After joining the Slytherin team, Rowan rcer’s days settled into a steady rhythm.Earning points. Studying magic. Devouring books in the library. Chasing professors down corridors to ask questions they didn’t have ti for. With his skill on a broom already proven, Snape quietly excused him from most Quidditch training, freeing even more hours for study.
His progress accelerated quickly. First-year spells were nearly exhausted, and he had already begun working through second-year material. Two months passed in a blink, and October arrived with damp air and biting cold. Coughs echoed through the corridors, but Madam Pomfrey’s Pepperup Potion worked miracles. Drink it, and steam poured from your ears for hours. The cold vanished just as fast.
Rowan sat by a library window, rain pattering softly against the glass as he read. Over the past months, Hogwarts’ generous als had filled him out. He no longer looked like the thin boy who had arrived at the start of term. Every so often, a student would glance up from their book, pretend not to stare, then look again.
"Closing ti," Madam Pince announced sharply, rising from her desk.
Rowan checked the clock. Eight o’clock. He borrowed the book he hadn’t finished and headed back toward the Slytherin common room to keep reading.
At the sa mont, in another world, it was eight in the morning.
Rowan’s other self rode a motorcycle through the Bronx.
Tony Stark had been missing for nearly three months. If events followed their usual course, he would escape soon. And in those sa three months, Leon had finished consolidating power. The Chevelle family was gone. In its place stood the Leon family, one of the thirteen dominant forces in the Bronx’s underworld.
It was ti to move.
Money was running low. New vehicles, food, supplies. The children needed schooling. They’d been raised as weapons, not students. Gabriela was a nurse, not a teacher. Isabel could drive anything with wheels but lacked formal education. Logan could teach survival and combat, history if pressed, but not much else. Caliban had survived by trading information, not by studying textbooks.
Only Charles Xavier truly had breadth. Degrees from Harvard, Oxford, Columbia. But his health demanded constant care.
That was why the plan couldn’t wait.
On the rooftop of the old strip club, Rowan placed an ordinary envelope on the concrete. His hands moved quickly, precisely, as magic etched itself into the paper. When the spell settled, he leaned down and quietly spoke the ssage into the letter.
A Howler.
He’d spent plenty of ti in the Hogwarts library learning more than spells. Alchemy. Enchantnts. Magical items. He couldn’t craft wands or brooms yet, but sothing like a Howler was simple enough.
When it was finished, he pinned the envelope with a small tal clip and waited.
Half an hour later, Leon erged from the club, cigar in hand, surrounded by n. He slid into the back of a stretched Lincoln. Just before the door closed, the pin twitched. The envelope slipped free, gliding cleanly into the car.
Rowan stayed on the rooftop.
For soone like Leon, distance was safety. Mystery was power. Until Rowan could truly ignore bullets, caution mattered.
Inside the car, Leon froze.
"A letter?" he muttered.
He glanced outside at his n, then down again. On the envelope was a single word.
DEATH.
His pupils contracted.
"Sir?" the driver asked.
Leon scanned the street. Only his people. No sign of anyone else.
"Get out," Leon said quietly. "Give a mont."
The driver obeyed.
Leon stared at the envelope. Two months ago, a man calling himself Death had pulled him back from execution and erased the Chevelle family in a single night. Since then, that presence had vanished completely.
Gratitude warred with fear.
Because if Death could kill Chevelle so easily, killing him would be just as simple.
Leon opened the envelope.
It was empty.
Then it ripped itself from his fingers.
The paper unfolded in midair, twisting into a mouth.
"Leon," the Howler said calmly. "Tonight. Midnight. Co to the rooftop alone."
The mouth snapped shut and shredded itself into scraps that fluttered onto the seat.
Leon sat frozen.
Ten seconds passed before he exhaled.
"...What kind of being are you?" he whispered. "A god? Or sothing from hell?"
His mind drifted back to that night on the rooftop. To the wish he’d scread into the dark when death had been inches away.
A shiver ran down his spine.
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