"Roger, you're finally back!" Daphne sprang up the moment she saw him step into the Slytherin common room safe and sound. Relief rushed across her face, quickly followed by theatrical horror as she dragged one finger across her palm like a knife. "I was worried you might have been cut into pieces."
"How could that happen?" Roger Williams said, looking wounded by the very idea.
Naturally, he had no intention of telling her that Snape had kept him behind to sit through a handwritten Potions exam. That would sound far too miserable, and more importantly, it would make him look as if he had been bullied by his own Head of House.
"When Professor Snape saw my outstanding talent for potion-making, he was moved to tears and begged me to accept a gift from him," Roger said shamelessly. He even rubbed his arms as if remembering something unbearable. "You have no idea how eager his eyes were. Honestly, it gave me goosebumps."
"Really?" Daphne stared at him with obvious suspicion.
Professor Snape? Kind, approachable, crying, and begging? She had seen their Head of House in class, and none of those words belonged anywhere near him unless someone had brewed a personality-reversal potion.
"Of course." Roger pulled out a vial shimmering with a golden halo threaded through silver-blue light. "Look. He was so worried about my studies that he personally improved Blue Moonlight. It's called Tranquil Galaxy now."
Daphne leaned closer despite herself. The potion really was beautiful, and the soft swirl inside the glass made it look as if starlight had been bottled.
"When I drink it now, I don't get drowsy as a side effect," Roger said with a perfectly honest face. Honest men never lied, and if they occasionally rearranged the truth for dramatic effect, that was a separate matter.
"What about the gift Professor Snape supposedly cried over?" Daphne asked.
"I put it in a secret base."
"A secret base?" Daphne's eyes brightened at once.
Before coming to Hogwarts, she had heard plenty of stories about the castle's secret passages and hidden chambers. Some of them were supposedly so well concealed that even the headmaster and teachers did not know where they were.
"Take me to see it," Daphne demanded excitedly.
"Shh." Roger raised a finger to his lips. "I don't want Mr Filch catching us tomorrow."
"Fine, but you promised," Daphne said, immediately treating his vague answer as a firm agreement.
She picked up Professor McGonagall's notebook and handed it back. "Here. Since you vanished all afternoon, Hermione had to ask me to return it for her."
"So you two went off to study Latin?" Roger asked, accepting the notebook and glancing at the round table nearby.
Several thick dictionaries sat there in a grim little stack. From the look of them, Daphne's evening had not been much kinder than his.
Roger thought for a moment, then pushed Professor McGonagall's notebook back into Daphne's hands. "Read it too. Return it when you're done."
Daphne looked at the notebook, then at the dictionaries, and finally at Roger. Her workload had just grown heavier for no reason, but the notes were too valuable for her to refuse.
"By the way, Malfoy has a problem with us," she said, lowering her voice with some concern. "You know how things are between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Sometimes it's practically like they're enemies."
"Let him be," Roger said carelessly. "Draco is Draco, and Malfoy is Malfoy. As for this place, it's Slytherin."
"I understand what you mean." Daphne nodded slowly. "But after how much attention you drew today, I think Draco might be planning something."
Roger sighed with deep, false helplessness. "Someone as outstanding and handsome as me will always inspire jealousy."
He turned away with a wave before Daphne could hit him. "Don't forget your Transfiguration essay. Two feet long. Good luck."
Daphne watched him stroll off to rest with infuriating confidence. Her fingers curled around the edge of one enormous dictionary, and for one dangerous second, she seriously considered knocking him unconscious with it.
Over the next few days, Malfoy did nothing to Roger directly. Instead, he argued with Harry Potter almost every day, and the two of them bickered so often that Roger began to wonder whether constant hostility was somehow good for their health.
Roger kept his promise and showed Daphne the Room of Requirement. The moment she understood that it could provide nearly any environment she needed, her excitement was impossible to hide, though after hearing about Snape's demands, she quickly decided the gift was not all good.
"One potion every three days?" Daphne said, staring at the workbench as if it had personally offended her. "That sounds like punishment. I almost wish I didn't know this place existed."
Besides brewing potions, Roger also began his magical instant-camera project. Wizarding cameras were large, clumsy things that still required handheld flashes, and after a few experiments, he discovered something even more unforgivable.
Magical photographs were black and white.
"That is not protecting artists' livelihoods," Roger complained, taking apart a wizarding camera piece by piece. "That is an insult to light itself. Come on, let's disassemble this thing properly."
He arranged the parts along the wall of the Room of Requirement, sorting them by function and structure. The camera body, lens assembly, flash mechanism, magical film compartment, and development charm array were all separated and marked for study.
The Leica R3 he had asked Jessica to buy had already been delivered by Seller. Its classic red Leica logo was recognisable from a distance, and Roger had no shame at all about using a mature industrial masterpiece as inspiration.
After disassembling it, the next step was obvious. He would not copy it, of course; he would merely learn respectfully from a successful design and improve it for the magical market.
The body colour could be changed to coffee brown, silver, or whatever looked expensive enough to make people believe it was necessary. A moving, shining magical logo would be added as well, because wizards seemed particularly vulnerable to things that sparkled.
Someone might ask whether it could be made with Muggle parts. Roger already had the answer prepared.
This was a magical instant camera. The grip would be made from Himalayan birch wood, lightweight but sturdy. The lens mount would use pure silver, not because it was truly required, but because silver sounded better than brass and could be described as slip-resistant and shock-absorbing with enough confidence.
Diamond-coated lenses, dragonhide straps, sterling silver casings—if a luxurious material could be named, then an upgraded version could be sold. Authentic handcrafted design, superior magical resonance, premium finishing, refined wizarding craftsmanship; the words were practically writing the advertisement themselves.
How much should the basic version cost? Roger's first instinct was at least two thousand Galleons.
Two thousand? No, not two thousand. Not nine hundred and ninety-eight, not ninety-eight either. Just nine Galleons, and the customer could take it home.
There was no need to complain about profit. No one made real money from the basic version anymore, because the basic version only existed to lure people into the system.
One had to understand a wizard's mentality. If they could afford nine Galleons for the basic model, they could eventually afford more for the upgraded one.
The lenses could be divided into eleven categories. There would be at least six types of external hot-shoe flashes, each with a different effect, range, and fashionable appearance.
Anyone complaining about the number of accessories clearly did not understand the point. The basic version was barely entitled to call itself a camera; it was more like a blank chassis waiting to be completed.
After that, an anti-modification charm could be added. Did they want a built-in flash? Extra charge. A colour-changing shell? Extra charge. A silent shutter charm, self-cleaning lens, engraving service, dragonhide strap, or gold-trimmed collector's edition? All extra.
A box of film and developing solution could cost one Sickle. The real money would come from consumables, because every photograph taken would become another tiny tribute to Roger's business plan.
He could even hold a monthly magical photography competition, with prizes starting at thirty Galleons. That would encourage people to take more photographs, buy more film, and convince themselves they were investing in art rather than spending money on vanity.
As for autofocus, Roger rejected it without hesitation. What was a true master photographer? A true master's motto was simple: never seek automatic when manual could sound more professional.
Then he reached the real problem.
"How do we make the film and developing solution?" Roger muttered, staring at the scattered parts in front of him.
Everything else could be solved. The shell, lens, flash, and branding all had obvious paths, but the film and developing solution were the core of a magical instant camera.
Since wizarding photographs moved, ordinary Muggle Polaroid film was useless as a reference. Faced with that problem, Roger had no choice but to ask Hermione and Elena for help, because three heads were better than one, especially when all three were capable of reading books that gave normal people headaches.
On a Thursday morning in late October, the first-years were unusually excited. Their first flying lesson was that afternoon, and the news had spread through breakfast faster than owls could carry letters.
"Roger, flying brooms!" Daphne said, shaking the calm boy beside her by the sleeve. "Haven't you ever watched Quidditch?"
"Quidditch?" Roger shook his head. "I've never understood why wizards are so obsessed with that sport."
"How can you not like Quidditch?" Daphne looked genuinely shocked. "It's the most popular sport in the magical world. Two teams chase each other through the air on broomsticks, there are Bludgers, Quaffles, and the Golden Snitch, and the whole thing is incredibly exciting."
"Flying," Roger said slowly.
He frowned, because the image of wizards flying around on broomsticks always made him think of Dementors. He took a quiet breath and reminded himself that they were not the same thing.
"Where I used to live, there were a lot of flying creatures," he said. "They left a bad impression."
"Oh." Daphne did not think too deeply about it. She simply assumed Roger disliked creatures flying overhead, which was strange but not impossible. "Well, flying lessons are compulsory for every young witch and wizard, so you'd better try properly this afternoon."
Across the table, Malfoy heard that Roger had never ridden a broom and immediately raised his voice. "Honestly, it's ridiculous that first-years aren't allowed to join the House Quidditch team."
He looked around, making sure enough people were listening. "My father bought me a Comet 260. If I were allowed onto the team, he would definitely get me the latest Nimbus 2000."
"Nimbus 2000?" several young Slytherins exclaimed.
Even Marcus Flint, the prefect and Quidditch player, looked over with interest. That attention pleased Malfoy enormously, and he tilted his chin higher.
"Of course," Malfoy said. "The latest model from the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, with a sleek mahogany handle. It's a professional Quidditch broom, the sort real Seekers use."
He paused long enough for Crabbe and Goyle to look suitably impressed. "Once I join the team, I'll show you what a real Nimbus 2000 looks like instead of making you stare at one through a shop window."
Crabbe and Goyle leaned toward him with eager faces. "Can we touch it?"
"Of course," Malfoy said generously. Then he wrinkled his nose. "Last time I flew my broom, I nearly crashed into a Muggle aeroplane. Noisy, ugly thing. It annoyed me so much that I locked my broom in the bookcase afterward."
The students from wizarding families quickly began swapping stories about how wonderful flying brooms were. Some bragged about speed, others talked about family Quidditch matches, and one student even claimed to have flown straight through the open mouth of a lake monster.
Before long, Slytherin and Gryffindor were arguing over Puddlemere United. If the Ravenclaw table had not been sitting between them, the quarrel might already have turned into a fight.
Seller flew over the noisy young witches and wizards and landed in front of Roger.
.....
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