Inspiration rarely arrives when summoned. It's fickle—playing hard to get when pursued, only to land uninvited when the mind relaxes its grip.
Roger was currently in the Room of Requirement, Hogwarts' most versatile chamber and his usual haven for magical experimentation. The shelves around him were stacked high with books, their spines worn but dignified. Today, he was flipping through one particularly special volume.
These weren't ordinary books—they were from Professor McGonagall's private collection. The Deputy Headmistress had personally lent them to him, with a sense of quiet expectation. These were not simply academic texts; they were the distilled lifeblood of magical thought, and each one had subtly reshaped Roger's understanding of magic.
But this one stood apart.
The Connection Between Soul and Brain wasn't written by a single author. The byline credited it to the Department of Mysteries, the most enigmatic division of the British Ministry of Magic. Roger remembered: they had something called a "Brain Room"—a place of unspeakable experiments. This book was clearly one of their outputs.
It was also strange in more ways than one. It read more like a binder of internal research papers than a coherent manuscript. Whole sections were obscured with black bars— █ █ █ —redacted, not by McGonagall, but already printed that way. A mark of classified knowledge, sealed by bureaucratic secrecy.
Yet even in its incomplete state, the content was profound.
At first, Roger had been interested in the book's exploration of mental power—the possibility that sheer thought, even absent magical casting, might exert force on reality. A radical theory, sure, but one with dangerous implications if proven true.
But now, another thread caught his attention.
The authors had clearly drawn from modern Muggle neuroscience—outlining the functions of specific brain regions with surprising accuracy. Wizard healers had long surpassed Muggles in curing ailments through potions and spells, but here was a wizarding text that didn't dismiss Muggle knowledge—it built upon it. Their understanding of the brain was at least a generation ahead of Muggle science, cloaked in magical theory.
Roger's mind began assembling the pieces.
What if he combined this book's insights into cerebral structure with the eccentric theories in Bloodline Magic and Transfiguration: Future Era Conjecture—a book written by a now-deceased wizard who had experimented with physically reshaping his body to prolong his life?
Add to that Roger's own Magical Neuron Reconstruction Technology…
"This experiment is extremely dangerous," Roger whispered aloud. "One wrong step, and it's over."
Limbs and organs could be healed. Brains? Not so much.
Roger had been at Hogwarts for some time now. In that time, he hadn't just found a path—he'd started walking it. He was no longer merely observing from the edge of the magical world. He was building his place within it.
He also now understood his own talents better.
Magical ability, he had learned, wasn't a single trait—it was a mosaic, a stat sheet like those in a role-playing game. Everyone had different attributes.
Roger's strongest stat? Mental acuity. His logic and values gave him a sharp lens through which he could break down others' theories and rebuild them into something uniquely his. His mental power far outstripped that of most young wizards—and even exceeded some of the older professors teaching "lightweight" subjects.
But this strength hadn't yet translated into raw magical power.
His combat effectiveness was capped by his weaknesses in traditional spellcasting—wandwork, incantation, the rote aspects of magic. He excelled in Transfiguration, a more conceptual and systemic branch, but was only average in emotion-driven fields like Dark Arts or its counter, Defensive Magic.
And then there was his memory—his Achilles' heel.He often read in the library alongside Hermione Granger. Though they rarely spoke, he couldn't help but notice: she could practically memorize a book on first read. Roger, in contrast, filled notebook after notebook, his annotations scribbled densely across the pages like old alchemical formulas. It wasn't that he didn't understand—it was that he needed to trap each fleeting thought before it vanished.
Still, that was what made him… him.Not the raw speed of learning, but the depth. The connections. The systems he could build.
And now, another system was emerging in his mind—a synthesis of ancient bloodline magic, cutting-edge neuron theory, and the very essence of the soul's link to the brain.
It was terrifying.It was exciting.
It was worth the risk.
When it came to raw thinking speed, Roger held no special edge over his peers. He didn't process information faster than other wizards. Instead, his accelerated learning came from a deeply ingrained system of logic—an internal framework he'd honed to absorb and integrate knowledge with remarkable efficiency. His true advantage lay in his refined control over his own mental power, not in an inherently superior brain.
Stripped of his Seer abilities, Roger still had the potential to rise to the level of someone like Voldemort. Not in cruelty or ideology—but in sheer magical ability. Yet to break through that ceiling and reach the next echelon—to transcend even the Dark Lord—Roger would need more than talent. He would need luck, opportunity, or perhaps… a gamble.
But even if he did surpass Voldemort by one tier—or three—what good would it do if he remained bound by mortality?
The thought struck him hard.
And in that moment, Roger made his choice.
No more hesitation.
Those who fear risk in pursuit of greatness… those who cling to safety and comfort, chasing minor victories instead of the eternal prize—they are not worthy of immortality.
Danger is the toll on the road to greatness.
No legend ever reached their height without facing death head-on. Retreat only guarantees mediocrity. But to grasp what no one else dares, one must act where others freeze.
Let's do this.
"I need to learn the Undetectable Extension Charm… Wait, isn't that one under Ministry regulation?" Roger muttered to himself, already halfway into a mental checklist.
His mind flashed back to his past life. He once read a story called A Certain Magical Index, where combat power was tied directly to cognitive output—the stronger the brain, the stronger the magic. The concept had lingered in his mind for years.
It returned again when he was modifying Harry's body—Roger had briefly wondered: could he do something similar to himself? Could he unlock new potential by enhancing his own mental hardware?
In that fictional world, characters increased their power by linking minds, or building giant artificial brains the size of buildings to boost cognitive capacity.
Roger had no idea how to replicate such technology. But what if… using his magical neuron enhancement techniques, he didn't need to look outward?
What if he could grow his own brain?
Specifically, what if he embedded an Undetectable Extension Charm inside his skull—expanding the available space for neural growth?
The implications were staggering.
Flawless memory. Parallel processing. Mental multitasking on a scale previously unimagined. A brain that operated not at human speeds, but wizarding speeds—multiplied dozens of times. And as it grew, perhaps even his mental power—the true core of a wizard's potential—would grow in kind.
Of course, his mantra remained:
"If the benefits justify the risk, then it must be done."
But that didn't mean charging in blindly.
Roger had no illusions of omniscience. He wasn't arrogant enough to believe he stood at the pinnacle of magical knowledge. And some of his ideas—especially this one—would require serious discourse. Guidance. Maybe even bureaucratic clearance.
So, with zero hesitation, he turned on his heel and headed for the one person in Hogwarts who might just be able to help.
Knock knock knock.
"Professor McGonagall, I need your help!" Roger stood outside the Deputy Headmistress's office once again.
Inside, McGonagall, mid-thought and already nursing a headache from a particularly knotty administrative problem, looked up slowly—eyebrows arched in weary curiosity.
"Hmm?"
She could tell from the gleam in Roger's eyes—this wasn't going to be a simple question.
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