Roger had always believed that conflicts between students should be resolved by the students themselves. When a teacher intervened—someone in a position of authority—it often meant forced suppression, not true resolution. The surface would calm, but the tension beneath would fester, ready to erupt again.
That was why he stopped Professor McGonagall from stepping in.
But something wasn't right.
If Roger remembered correctly, the fallout between Ron and Hermione should have happened around Halloween, after a botched Levitation Charm practice. Spellwork, especially in early stages, was dangerous—mispronunciations, improper wand movements, all carried risk. That's why teaching it was so structured: movements first, then incantation, and finally, the integration.
And yet, Halloween was still a while off.
Why had the confrontation happened now?
Roger paused. Another ripple in the timeline—a butterfly effect, subtle and silent, had stirred events out of sync. The future he remembered was slipping its reins again.
With a trace of confusion in his eyes, Roger stepped between Hermione and Ron.
Harry, who had been watching from the sidelines with growing concern, set down his broom and rushed to Ron's side.
Ron, still smarting from having his pride wounded and his mistakes exposed, glanced up only briefly. When he saw Roger approach, he quickly lowered his gaze to the ground. He was furious, but not so reckless as to direct that anger at Roger.
Hermione, in contrast, kept her chin up—not in defiance, but to keep the tears from falling. She refused to cry in front of Roger. That, to her, would be the ultimate embarrassment.
Roger looked at them—one gazing upward to keep her pride intact, the other downcast in shame. He sighed, voice calm but firm:"Tell me. What happened?"
"…She's always picking on me," Ron muttered.
"I'm not," Hermione's voice trembled, quiet and thick with emotion.
Roger listened, and though the circumstances had shifted slightly, the heart of the conflict remained unchanged. The roles, the pain, the intentions—they were all familiar.
It was a difficult situation.
At its core, it was the story of a girl who longed to be accepted, reaching out in the only way she knew—with knowledge, with help—and being pushed away for it. And a boy whose fragile pride, bruised over and over again, had finally lashed out when he couldn't take it anymore.
No one here meant true harm. Yet both were hurt.
Choosing a side wouldn't solve anything.
He could have intervened as a superior, using strength and insight to make Ron apologize or guide Hermione to recognize how her help might feel overbearing. Or he could try to strike a balance, share the blame, and call it even.
But Roger didn't want to do any of that.
He didn't want Hermione's kindness dismissed—or Ron's dignity crushed.
So instead, he asked, "Do you… trust me?"
The two looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. They thought of the many times he'd protected his classmates since the start of term. Slowly, almost at the same time, they nodded.
"Good." Roger extended both hands.
He reached out—his left hand clasping Hermione's, his right taking Ron's.
Though he hadn't been at Hogwarts long, Roger's magical experiments had already progressed at a speed that few could comprehend. With the aid of his crisis-prediction ability and a mind honed by studying everything from neurological magic to Department of Mysteries texts like The Connection Between the Soul and the Brain, he had mastered techniques far beyond a first-year's level.
Though not yet capable of modifying his own magical brain, Roger had developed something… else.
Suddenly, both Ron and Hermione's eyes widened.
"This... this is—"
Through the physical connection of his hands, Roger linked their nervous systems to his own. A mental force—vast and controlled—bridged their minds. Like a form of Legilimency, but gentler, more precise, Roger reached into a specific memory shared between the two. He extracted it, then rerouted it—Hermione received Ron's memory, and Ron saw through Hermione's eyes.
But this was no mere Pensieve.
They didn't just watch what had happened. They felt it.
They felt each other's thoughts in those moments: the sting of embarrassment, the frustration of being misunderstood, the aching loneliness of wanting to belong. They felt the intention behind every word, the kindness behind the criticism, the desperation behind the pride.
Hermione gasped, blinking back the flood of emotion. She had never imagined that her guidance could feel like a wound.
"I… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Ron glanced at Harry, who had stayed silently by his side the entire time. He exhaled, then shook his head.
"No," he said softly. "I was the one who went too far."
In that moment—under Roger's guidance—they truly saw each other.
Not as rivals.Not as annoyances.But as two kids trying, in their own ways, not to be left behind.
Ron lowered his head again, but this time, it wasn't out of shame—it was a deliberate, respectful bow."...I should be the one apologizing. I went too far."
Watching the two of them—no longer just reconciled, but somehow changed, grown—Roger's expression finally softened. A quiet smile bloomed on his face, replacing the calm seriousness he usually wore.
He was happy for them.
And, quietly, he was happy for himself.
In his past life, Roger had experienced a full spectrum of events—beautiful, tragic, and everything in between. Just like Professor McGonagall, he had his own regrets. Life was long. Who didn't?
Back then, he had been just another ordinary person. There were things he couldn't change, things that slipped through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. And sometimes, even doing his best only led to someone else getting hurt.
But now… now it was different.
Muggle methods couldn't undo the past.But magic? Magic rewrote rules.Where spilled water couldn't be gathered, time itself could be reversed.Where pain was inevitable, perhaps a miracle could be conjured.
This was the meaning of magic.
All impossibilities, when multiplied by time and touched by magic, would eventually become possible.
After Flying Class, Hermione and Ron tried to linger, clearly wanting to thank him. But Roger simply gave a wave of his hand, dismissing the moment with a small nod, and turned to leave.
To him, this had been no different than anything else he'd done for his classmates. He didn't do it for recognition or repayment. He just preferred to see smiles over scowls, kindness over coldness.
If the people around him could live a little happier, without weariness and resentment etched into their faces, that was reward enough.
After all—who didn't want to live in a warm, comfortable world?
"Roger."
Just as he was mentally preparing for tomorrow's lab work—focused on resolving the doubled pain feedback side-effect within the next two days—a quiet, gravelly voice pulled him from his thoughts.
He turned. Standing behind him, as if materialized from the air, was Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.
"I'd like to speak with you about something," Dumbledore said, his tone unusually serious.
Roger raised an eyebrow. The last time they'd spoken had been outside the courtroom, at a turning point of fate.
"Yes, Headmaster?" Roger asked, curious.
"It's about the Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said.
Then, after a pause, he added something Roger hadn't expected in the slightest:
"I would like to entrust it to you."
"...Huh?" Roger blinked, stunned.
The little prophet stood there, momentarily lost for words.
What just happened to the timeline?
I haven't done anything too outrageous since I got here… have I?
.... patreon Seasay