"My God, an explosion?" George's eyes widened as he stared toward Gringotts. "Did someone blow open a vault door? But the goblins said the thieves didn't succeed."
"Tch, as if official statements are always reliable," Sarah said, leaning closer with the importance of someone carrying forbidden knowledge. "Only a few days ago, the Ministry swore it hadn't imprisoned anyone wrongly."
Roger stood nearby, listening to the witch's deep voice and quietly wondering why she believed she had lowered it. Half the street could probably hear her. Still, her words reminded him of something important: when Hagrid brought Harry Potter to Diagon Alley, they had met Professor Quirrell at the Leaky Cauldron.
Quirrell, Roger corrected himself silently, rolling the name around in his mind. Not some random face in the crowd, but the nervous Defence professor with Voldemort hidden far too close. It was best to stay away from the Savior whenever possible, because Harry Potter was surrounded by trouble the way Dementors were surrounded by cold.
"The thief did open the vault," Sarah whispered, though her whisper remained a public performance. "But the owner had already taken the contents earlier, so nothing was stolen."
Just as she said, Hagrid had taken the Philosopher's Stone first, leaving Quirrell empty-handed and nearly caught by the goblins. Roger's thoughts drifted to the Stone itself. A magical object that could grant immortality and turn metal into gold—who in their right mind would not want that?
He remembered the creator had lived for centuries, though the name remained slippery in his mind. Nicolas something. To be honest, if the Philosopher's Stone were placed in front of him, Roger would absolutely take it for himself; immortality was not the sort of thing any sensible person politely declined.
Alchemy, he thought. That's worth studying.
He added it to his plans for Hogwarts. Images from his memories flickered past: Voldemort, Quirrell, Dumbledore, Harry, and a three-headed dog guarding a trap meant to look like a secret. The first year at Hogwarts suddenly felt much less like school and much more like walking into a chessboard already set by adults.
"Professor McGonagall! Professor McGonagall!" Roger spotted her in the crowd and quickly waved, lifting one of his bags so she could see him.
"Roger, it seems you've done rather well," Professor McGonagall said as she returned. Her eyes moved from the pet backpack on his chest, where Yuumi was blinking sleepily through the clear window, to the packages hanging from him in every direction. "You appear to have bought everything."
"I did, Professor." Roger turned slightly, showing her his collection of school supplies, pet food, and carefully packed purchases.
"Mr. Williams, next time you visit Erwin, do not let him overwhelm you," Professor McGonagall said with a sigh. "It is best to make a list first and buy only what you need. If you cannot refuse him, he will sell you his entire shop and then try to convince you that you still need the shelves."
"Professor, actually, I didn't buy that much from the Junk Shop," Roger said sincerely.
Merlin above, most of the load had come from the Magical Menagerie. Erwin had been troublesome, but at least his goods had fit inside the expanded backpack. Diana, Yuumi, and their supplies were another matter entirely.
"It is all right," Professor McGonagall said, clearly not quite believing him. "Simply be more careful in future."
She took one of the heavier bags from him and led him toward Madam Malkin's robe shop. "This kitten is very small, so she will need careful attention. Once you arrive at Hogwarts, you may ask Hagrid for advice about magical creatures."
"Hagrid?" Roger asked. "Is he as good as Mr. Newt?"
"Newt Scamander is an old friend of mine and a distinguished magizoologist," Professor McGonagall said, a nostalgic smile touching her face. "Hagrid is also remarkable in his own way. Since he was young, he has possessed an extraordinary affection for and understanding of many magical creatures."
Her voice softened with quiet confidence. "Under his guidance, your knowledge of magical creatures may improve greatly, though I advise listening to him with common sense as well as enthusiasm."
Roger nodded seriously. He knew Hagrid was kind, but he also knew the man's definition of harmless could include creatures that bit through armour. Learning from Hagrid would require caution, distance, and possibly a very thick pair of gloves.
"Now," Professor McGonagall said, "we should collect your robes."
She pushed open the door of Madam Malkin's, and the plump witch behind the counter greeted them with a bright smile. "There you are. I've just finished."
Madam Malkin brought out a newly made black robe, handling it with clear pride. "Come along, dear. Try it on. I guarantee it will fit perfectly."
Roger set his bags on a chair as instructed and slipped into the robe. The fabric settled across his shoulders without swallowing him, neither too tight nor too loose. After weeks of hospital clothes and borrowed robes, wearing something made for him felt strangely luxurious.
"What a handsome young man," Madam Malkin said with satisfaction. "The girls at Hogwarts won't know what to do with themselves."
She produced a freshly made pointed hat and placed it on Roger's head, then draped a cloak over his shoulders. Roger looked at himself in the mirror and unconsciously straightened his back. Madam Malkin's craftsmanship was excellent; no wonder so many wizarding families came here for school uniforms.
"Something is still missing," Madam Malkin said, clapping her hands. She tilted her head in thought, then hurried to the coat rack. "Yes, a tie."
She selected a long, narrow tie in silver and green. Professor McGonagall hesitated when she saw the colors, but since first-years had not yet been Sorted, she said nothing. A tie was only a tie, no matter how much certain families might enjoy reading omens into fabric.
The boy in the mirror was still thin, but the full set of wizarding robes changed him completely. The tailored lines gave him shape, and the cloak lent him a quiet elegance that made his pale face and dark eyes more striking. Professor McGonagall had to admit that Roger possessed a difficult-to-describe presence.
Perhaps it came from Azkaban. There was a contradiction in him, a mixture of calm and depth that did not belong on a child's face. He looked like a still sea under a grey sky, quiet on the surface, yet carrying the promise of a storm somewhere beneath.
"It fits perfectly," Madam Malkin declared. "I knew my school robes would be flawless."
She looked at Roger in the mirror, her eyes bright with professional delight. "Roger, if you agree to let the shop use your photograph in an advertisement, I'll provide all your school clothes free of charge."
A full set of school clothing for a young wizard, including summer and winter robes, cloaks, hats, and dragon-hide gloves, would cost no less than thirty Galleons. That was not a small amount for most wizarding families. Since Roger's set had been custom-made and used better materials than the standard display pieces, the real price would be higher still.
"Madam Malkin, your craftsmanship is superb," Roger said politely. "But I think we should pay the original price."
Madam Malkin looked regretful, but she respected his answer. Public attention was exactly what Jessica wanted to avoid for him. Roger had no intention of becoming a poster child for tragedy, robes or no robes.
"Thank you very much, Madam Malkin," he added. "Although I can't let my photograph be displayed outside for advertising, I can give one to you personally as a gift."
"Oh, my dear, you are too kind." Madam Malkin beamed and pulled him into a warm hug. "Seeing you children happily wearing school uniforms I made is already my greatest joy. I will treasure the photograph you give me."
"I'll take a few more once I reach Hogwarts and send them to you," Roger promised with a smile.
"Wonderful. Then it's a deal." Madam Malkin narrowed her eyes happily and raised her hand.
Roger gave her a high five, sealing the agreement. Professor McGonagall watched the exchange with quiet approval, though she also noted how easily the boy navigated courtesy and refusal when he truly wished to.
"It is getting late," she reminded them. "We should go to Gringotts."
"Then we'll take our leave, Madam Malkin," Roger said, waving goodbye. "Thank you again for making such a perfect school uniform for me."
Madam Malkin offered him a generous discount, but Roger politely refused that too. In the end, she stood near the counter with a camera and a magical photograph of Roger in his full school uniform, smiling as though she had received something more valuable than money.
"Go on, my little sir," she said. "I'll look forward to your letter and photograph."
After leaving the robe shop, Roger had yet another bag in hand. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall helped him carry it; otherwise, he might not have been able to walk without looking like a moving luggage rack.
"Professor, isn't Gringotts still locked down?" Roger asked.
"Only temporarily," Professor McGonagall said. "For the goblins of Gringotts, every minute without business must feel like losing a thousand Galleons."
There was a dry note in her voice as she said it. Goblins, in her experience, loved gold more passionately than nearly anyone else in the wizarding world.
.....
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