Chapter 20: Home and Hearth

September 1993 brushed Evan Grayson's cottage near Ottery St Catchpole with a crisp edge, the brook glinting under a pale sun as he Apparated onto the porch, rucksack slung over his shoulder, the air sharp with the bite of turning leaves and a faint woodsmoke tang drifting from the chimney. The kitchen held a tin from breakfast—an oatcake half-eaten, a smear of honey—and a kettle sat cold by the hearth, but his thoughts lingered on Switzerland, two months steeped in its stable hum now traded for England's familiar fray. He'd left Zurich's rune-lit streets yesterday, Transitor Celer shifting him from St. Gallen's edge to London's Tower, then home, the Swiss calm a contrast he'd unpack with Theo and Lila. His weave—block, leap, strike, mend, see—had met wolves, then Muggle fists, sparking a need for sharper shields and a danger-sense spell he'd started sketching there.

He dropped his rucksack by the door, the porch boards creaking, and Apparated to Hogsmeade, landing in the Three Broomsticks' shadow, its chimney puffing a lazy curl against the gray sky. Inside, the bar buzzed with early chatter, woodsmoke mingling with butterbeer's sweetness, and he spotted Theo and Lila by a window table, Theo's oak wand from Hogwarts tapping a mug, Lila's hazel one tucked in her belt. "Back from the wilds?" Theo grinned, mud speckling his Enforcement coat. Lila leaned forward, "Switzerland hold up?" Evan slid in, butterbeer ordered, and nodded, "Stable—magic's stitched into everything. Trams run on runes, ovens bake with charms, Muggle tech hums alongside—magitech's budding." Theo whistled, "No chaos?" Evan shrugged, "Mostly. Wolves got sparky, and some Muggles jumped me—mad about gatekeeping—but it's calmer than here."

Lila sipped, "How's it work?" Evan leaned back, "Everyone's got magic, wands are common—Tower theory cracked crafting wide open. Streets glow with rune-lights, no flickers. Heard a hawk took a shepherd near Bern, but they've tamed most of it—orderly, not wild." Theo smirked, "Sounds dull." Evan grinned, "Till fists fly. Stunned 'em, handed 'em over—Swiss patrols weave magic into uniforms, sharp stuff." Lila nodded, "Britain's still tripping over Aether—goblins shifting to law now, Gringotts' grip's slipping." Evan's pouch of Galleons clinked, "Gold's my bet—Aether's too new."

Theo leaned in, voice low, "Big news here—new government's cleaning house. Sirius Black's out, freed last week. Old Ministry botched it—Pettigrew's alive, turned himself in, squealed on the lot. They're springing others too—better than Azkaban's mess." Evan's mug paused, "Black? That's a twist." Lila added, "Heard it from a Gringotts run—new system's sharper, no Dementors mucking it up." Evan nodded, "Swiss'd approve—order over chaos." They toasted, mugs clinking, the bar's hum a steady pulse.

Talk drifted to spells, Evan's Swiss clash sparking a need—Scutum Latens had wavered against steel, and he'd sketched a danger-sense spell there. "Started it," he said, pulling parchment, "passive, low hum, catches threats—blades, fists, spells—before they hit. Scutum needs muscle." Theo grinned, "Make it quick—I'm dodging hexes." Evan traced the five-point arc—two sweeps up, twist left, flick right, curve down—numbers sprawling from Crafting the Arcane he was still learning. "Tier 4, maybe," he mused, "needs work." Lila smirked, "You're a machine." He chuckled, "Still climbing—Room's books keep teaching." The bar glowed, a pause before the grind resumed.