I Want In on This Business Too

Gavin settled in.

Cordelia carried his luggage—the Dragon Hide Bag—straight from the Entrance Hall to a guest room on the Second Floor, hung his robes on a rack, and set a new toothbrush and towel on the shelf beside the bathroom mirror.

Then she pinned a schedule written in quill to the guest room door:

Breakfast at eight, lunch at twelve, dinner at six. If you miss a meal, find Dibby yourself.

In the bottom right corner, she had drawn a puffed-up badger. It was only a simple sketch, but its expression was remarkably lifelike.

After that, Gavin's days at Rowle Manor settled into a steady rhythm.

Every morning, birdsong from the valley woke him. When he opened the window, he could watch the mist slowly retreat from the meadow and smell the damp grass in the air.

Dibby made breakfast—

During this time, Dibby had established a reliable long-distance intelligence exchange with a fellow House-elf in London's Chinatown.

Dibby had learned to make Rice Noodle Rolls, Xiaolongbao, steamed pork ribs with black bean sauce, and century egg and pork congee.

The first time Alaric successfully ate a piping-hot Xiaolongbao, his expression went from confusion to shock to genuine emotion over the course of five full minutes. At last, he set down his spoon and told Gavin, "You Eastern wizards are cooks held back by magic."

Cordelia could now pick up a peanut with chopsticks about eight times out of ten. The other two times, it fell onto the table and Dibby whisked it away.

In the mornings, Alaric found time to teach them.

His teaching style was nothing like Hogwarts'—

He simply sat in the Study in casual robes, coffee in hand, and filled their heads with whatever came to mind.

Sometimes it was a charm, sometimes a piece