When Roger first approached Professor McGonagall about his pursuit of immortality, he had mentioned—albeit vaguely—his plans for self-modification.
At the time, she assumed it was limited to peripheral bodily enhancements. Ambitious, yes, but within the bounds of recoverable magical medicine. Even if something went wrong, St. Mungo's could likely patch him up.
But brain modification?
That was an entirely different realm of risk.
In her mind, altering the brain was something reserved for the distant future—something Roger would only attempt once he was a seasoned wizard, backed by decades of experience and a deep understanding of magical biology. The brain was sacred. The last frontier. The one place where even experienced researchers tread with the utmost caution.
She had even lent him Bloodline Magic and Transfiguration – Future Era Conjecture, a book that discussed such theories as distant possibilities, not first-year projects.
But now, seeing his proposal laid out in detailed notes—thoughtfully structured, complete with risk assessments and magical flow models—McGonagall was stunned.
"You're starting brain modification… now?" she asked, disbelief clear in her voice.
"And this—this has nothing to do with your immortality research?" she added, flipping through his report with growing concern.
Roger met her gaze and gave a small shake of his head. "Actually… it's very much related."
He leaned forward, voice calm but resolute.
"Professor, I know I'm a Seer—but I'm not omniscient. I know my limits. And that's exactly why I'm doing this."
He raised a hand, inviting her into the logic.
"Let's start with a simple math problem. Say a wizard needs one unit of time to master a spell, and his lifespan is capped at one hundred units. You can easily calculate how many spells he might learn in a lifetime."
McGonagall didn't respond, but she listened. Roger continued, his voice growing more analytical.
"Now, complicate it. How long does it take to absorb the content of a book? How much does an optimized cognitive framework improve learning speed? How much time is lost to other aspects of life? Social obligations? Sleep? Error correction?"
He looked her in the eye.
"Once we quantify those variables, we can estimate the ceiling of a wizard's potential growth under normal circumstances."
By this point, McGonagall could see where he was going.
"You're saying… your current potential isn't enough?"
Roger nodded.
"When I began my real research into immortality, I ran the numbers. If I proceed cautiously, using only low-risk methods, the chances I develop a viable immortality spell before I turn ninety are very high."
He paused.
"But not 100%."
A long silence passed.
"This isn't like playing the lottery. This is my life. Even a 1% failure rate is unacceptable."
He took a breath and pressed on.
"And what's worse? That's just basic immortality—not eternal life. Not the ability to continue evolving past time itself."
That was when McGonagall truly understood.
Roger wasn't seeking safety. He was seeking certainty. And for that, he had chosen the path of abnormal growth—high risk, high reward.
"But why so impatient?" she asked quietly. "You're only in your first year. You've said it yourself—you can't fatten a pig in one bite. So why now?"
She wasn't chastising him. She was genuinely trying to understand.
Roger paused. Then, slowly, he replied.
"Professor… that saying means I won't blindly rush into things that are doomed from the start. It doesn't mean I'll back down from something possible just because it's dangerous."
He stood and walked to the window, eyes distant.
"Do you know what the world looks like to a Seer?"
McGonagall watched him silently.
"I see futures—countless futures. Some bright. Some… terrifying. Factions of wizards locked in old rivalries like dormant volcanoes, just waiting for a spark named 'Dark Lord.' A wizarding world growing rapidly while still shackled by ancient systems. Muggles progressing faster than ever before. A collision between the two worlds is not only inevitable—it's near."
He turned back to face her.
"And we don't even understand magic yet. We use it like children playing with fire, never once asking what the fire is. That's a problem."
Roger's voice dropped into something deeper.
"Then there's the greater unknown. The cosmos. Nearly 400 billion star systems in the Milky Way alone. Two trillion galaxies. Muggle scientists believe there's life out there. If they're right… do they use magic too?"
McGonagall's breath caught.
It sounded absurd, but the clarity in Roger's voice, the conviction in his eyes—it was chilling.
He wasn't just a boy chasing eternal life.
He was a child staring into the abyss of the universe, daring to ask, What if the monsters are real?
And what if we're not ready?
Though Roger had not predicted the events through his Seer's magic, he had still arrived at this knowledge using a different kind of "Seer" method.
Before his time travel, the sequels to Harry Potter were still being released, but Roger had barely paid them any attention. After all, wasn't Voldemort already defeated? Wasn't the wizarding world at peace?
What more could there possibly be to tell? What kind of new villains could emerge now? Logically speaking, any new adversaries would have to be at least as formidable as Voldemort—if not more so. And, theoretically, it wasn't completely impossible for these new enemies to appear.
"Accidents won't give me extra preferential treatment just because I'm young," Roger said, his voice level but resolute. He had long since shed the notion that he was some sort of chosen one—especially after being shot seven times in the Middle East.
Noticing Professor McGonagall's hesitation, he didn't push further. Instead, he gave a small smile and said, "Professor, if it's too difficult for you, we can forget about it."
He gestured lightly with his hand, almost as if brushing the issue aside. "Brain modification is just one of many paths I've considered. It's not the only option."
Roger had not always considered such methods. However, now that the drive to enhance his talent had ignited, and with the flood of possibilities he had encountered in this age of information, his mind raced with a hundred different ideas. He could spend decades testing them all and still not explore everything.
Brain modification, however, had seemed the most immediate path. It was the fastest way to overcome his limited lifespan—at least, in his calculations. But if that path failed, he wasn't tied to it. There were many backup options, and he wasn't afraid to change direction when needed.
Professor McGonagall looked at him, her silence stretching for a long moment as she took in his calm, almost carefree demeanor.
"…Roger," she said finally.
"Yes, Professor?" he replied with a touch of curiosity.
"I'll help you with the Undetectable Extension Charm."
Roger's eyes lit up, but before he could respond, Professor McGonagall added, "However, I still think brain modification is far too risky." She leaned in, her tone thoughtful. "Do you know about Muggle computers?"
Roger blinked, caught off guard. "Eh?"
McGonagall smiled faintly. "In the documents you gave me, you mentioned your ability to control nerve cells to a certain extent. If we focus on improving memory and multi-threaded thinking, without the need to boost mental power, why not explore that direction?"
Roger paused, considering her words. She had clearly read through all the books she'd lent him. Her suggestion wasn't just a throwaway comment—it was a practical avenue. Connecting a computer chip to the nerves, like a brain-computer interface, could indeed mirror some of the effects Roger had imagined for his brain modification.
The idea struck him with force. McGonagall wasn't just offering a suggestion—she was pointing him toward an entirely different path.
"Do you think Muggle computers can meet the needs of this?" Roger frowned slightly. His knowledge of Muggle technology told him it wouldn't be that simple. "A computer system wouldn't be able to fully match the neural intricacies I need."
Professor McGonagall didn't miss a beat. "If Muggle technology can't fully address it, then perhaps you should look into magical alchemy."
Roger's eyes widened, and he leaned forward, intrigued.
Alchemy?
That was a course only available to sixth-year students at Hogwarts, a field of study so complex and arcane that it required years of preparation. Not to mention, much of its knowledge was locked behind barriers created by powerful wizarding families, magic factories, and specialized organizations. Roger had never explored that world, but the prospect of diving into it now… it felt like the start of something monumental.
McGonagall's lips curled into a faint smile, watching his reaction. "Alchemy holds the key to many forgotten and forbidden ways of enhancing magical ability. It's not easy, and it certainly won't be quick. But it may offer you answers that the Muggle world simply can't."
For the first time, Roger felt the weight of the world he was about to step into—the real magic behind everything he had learned so far.
Professor McGonagall was opening a door to a world he had never even considered.
And he knew, in that moment, that stepping through it would change everything.
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