Roger's thoughts were simple—he just believed the world was far too fascinating.
As both a spectator and a participant, he simply wasn't willing to leave the stage before he'd seen and experienced enough.
Life is short. And the most creative, energetic, and capable years of a person's life are few. Many of the greatest scientific discoveries were made during the youth of brilliant minds.
Roger had no intention of wasting the seven precious years at Hogwarts.
So, he chose to be upfront.
Roger didn't think there was any particular risk in saying what he did.
Seeking immortality was a desire nearly everyone had entertained at some point.
It wasn't exactly taboo in the wizarding world.
Someone like Nicolas Flamel, who lived for over six hundred years, was rare—but not unheard of.
Many powerful witches and wizards had extended their lives well into one or two centuries using their magical abilities.
For example, Armando Dippet, a former headmaster of Hogwarts, had taken the position when he was around 200 years old.
What was truly frowned upon was the pursuit of immortality through dark magic.
Such as the creation of Horcruxes, a process requiring cruel and twisted methods.
Just as Roger had anticipated, Professor McGonagall didn't react strongly to his desire for longevity. What concerned her was something else entirely.
"Roger, the extension of life can be studied and achieved—but resurrection… that is an absolute and untouchable taboo," she said, her face serious, laced with sorrow.
Roger's earlier words had struck a chord in her:
"Given enough time and magic, perhaps a wizard could rewrite fate, undo regrets, and fulfill every desire."
Those words made her uneasy.
They made her wonder if Roger was planning to delve into the darkest taboo of all—bringing the dead back to life.
And she had every reason to worry.
She knew Roger had lost too much on the battlefield in the Middle East, had seen too many people die.
She had helped him arrange the funeral for the parents of his body's original owner.
Seeing the expression on her face, Roger realized she had misunderstood.
But rather than deny it outright, he chose to go along with it a little.
"Resurrection is impossible. That much I understand," Roger said calmly. "But… what counts as death?"
"In ancient times, when the heart stopped, it meant death. In modern medicine, death means brain death. For wizards, true death is when the soul dissipates."
"The definition of death changes with technology, with our understanding and influence over the world."
"Maybe someday, as long as someone's memory survives in history—if even one person remembers them—they won't truly be dead. Perhaps a wizard could reach into the river of time and pull that person back."
If McGonagall had merely been touched by Roger's earlier words, now she was truly stunned—so much so that she stopped in her tracks.
Because what Roger had just said touched upon a concept even more forbidden than resurrection.
Manipulating time itself.
Roger noticed the growing sharpness in her gaze and chuckled softly.
"Professor, don't look at me like that. I value my life far too much to try something with such insane risks."
"All I meant is… if I live long enough, I can wait. Wait for civilization to keep advancing. Eventually, someone—or many people—will come along, willing to risk everything to fix the regrets they carry.
All I need to do is plant seeds, tend to them, and watch them bloom. When the tree bears fruit, I'll simply pick a few ripe ones."
Like a modern man who doesn't know how to build a smartphone traveling back to ancient times and gaining immortality.
If he shares the concept of smartphones and the basic ideas of modern science, perhaps in three to five hundred years, someone will invent it. If not in five hundred, then surely in a thousand.
And the best part? He wouldn't even have to do much himself. Someone smart enough would figure it out eventually.
Roger's plan was to plant certain ideas at the top of the timeline and harvest them later at the bottom. Naturally, easily—without needing to force anything.
He simply needed to preserve the knowledge gained with each generation, to stop humanity from endlessly reinventing the wheel.
People always say "a thousand years is too long, live in the moment." But that's only because, as ordinary people, they must.
For someone who lives forever, time becomes a completely different concept.
…Of course, that was all a vision for the distant future. Roger wasn't even sure if he would truly reach the day he could live forever.
Given that most Hogwarts graduates didn't go into deep magical research—and instead became magical laborers or combat wizards—Roger knew that magic wasn't easy to master.
His conversation with Professor McGonagall had only taken this turn because of a casual discussion about his future plans.
For now, his top priority was simply to learn magic.
But after returning from the Middle East and spending time in a British prison, Roger had forgotten one thing.
He thought his little speech was like the kind of late-night political rant shared among boys after lights out in a dormitory—just some idle chatter on a walk.
But in McGonagall's eyes… it was something very different.
She had never forgotten that Roger was a prophet.
And unlike the mysterious, rambling Professor Trelawney, Roger's prophecies were closer to those of Gellert Grindelwald—the man who nearly changed the entire wizarding world. Roger was a prophet whose visions of the future had real weight.
A joke? Idle chatter?
McGonagall wasn't so sure.
Was it possible that this young prophet had already foreseen something?
Was there truly a future coming—one where magic could rescue someone from the flow of time itself?
She, too, had regrets. And just moments ago, she had been ready to warn Roger of the dangers and taboos of tampering with time.
Now, however, she found herself lost in thought.
And who could blame her?
Whether it was the soul or time itself, both were among the most advanced domains in magic. Fields far beyond the reach of a young boy who hadn't even learned a single spell.
But if someone truly believed that possessing a soul meant one had not truly died… then it hinted at knowledge of Horcruxes—one of the darkest secrets in all of magic.
How could Roger know such things? Could there be any explanation other than prophecy?
Time passed quietly as the two walked and talked.
By the time McGonagall returned to her senses, the pair were already standing at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.
Roger stood beside her, his eyes full of longing for the magical world.
Wands, spellbooks, arcane knowledge—everything he had dreamed of was just beyond the pub, waiting for him.
Diagon Alley, the largest magical marketplace in Britain.
And as they stepped across the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron, the previously bustling tavern fell silent in an instant—so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.