Clear reading voices mingled with soft snores and loud ones alike, weaving together like the unintended harmonies of a peculiar symphony.
Normally, students wouldn't dare fall asleep in class.But this class… was an exception.
History of Magic—a required course, and one that shouldn't have been a waste of time—had long since become infamous at Hogwarts. Wizarding history, in itself, was rich with drama, magic, and lessons worth learning. But the ghost assigned to teach it? Not so inspiring.
Professor Cuthbert Binns, who had died while preparing to go to class and simply… never stopped, was now little more than a drifting echo. In the wizarding world, ghosts weren't just lingering souls; they were echoes of obsessions too strong to fade. Lacking vitality and with minds locked in the past, their intelligence dulled over time, especially when their reason for lingering wasn't a powerful one.
Professor Binns, obsessed with routine, now wandered into class daily to drone monotonously from the same textbooks, oblivious to his students. To him, the living were scenery—furniture that breathed. His lectures, void of passion or variation, quickly lulled most students into slumber.
So, in this class, sleep was not unusual. It was tradition.
Only three students consistently stayed awake.
Roger—because he enjoyed comparing wizarding history with Muggle history. Drawing from his memories of a previous life, he viewed the differences as a mental puzzle, a quiet indulgence to pass the time.
Hermione—driven by the academic pressure Roger's brilliance created. She stayed alert, poring over textbooks, determined not to fall behind.
And Harry—who used the time more strategically. Not burdened by nocturnal adventures yet still deeply curious about the castle, he completed homework here, freeing up time later for exploration.
Today was no different. Most of the classroom lay in varying states of unconsciousness, but Roger sat quietly… distracted.
He hadn't even pulled out his usual history books. Instead, his mind wandered back to a new subject—Alchemy.
It had been nearly a month since Professor McGonagall had introduced him to private lessons in the field. Since then, Roger had only scratched the surface of the ancient and arcane art—and had come to a troubling realization.
Alchemy was promising. Full of potential.But it wasn't for him.
The system was elegant and multilayered, composed of three major branches:Spell Solidification – The act of embedding magical effects into objects. Think of Dumbledore's Deluminator, or the Weasley's flying car. Even enchanted bags with bottomless interiors belonged to this type.Magical Material Fusion – Where magical substances—shaped by collective consciousness and tradition—were blended through rituals and formulas. It required little understanding of the magic behind the effect. You didn't need to know spatial theory to make a spatial item; you just needed the recipe and the right touch of magic.Legendary Synthesis – The most ambitious of all. Rooted in ritual and symbolism, this path sought to draw power from myth, legend, and higher forces. Roger had read about this in Ritual Magic Is Far More Than Blood Sacrifice, and understood it as a method for breaching the natural limits of magic.Each of these schools had astonishing potential. One let you pass your magic to others. Another let you wield powers you hadn't yet mastered. The last could possibly lift you beyond mortal limits entirely.
But none of them… fit him.
Roger's rapid progress in magic wasn't just due to his intelligence or talent. His edge came from his danger sense—a gift that served as an almost prophetic warning system during high-risk magical experiments, especially those involving physical transformation or soul-bound consequences. It was this sixth sense that kept him safe, guiding him through complex, deadly scenarios.
Alchemy, however, lacked that danger. It was external, indirect, and largely procedural. Mistakes didn't usually lead to explosions or death—they just led to failure. And failure without danger gave his gift no reason to activate.
It wasn't like goblin engineering, where the smallest error could blow off your eyebrows—or worse.
So while others might thrive in the meticulous, calculated study of alchemy, Roger couldn't help but feel… detached.
Alchemy wasn't his battlefield. Not yet, at least.
But that didn't mean he wasn't still curious. Still drawn to what might lie ahead.
And as he packed up his unused books at the end of another ghost-led lecture, Roger couldn't help but glance toward the door, his thoughts already drifting to Professor McGonagall's office—and the next layer of secrets she might reveal.
His eyes were sharp. Focused.Filled with the quiet thrill of discovery.
When it came to alchemy, the speed of Roger's progress was… abysmal.
Compared to the rapid advancement he experienced in human transfiguration—his true domain—alchemy felt like wading through molasses. To put it bluntly, it was like comparing the leveling speed of a free-to-play player with a whale who had dropped ten million galleons into the game.
If Roger committed himself solely to studying alchemy, meticulously researching recipes and refining techniques... he was certain he wouldn't even scratch the surface of longevity, let alone achieve immortality, in his lifetime.
And yet—after a month of rough exploration—Roger couldn't deny that alchemy held real promise. Just as Professor McGonagall had said, it did have the potential to enhance a wizard's innate talent. Even more intriguing, alchemical devices that could process and store information externally—effectively expanding the mind's capacity—seemed theoretically achievable.
He couldn't make them. But he couldn't let go either.
It was like clutching a blade too sharp to wield—too tempting to drop.
"Should I… outsource the path, like Hagrid does?" Roger muttered inwardly, reluctant.
But that raised another problem. Even if he wanted help, there wasn't anyone at Hogwarts qualified to craft an item of this complexity. Not among the students, and not even the professors he had access to.
So the thought crept in—maybe he'd have to wait.
Maybe, after the semester ended, he could take Dumbledore up on his offer and consult Nicolas Flamel.
But that was in June. It was only October now—eight months away.
Eight months of staring at a road he couldn't walk.
A rare trace of frustration twisted across Roger's face.
"What's wrong? You look troubled. That's not like you," a warm voice piped up beside him.
Roger turned his head. It was Hermione.
While Harry wandered the classroom waking up snoring classmates, Hermione had noticed Roger's unusual expression while packing her bag and came over.
Last month, Roger had helped her resolve her conflict with Ron. After that, Hermione had reflected deeply—viewing her past through Ron's memories had forced her to confront parts of herself she'd previously ignored. She learned. Softened. Found balance. She'd even begun forming friendships—shallow, perhaps, but real. A breakthrough from isolation to inclusion.
And she hadn't forgotten who had helped her take that first step.Roger.
So, seeing him troubled, she came to check on him.
…Ron had noticed too, but the moment he saw Hermione heading over, he hesitated.Guilt still lingered in him—guilt over lashing out at someone who'd only tried to help.
Roger didn't beat around the bush. He explained exactly what was on his mind.
"Thinking speed. Multithreaded thinking. I want to create an alchemical device to enhance cognitive processing," Roger said.
Hermione's eyes widened with dawning realization. "Wait—you're trying to make another Ravenclaw's Diadem?!"
Smart as ever, she had immediately thought of the most famous intelligence-enhancing artifact in wizarding history.
Roger shook his head. "Not quite. It's similar in function, yes, but I'm not replicating that. I'm envisioning a sort of… external alchemical 'computer' that interfaces with my thoughts. Something that can store information and assist with complex calculations. That's all."
He had no interest in the actual diadem.
Roger didn't know every detail of what happened after the events of the Order of the Phoenix, but he knew enough. Ravenclaw's Diadem had been turned into a Horcrux. Voldemort's foul legacy stained it.
The diary. The locket. The cup. The diadem. Harry.
He knew five of them—and that was enough to keep him far, far away from that cursed crown.
He wasn't strong enough yet to challenge such things. Going after it would be suicide.
So instead, Roger told Hermione about his vision. He avoided his deeper secrets, but still shared quite a bit—he enjoyed exchanging ideas.
Unfortunately, most of it went over Hermione's head.The concepts he discussed belonged in the sixth-year curriculum at the earliest, and they were tough even then.
Her eyes started to glaze, and she could only respond with "uh-huh" and "ah-ha" as her mind struggled to keep up.
Still, Hermione understood enough to grasp what Roger wanted… and why he was frustrated.
But there wasn't much she could do to help.
In the end, all she could offer was a slightly awed musing:"…If only your Transfiguration could turn into alchemical tools…"
Everyone who paid attention knew Roger excelled in Transfiguration.McGonagall, Hogwarts' master of the subject, valued him immensely.
"Yeah…" Roger nodded absentmindedly. "If it worked like Transfig—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
A pause.
And then—click.
Bang!
With a sudden burst of energy, Roger shot to his feet, accidentally knocking over his chair with a loud crash.
"That's it!" he exclaimed."My Transfiguration!"
He stood there, wide-eyed—awakened.
He had been so buried in alchemical theory, so lost in books and frameworks and limitations… he had completely overlooked his own strength.
His true gift.
Sometimes, all it takes is one word to cut through the fog.
"Transfiguration… Human transformation… Alchemy… Human Alchemy…"
"That's it," Roger whispered.
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
"This is my path. My alchemy."
In that moment, Roger understood.
The future wasn't about choosing between what was available.
It was about forging something new—a fusion of the self and the arcane.
And that future…had just opened up.
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