In Roger's slightly yellowed memories of time gone by, the "Savior of the British Wizarding World," the boy who "defeated" the Dark Lord—Harry Potter—was met with a similar silence when he first stepped into the Leaky Cauldron.
But there was still a clear difference between them.
In Harry's case, the silence had only lasted a few seconds before erupting into a frenzy of excitement. The crowd gathered to get a glimpse of their savior, hoping for a handshake, a photo—anything to preserve the memory.
A moment full of vitality and admiration had unfolded right before everyone's eyes.
But for Roger, the silence didn't break. It deepened.
Those less informed simply fell quiet upon seeing Professor Minerva McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor House, as if mice had spotted a cat.
The British wizarding world was too small. Nearly everyone had been through Hogwarts.
And for those who had slacked off in school and now spent their days lounging in pubs, the sight of Professor McGonagall made them instinctively hang their heads.
Meanwhile, those who were better informed—those with connections to the upper echelons of magical society—saw Roger and froze entirely.
They stood stiffly, afraid to even move.
With the trial over, more details about Roger had been declassified and shared.
He had personally killed more than ninety people. The number of indirect deaths linked to him exceeded that by a wide margin.
If an outside observer well-versed in history were to examine Roger's role in the war, they would find that the trajectory of the entire conflict had shifted because of him—compared to the Gulf War of another world, it had veered significantly.
The footage released from the battlefield gave many young wizards—who had grown up in the sheltered magical world and had never seen the horror of modern Muggle warfare—nightmares for weeks. Some even lost their appetite for meat entirely.
Neither Roger nor Professor McGonagall paid the tense silence any mind.
The two walked straight through the frozen crowd and made their way to the alley behind the pub.
A light tap from a wand on the brick wall.
And the gateway to the magical world opened before Roger.
Bustling, noisy, crowded with people in odd and colorful clothing, merchants haggling, and the glow of magic spells flickering through the air—this was Roger's first real look at Diagon Alley, the heart of commerce in the British wizarding world.
But rather than looking like a polished, high-end shopping district, it felt more like a massive street market.
Roger's first impression?
"Cognitive distortion… magic really is terrifying."
Diagon Alley was right in London, the capital city of the United Kingdom. And yet, despite its presence, not a single Londoner seemed to notice that a whole chunk of the map was missing.
It was horrifying, once you really thought about it.
If he had known this spell during the war, he wouldn't have needed to lead his team on exhausting guerrilla raids. He could've just found a hidden spot and disappeared.
Survival would've gone from hell mode to easy mode in an instant.
Roger was beginning to understand why, in his past-life memories, many wizards looked down on Muggles.
When you have the power to bend another group's minds at will, it's easy to lose respect for them—even if they have the means to hurt or kill you.
Of course, Roger would never think like that. He had stared death in the face far too often. He would never underestimate any living being.
They made their way deeper into Diagon Alley.
First stop: Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
Hogwarts was a seven-year boarding school—and a magical one at that.
Everything from tuition to textbooks and equipment, even the school uniforms, had to be purchased with wizarding currency. No dollars, euros, or pounds here—only Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.
Of course, there were always students from Muggle families like Roger's, who had awakened their magic and had no money.
So Hogwarts offered a few solutions: you could exchange a limited amount of Muggle currency at Gringotts with an acceptance letter.
And in special cases, for students without even that, there were interest-free education loans provided through the Ministry of Magic's education department.
Roger's funds weren't plentiful, but they weren't so bad that he needed a loan.
With the help of a short goblin, he exchanged his British pounds for enough Galleons to cover his school supplies and a modest living allowance.
......
"What are you looking for?" asked Professor McGonagall as she watched Roger wandering around Flourish and Blotts, even after finishing his required first-year textbooks.
Their shopping trip had gone smoothly so far: cauldron, uniform, broomstick, magical pet, and wand—all acquired. This bookstore was their final stop.
For his magical pet, Roger didn't choose a cat, dog, toad, or raven. Instead, he went with the popular choice: an owl.
Firstly, at a place like Hogwarts—where outside communication wasn't always easy—an owl would help Roger stay connected to the outside world.
Secondly, other pets required personal care, but owls could stay in the Owlery atop Hogwarts's West Tower and be looked after by staff. Over time, that would save him quite a bit of effort.
As for his wand, Roger—just like Harry Potter—had gone to Ollivanders.
The renowned wandmaker Ollivander had him try several wands.
Applewood for idealistic and long-lived wizards, poplar for combat magic, maple for adventurers, blackthorn for those who were intuitive and honest, hazel for those with strong emotional control, and elder—the legendary wood of power and doom, so feared it hadn't sold a single wand in years.
Roger could use any of them. But Ollivander felt none of them quite matched.
Wand compatibility could heavily affect spellcasting. A wand wasn't just something you picked up and used.
Until finally, Ollivander brought out a seventh wand. The moment Roger held it, he felt a completely different sensation—his entire body felt at ease, as if every part of him had found its place.
Ten inches, made of fir, with a unicorn hair core—known for its stability.
Fir wasn't rare, but those who matched with it tended to become renowned experts in their fields. It suited wizards who were lucky, patient, mentally resilient, and utterly clear in their goals after great introspection.
It was rare for Ollivander to see a first-year student form such a strong bond with fir wood.
Still, he didn't overthink it. His family had been making wands since 382 B.C.—since ancient Greece—and he had seen his fair share of oddities.
With the wand now in hand, Roger arrived at Flourish and Blotts, where he flipped through his textbooks and frowned slightly.
Then he turned his gaze to the shelves beyond.
"I want to buy more magic books," he said to Professor McGonagall, eyes burning with curiosity.
Hearing this, she raised a hand to stop him. "Roger, I know you're enthusiastic about magic. But it's dangerous to study spells beyond your current capabilities."
"Books like [The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)] and [A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration] were chosen specifically because they're safe, simple, and suitable for newcomers. There's no need to look elsewhere."
Roger glanced at her serious face and realized she'd misunderstood again.
He wasn't surprised. As a professor at Hogwarts, she had dealt with her fair share of overly ambitious troublemakers. It was natural that she'd assume he was one of them.
"No, I'm not looking for stronger spells."
"I'm looking for something more fundamental," Roger said earnestly.
"I want comprehensive, detailed explanations of what magic actually is—and how ancient spellcasting evolved into today's modern magical system."