a metre long—with a suitcase and travel bag stacked above it.
Whoever the boy was, he certainly didn’t look like an ordinary schoolboy catching a train.
Vernon Dursley narrowed his eyes.
Something about the pair’s bearing made him instinctively step aside.
He waited until the two figures disappeared around the corner.
Only then did the station seem to return to normal.
Most people almost immediately forgot anything unusual had happened.
Harry didn’t.
He was certain he had seen that blond boy somewhere before.
And more importantly— there had been a magical-looking crest on his trunk.
Harry stopped arguing with his uncle.
He pushed his trolley after them.
That boy had to be a Hogwarts student.
But David had already walked too far ahead.
By the time Harry reached the corner, both he and the servant had vanished.
Harry looked around helplessly.
A large plastic 9 hung above one platform.
A large plastic 10 hung above another.
There was nothing between them.
“Have a good term!” Uncle Vernon’s mocking laughter came from behind him.
Harry’s anxiety grew.
After receiving an irritated response from a station employee, he wandered the concourse until— he saw that symbol again.
King’s Cross Station.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
A scarlet steam engine rested beside the platform, hissing clouds of white vapour as though impatiently reminding the young witches and wizards that departure was approaching.
Yet many of the families gathered to see their children off weren’t looking at the train.
Their attention had been drawn towards two newly arrived figures.
A blond boy in an expensive suit.
And the dignified man accompanying his luggage.
Whispers spread across the platform.
“Who is that?” “Some young aristocrat?” “Which family?” Then someone noticed the signet ring on David’s hand.
Someone else recognised the crest on his trunk.
A witch’s face changed.
“Wait…” “That crest…” Her voice dropped.
“Isn’t that the Rowle family?” The whisper travelled instantly.
“The Rowles?” Another wizard stared.
“But I thought they’d fallen into ruin…” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS SYSTEMATIC_MANIAC Enjoying the novel?
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