To Voldemort, with his vast knowledge of magic, Roger was an undeniable 'monster'—an anomaly of power and potential beyond reason.
To the average Hogwarts student, however, he was simply a 'weirdo.'
Polite and composed, Roger never made anyone uncomfortable, yet he remained distant. In class, he could cast nearly any spell with effortless precision, displaying an uncanny level of mastery. He was never rowdy or playful, always maintaining a slight detachment from his peers. Often found buried in books or scrawling cryptic notes, he exuded the aura of a prophet—enigmatic, brilliant, and perhaps a touch mad.
A contradiction in every way.
But if there was one universal truth, it was this:
No one dared to cross him.
Especially not after a group of Slytherins, either ignorant or reckless, decided to pick a fight with him—only to find themselves floating helplessly in midair for hours, the result of a perfectly executed Levitation Charm. Roger was polite, yes. But he was also unafraid to act when necessary.
After hearing Harry Potter's impression of Roger—"mysterious, powerful, and protective of his friends"—Quirrell was unsatisfied. He wasn't interested in surface-level observations. He wanted something deeper.
"I heard Roger is researching immortality?" Quirrell asked, his tone casual.
When Roger had mentioned it, it had been as nonchalant as discussing dinner plans. Either he didn't see a reason to keep it secret, or he was testing those around him.
Quirrell intended to probe further.
"Uh… yeah, something like that," Harry admitted after a moment's thought.
Having grown up in a Muggle household, Harry saw nothing particularly strange about the idea. Stories of long-lived wizards existed in Muggle folklore, and even his Chocolate Frog card of Dumbledore had listed the headmaster as over a hundred years old. To Harry, wizards simply lived longer. Wanting to extend that lifespan further wasn't odd.
"He even asked if I was interested, but I think Wizard's Chess is more fun."
At Hogwarts, seating was unassigned, and sometimes Harry found himself next to Roger in class. He had occasionally peeked at Roger's notes—densely packed, overflowing with annotations. The sheer complexity of them had made his head spin.
Roger had assumed Harry was interested. Immortality was a long, arduous path, and longevity was only the first step. He wouldn't have minded a companion on the journey. But Harry had declined.
"I think he asked Neville too?" Harry added, uncertain.
Quirrell nodded. There was no need to press further.
Roger wasn't speaking in riddles, as Seers often did. He was simply a prodigy—a monster of knowledge, already contemplating immortality at eleven.
With this, Quirrell set aside his suspicions. His focus would remain on acquiring the Philosopher's Stone. Roger would warrant only basic vigilance. If an opportunity arose to eliminate Harry Potter as well, all the better.
Because in the wizarding world, prophecy was no mere superstition. It had power. Once spoken, it wove itself into fate, an unstoppable force building in the shadows. If left unchecked, it could manifest at a crucial moment, shaping destiny itself.
Quirrell had no choice but to follow the Dark Lord's path. He had boarded Voldemort's ship—there was no turning back.
Killing Harry Potter while he was still weak would not only secure his place in Voldemort's favor but also ensure the Dark Lord wouldn't fall to the Boy Who Lived a second time.
As he turned away from Harry, a chilling glint of murderous intent flickered in his eyes.
And from the depths of Quirrell's turban, Voldemort smirked.
Unclear at whom.
"Hiss!" Harry suddenly winced.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron asked, instantly at his side.
Growing up in a large family, Ron knew what it felt like to be overlooked. He valued his friendship with Harry more than anything.
"Nothing… just a headache," Harry murmured. But the warmth of Ron's concern lessened the pain, and the throbbing in his scar faded.
Wait.
The last time this had happened…
Harry's gaze darted around.
Sure enough, not far behind him, he spotted the billowing black robes of Severus Snape, his presence dark and foreboding.
Although Harry disliked Snape, he wasn't reckless enough to challenge a professor without cause. Accusing a teacher without evidence wasn't just unwise—it was dangerous.
So, despite the unease creeping up his spine, he merely bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment before gripping Ron's sleeve and briskly walking away.
Snape didn't move. He remained in the shadows, his piercing gaze following Harry's retreating figure, expression unreadable. Only when Quirrell had fully disappeared from sight—and Harry had vanished beyond the corridor—did Severus finally shift.
Without a word, he turned and strode in the same direction Quirrell had gone.
Meanwhile, in another part of Hogwarts, Roger remained entirely unaware that a minor incident concerning him had just unfolded.
Even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared.
His mind was consumed by something far more important.
After months of theoretical design, countless discussions with Hogwarts' most skilled professors, and thorough verification from Transfiguration expert Professor McGonagall, the first stage of his grand magical experiment was finally ready to begin.
The first step toward true immortality.
"I didn't think these supplies I bought on a whim would actually come in handy," Roger murmured, pulling a package from his trunk. It was the size of a slim computer tower, neatly packed.
He opened it and began laying out its contents.
"Mitsubishi blood collection needles."
"Glass slides."
"And most importantly… a microscope."
With everything arranged, Roger took a deep breath, steadied his wand, and prepared himself.
This was it. The moment where theory met reality.
Let the miracle unfold.
Transfiguration!
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