After a brief but meaningful conversation with Professor McGonagall, Roger temporarily shelved his ambitious plan to publicly distribute the principles of Alaya magic for the benefit of all.
Having spent many years living among Muggles and serving in the Ministry of Magic's legal department, Professor McGonagall possessed a deep understanding of both worlds. Her insightful questions alone were enough to make Roger reconsider his spur-of-the-moment idealism.
First, there was the issue of the International Statute of Secrecy, a longstanding agreement upheld by wizarding communities worldwide. It wasn't just a rule—it embodied a deeply rooted conservative ideology. Roger's proposal to subtly guide Muggle thinking through magical influence was bound to clash with the entrenched views of the old guard.
Second, although Alaya magic was theoretically viable, it posed serious logistical challenges. Roger envisioned starting with entertainment—planting ideas through stories. But to truly influence Muggle thought, these stories would need to transcend borders, cultures, and languages to gain widespread popularity.
"You might be a Seer," McGonagall had said, "but others aren't. What happens when someone pours millions into producing a time-travel-themed movie powered by magic—only to watch it flop at the box office? How would you explain that to the Wizengamot?"
It wasn't just embarrassing—it was impractical.
Storytelling required talent. Even established Muggle film studios failed regularly, and they understood their audience. How could a group of wizards, who barely grasped Muggle sensibilities, hope to succeed in such an endeavor?
Under current societal conditions, McGonagall explained, Roger's vision had only two feasible paths:Secrecy: Quietly integrate into Muggle society. Keep a low profile. Those with the necessary skills and subtlety might act discreetly—so discreetly, in fact, that any discovery could be deflected as mundane business ventures.Adaptation: Wizards could begin to chase Muggle trends—mimicking their shifts in taste and culture. But this raised another issue: Muggle ideologies often diverged from magical priorities. Adapting to Muggle thinking could dilute or misdirect magical development.Neither path aligned with Roger's original intent.
His aim wasn't personal gain—it was civilizational uplift. He had grown rapidly as a wizard, but much of that growth was built on the legacy of those who came before. Without the research, writings, and magical innovations of prior generations, his current progress might have been a mere fraction of what it was.
Those cumulative contributions allowed him to synthesize, adapt, and innovate at a rapid pace. As the saying goes, three mediocre generals are still better than one Zhuge Liang. Roger simply hoped to crowdsource the future of magic—"plagiarize" from the collective brilliance of his peers, as he half-jokingly put it.
But as McGonagall had made clear, until he held enough power to reshape the norms of the wizarding world, Alaya magic would remain a niche pursuit.
"So that's why you've been down lately?" Hermione said, finally connecting the dots.
She had assumed it was because of a magical accident.
In the Hogwarts common room, students from all four houses and various years had gathered around Roger. Over the past three months, despite using somewhat unorthodox methods, Roger had genuinely helped many students and fostered a rare sense of unity across house lines.
Now, seeing this figure—who had come to be seen as something of a big brother—confined inside a lead coffin, those he had once aided had naturally come to check on him.
"Ah, I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding," Roger said, ever direct.
Though his appearance was admittedly strange, he felt fine. And he didn't want to hide the truth from his classmates.
"You could think of it like this: I've been experimenting with a kind of highly toxic magic. It doesn't affect me, but it might be harmful to others. The lead coffin is just a precaution—to protect everyone else."
He had even tried developing magic to neutralize the radiation-like side effects of the experiment, but there was one hitch: Roger couldn't detect the "radiation" himself. Without a Geiger counter, he had no way of confirming whether the area was safe.
Until the device arrived at Hogwarts, the coffin would remain.
"Isn't it stuffy in there?" a young Slytherin asked, concern in his voice. He came from a Muggle family and remembered how Roger had once defended him from housemate hostility.
Despite hearing about the dangers of Roger's experiment, no one around him backed away. They trusted the Seer's judgment—and even if something did go wrong, they believed Roger would handle it.
"Not at all. It's actually quite roomy," Roger replied. "I used a bit of the Undetectable Extension Charm. It's more than enough for everyday life."
He wasn't exaggerating.
Roger had applied for the use of that space-enhancing spell through Professor McGonagall during an earlier magical brain enhancement project. Though that line of research had stalled—thanks to the unexpected rise of human alchemy—his right to use the charm had been granted shortly after the Maze Incident.
As per Ministry guidelines, so long as he didn't use it for commercial purposes or violate magical law, the space was his to use freely.
"Then how do you eat?"Fred and George Weasley asked the question in perfect unison.
As Ron's mischievous older brothers, the twins had previously turned to Roger for help with their prank product development. Back when they hit a wall designing magical gag items, they'd sought out Roger, reputed to be an expert in alchemy. With just a few suggestions and a spark of inspiration, Roger had helped them create new hits like Puking Pastilles. Naturally, when word spread that something had happened to him, they were among the first to check in.
"I don't need to eat," Roger replied calmly.
This answer earned a pair of wide-eyed stares.
In truth, Roger's progress in physical modification had reached a point where traditional nutrition was no longer necessary. He had developed more efficient methods for energy replenishment. Eating had become a matter of sensory pleasure, a cultural ritual—something he indulged in purely for taste and nostalgia. It was like breathing: technically optional, but hard to let go after a lifetime of habit.
He might be slowly evolving into something beyond human, at least in terms of biology, but the inertia of human routine was not so easily overcome.
"Alright, everyone," Roger said, raising his voice slightly so it carried to the small crowd gathered around him, "go on with your day. Don't worry—I'm fine."
His steady tone and confident expression seemed to reassure the group. One by one, they exchanged glances and began to disperse. Yet oddly, they all seemed to drift in the same direction.
Toward the Hogwarts Library.
In the past few months, many of these students—spanning all houses—had received help or insight from Roger. They'd seen firsthand the kind of magic he could wield, the knowledge he possessed, and the calm authority he carried. And now, having witnessed that strength, some had quietly begun to imitate him.
Just as Tom Riddle had once unknowingly gathered followers through charisma and brilliance, Roger too had sparked a subtle movement. Only, instead of dark incantations and twisted ideology, his influence had sent students rushing to read.
Studying had become... cool.
Once the room cleared, only Harry remained. Roger had sent him a private magical message earlier, requesting to speak alone.
"Harry," Roger said gently, "you haven't been yourself lately. You're distracted in class, unfocused outside it."
"...Sorry," Harry murmured, guilt flickering across his face.
He assumed Roger was reminding him of their previous agreement—likely something Harry had neglected or delayed. But Roger shook his head slightly.
"No, that's not it," he said. "I'm not here to push you. A forced melon doesn't taste sweet, right?"
Harry blinked. Roger's words disarmed him.
"It's about the memories, isn't it?" Roger continued softly.
By now, Roger knew Harry had likely reviewed all the memories stored in the professors' minds—especially the deeply personal ones hidden in Snape's. Roger's Pensieve, after all, had been uniquely modified to allow a more immersive and emotionally vivid experience.
"Yes, I..." Harry started, faltering.
He hesitated, then finally gave voice to the weight that had been pressing on him.
"I don't know how to face Professor Snape anymore."
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