The case of Roger Virgil was shrouded in secrecy, not because it was a simple matter, but due to the delicate nature of the accusations surrounding him. Though the specific details were kept from public knowledge, they were well-known to the upper echelons of the wizarding world, those who held the power and influence to shape the course of magical society. These were the influential pure-blood families, with their centuries-old traditions and vast resources, and the powerful wizards who shaped the future of their world. It was in these circles, far removed from the prying eyes of the masses, that Roger's case was discussed, analyzed, and debated during idle moments of leisure.
The lawyer representing Roger, despite not being part of this elite group, had one critical asset—connections. In the world of magic, and especially in the legal profession, connections could make all the difference. Without them, it was nearly impossible to rise to prominence. There was an old saying in the wizarding world: "The key to a court's judgment lies outside the courtroom." The lawyer had heard whispers, rumors, and tidbits of conversation from a friend who was well-connected in the circles of power. It was from him that the lawyer had learned the true nature of the accusations against Roger Virgil.
The rumors painted a chilling portrait of a young boy, no older than ten, who had led a team in the chaotic and brutal Muggle wars, a world far removed from the controlled and refined life of wizarding society. At such a young age, Roger had displayed a remarkable level of leadership, strategic thinking, and ruthlessness. Under his command, his team had killed without hesitation and managed to extract themselves from a war that many adults would have deemed impossible to survive. The scale of violence and the depth of experience Roger had accumulated during those years were terrifying. And what made it even worse was the claim that Roger had come to understand, at such a young age, the preciousness of life through this bloodshed—a dangerous realization for someone with his potential.
The rumors further speculated that, driven by the need to protect himself or perhaps driven by other motives, Roger might eventually seek out darker forms of magic. With his strength of character and his powerful mind, there were those who feared he could easily be drawn into the world of dark magic. The very thought of a young, powerful, and determined wizard like Roger turning to dark arts terrified many in the wizarding world. Some even went so far as to liken him to dark figures of history, like Grindelwald or Voldemort. Their words were clear: "This world doesn't need a second Grindelwald, nor does it need a second Voldemort!"
The lawyer couldn't help but feel the weight of those words, especially when he thought about the shadow Voldemort had cast over the wizarding world just a few short years ago. The scars left by his reign of terror had not yet healed, and those who had lived through it were still haunted by memories of death, fear, and betrayal. The idea that Roger could become another figure of such destruction was too much for many to accept, even if the odds of it happening were slim. In their eyes, Roger's potential was not something to be celebrated but feared. Wizards like him had the power to upset the delicate balance that the wizarding world had fought so hard to restore after Voldemort's fall.
Despite his extraordinary abilities, Roger was not seen as a hero. He was a potential threat. And as history had shown, such power could destabilize everything. The world had already witnessed the havoc wreaked by figures like Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Voldemort, all of whom had sought to impose their will upon the world. Their actions had shaped the course of history, but not without immense consequences. Many in the wizarding community longed for stability and peace, for an era where the powerful were kept in check, and where no one wizard could disrupt the fragile order. Roger's rise to power, they feared, could bring about another era of upheaval.
The lawyer, knowing the gravity of the situation, understood that the question was not whether Roger was talented—he clearly was—but whether his talents could be harnessed for good or ill. Many in the wizarding community, especially the older generations, remembered the horrors of the past and were unwilling to risk repeating them. Even Dumbledore, despite his reputation as one of the greatest wizards of all time, had been willing to make tough decisions to prevent the rise of another dark wizard. Would he be willing to intervene in Roger's case to prevent another disaster? The lawyer found it unlikely. The wizarding world had learned, sometimes painfully, that there were no easy answers when it came to wielding power.
As the lawyer pondered these thoughts, a knock on the door interrupted his musings. A prison guard's voice called from the other side: "Mr. Roger Virgil, Mr. Wick, the trial will begin in five minutes. Have you finished your communication? If you are done, we should proceed to the court."
Roger stood up without saying a word and began walking toward the door. The lawyer's gaze followed him, and for a moment, he found himself questioning the young man before him. "Roger!" he called out, his voice filled with concern.
Roger paused, turning slightly to face him. "Hmm?"
The lawyer hesitated, then asked a question that had been nagging at him. "You've heard the stories about Azkaban, haven't you? Aren't you afraid?"
Roger's response was calm, almost too calm. "I'm terrified. My heart is racing, and my muscles are trembling. I haven't been exposed to Dementors, so I don't know the extent of their power. But I do know one thing—they won't break me. There are still people alive in Azkaban, aren't there? And from the moment I returned from hell twice, I made a vow to never lose hope. I will fight until the end. Nothing will crush my will."
The lawyer was struck silent. There was no defiance in Roger's words, no anger or bitterness. Just quiet, unyielding determination. It became clear to the lawyer that Roger had no tricks, no hidden cards. He was simply a young man with an iron will, willing to face whatever came his way. And it was this very resolve that frightened the lawyer more than anything else.
As Roger walked toward the door, flanked by the guards, the lawyer couldn't shake the growing sense of dread. He now understood why the upper echelons of the wizarding society, even though they knew Roger's chances of becoming the next dark lord were slim, were unwilling to see him acquitted. A determined person like Roger, someone who could face the horrors of Azkaban and still hold on to his resolve, was a dangerous force.
Roger's trial would not take place in the usual courtroom of the Ministry of Magic. The group made their way down through the strange, labyrinthine floors of the Ministry, passing the departments that most wizards would never even know existed. The final destination was the Wizengamot, the highest court in the land, where the most momentous decisions in the wizarding world were made. It was a place of great power, a place where the fate of wizards—and perhaps the entire world—could be decided. And Roger Virgil was about to enter it.
One document after another was laid out in front of the gathered members of the Wizengamot. Each one detailed the accusations and evidence, meticulously compiled to paint a portrait of Roger Virgil's actions during the years that had led to his current trial. The room was filled with the soft rustling of parchment as the interrogators took turns posing their questions, each one designed to probe deeper into Roger's past, his actions, and the truth of the case that lay before them. The members of the Wizengamot, the most powerful and influential figures in the wizarding world, listened intently as they assessed not just the written evidence, but also the subtle nuances of Roger's responses.
As Roger answered each question, he remained observant, his gaze flicking across the room, analyzing the reactions of the assembled wizards. The Wizengamot trial, unlike a standard court trial, had a far more complex and public process. Each interrogator posed questions, and Roger's answers were scrutinized by fifty members of the Wizengamot. Afterward, they voted on whether they believed him to be guilty or innocent, guided by their own judgment and the weight of his words. The minority was bound to follow the majority, unless a tie arose—at which point the Chief Warlock, the leader of the Wizengamot, would cast the deciding vote. In this case, the Chief Warlock was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, a wizard of unparalleled wisdom and power.
Roger's defense attorney, Wick, had little to do during the entire process. Normally, an interrogator might choose to have a lawyer present their defense, but Roger had decided against that course of action. Despite Wick's professional ability, Roger had his reasons for wanting to face the questions directly. First, he had quickly sensed that Wick did not offer the absolute support he might have expected from a defense attorney. While Wick was undoubtedly competent, there was a certain distance in his attitude, something that Roger keenly noticed during their discussions. In a case as significant as this, where the stakes were life and death, Roger could not afford to leave anything to chance.
More importantly, Roger refused to let others decide his fate. The possibility of an acquittal was slim, given the severity of the charges against him. So, instead of entrusting his future to someone else, he chose to stand alone, facing the Wizengamot directly. If his life were to be judged, it would be by his own words, not by a lawyer's interpretation.
Roger's voice was steady as he responded to one of the interrogators' questions. "Yes, after I awakened my ability, the magical power riot you call divination magic, I realized that the only way for me to survive was to use the name of a local influential religion. It was a desperate measure, but one that offered the best chance of survival."
Albus Dumbledore, seated at the head of the Wizengamot, leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes piercing through the air as he asked the next question. His expression was far from the kindly demeanor of the Hogwarts Headmaster; now, as the Chief Warlock, his face was solemn, exuding the authority of his position. "According to our investigation," he began, his voice calm but resolute, "at the end of 1990, the intensity of the war had already begun to diminish. With your abilities and resources at the time, you had a complete chance to extricate yourself from the war and return to England. Why did you stay in Kuwait as a religious seer until the spring of 1991, when the Gulf War had completely ended? Why didn't you return earlier?"
Dumbledore's question was critical, and Roger could feel the weight of it settle heavily upon him. The wizards in the Wizengamot immediately locked their eyes on the young defendant, taking in his appearance—a boy of golden hair and delicate features, standing small and vulnerable at the defendant's stand. To many of the wizards present, he looked weak, helpless, even pitiful. But Roger's response was far from what they expected.
Roger did not falter. His voice, though measured, held a depth of emotion. "At the time in Kuwait, many people followed me because they believed I was the seer who could lead them to survival. They believed in me with unwavering faith, and they survived because of my abilities. I could feel the threat of death before it arrived—landmines, bombs, missile strikes. I was always one step ahead of the death that stalked us."
He paused briefly, his mind drifting back to those days of constant danger. "I had the resources, the power, the connections to leave. But if I had left, the consequences would have been dire. Without me, the people who followed me would have lost their anchor. The very reason they had survived would have vanished, and chaos would have ensued. Those who had suppressed their ambitions because of my authority would have turned on each other. They would have fought for power, for resources, for their very survival. People would have died. Many would have died."
His voice softened, but the conviction remained. "I hated lying to them. I hated the death I was forced to bring. But I did it because it was the only way to keep them alive. And in return, I became strong. I gained influence, power, and the belief of thousands of people. But even with all that, I had to continue playing the role of the 'seer'—even when it made me sick to my core."
Roger's eyes darkened as he continued, his words heavy with regret. "When I was weak, I used lies to protect myself. I did horrible things to stay alive. And when I became stronger, I continued doing those same things—protecting myself at the cost of others. It was a vicious cycle that I hated. I fought to survive, but I had to keep doing things I despised, watching people die because I couldn't do enough to protect them. What was the point of surviving, if I had to keep doing what I hated? Was this the life I fought so hard for? To keep deceiving myself and others, and to watch those who trusted me die for it?"
The Wizengamot members listened in stunned silence, the gravity of his words sinking in. They could not deny that Roger's words carried a brutal honesty, an understanding of the world that was born of suffering and sacrifice. His journey had not been one of glory or triumph, but of survival at any cost, and the toll it had taken on his soul was clear.
Roger paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the room of wizards, before speaking again, quieter this time. "I hated what I had to do, but I did it because I believed it was the only way to keep those people alive. And now, standing here, I can't help but wonder: What was the point of all of it? What was the point of any of it?"
His words lingered in the air, and the room seemed to hold its breath. No one spoke for a long moment. What Roger had said was a confession of sorts, but it was also a challenge. A challenge to the very nature of the trial, to the nature of survival itself, and to the cost of power. Roger's fate now lay in the hands of the Wizengamot, but his words had already cast a shadow over the decision they would soon make. The question remained: Could the wizarding world forgive a man who had sacrificed so much, even if it meant losing his humanity in the process?
"People shouldn't live to constantly disgust themselves; this is not the life I want." Roger's voice rang out, steady and firm. "I don't like farewells and deaths, so I refuse their presence. I won't allow them to appear before my eyes or befall those around me." He took a deep breath, his gaze unflinching. "I don't like lies. I promised them I would lead them through this war, so I won't leave before it ends."
This declaration was not just an answer to a question, but a reflection of Roger's core beliefs. These words were more than just a defense; they were a window into the complexity of his character. A man, Roger understood, had to bend and stretch. In moments of weakness, bowing one's head was not a sign of surrender but an act of gathering strength for a counterattack. A strong man, when he rose again, should not remain a coward, a deserter. He should demand the world to bend to his will, instead of being beholden to it.
Dumbledore, seated at the head of the Wizengamot, nodded slowly, though his expression remained unreadable. His tone was measured as he responded, "Hmm," before shifting to the next question.
"During the Gulf War, you personally killed 98 people. What do you think about this?"
The question hung in the air, a sharp, cutting inquiry that immediately thickened the atmosphere in the room. All eyes turned to Roger, the weight of the inquiry palpable. It was clear that, for the Wizengamot, this was the issue that carried the greatest gravity. They had already heard about his claim of being a religious prophet during the war, but this—this was different. The magnitude of his actions, the lives he had ended, could not be dismissed so easily. They were not concerned about the metaphysical nature of his magic or whether he had truly deceived those around him into thinking he was a prophet; no, the real question was who Roger Virgil was at his core.
Roger's case was controversial, yes, but it was not simply a matter of legality. The reason this case had reached the Wizengamot, the highest court in the wizarding world, was more than just a dispute over laws. It involved international conflicts, ethics, and, at its core, a question of what kind of person Roger truly was. Some of the members of the Wizengamot feared the emergence of such a powerful figure, worried about the precedent that would be set by allowing someone like Roger to walk free. On the other hand, there were those who believed that, if Roger were not truly 'evil,' he could be rehabilitated. They saw potential in him, talent that could be cultivated for the greater good.
In this context, Dumbledore's question was not merely about guilt or innocence, but about what kind of future the wizarding world could afford to give someone like Roger. This trial was as much about political maneuvering and the future of the wizarding community as it was about justice.
Roger, unflinching under the pressure, answered the question with a clarity that startled the room. "Madmen whose families died in the war and whose spirits collapsed, scumbags who sought to do evil in the chaos, invaders from Iraq, and the American army, all those who spared no effort to fulfill their strategic goals. Among the people I killed, 54 wanted to kill me. And the other 44 were actively trying to kill others around me."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Roger's gaze remained steady as he continued, "Do you think it is a crime to strike down the one wielding the butcher's knife in order to save someone about to be killed?"
The question rang through the chamber like a challenge, a direct confrontation with the moral underpinnings of the entire trial. "If you think this is a crime," Roger added, his voice cold and unwavering, "then I don't think I have anything more to say." He knew, of course, that once the question about the people he had killed was raised, the Wizengamot would inevitably ask about the people who had died because of him. Roger's answer, however, preemptively addressed that very concern. By posing a question in return, he shifted the focus, forcing the Wizengamot to grapple with the morality of his actions rather than merely his guilt.
A low murmur of voices rippled through the room, as the wizards discussed among themselves. The air was thick with tension, each of them considering Roger's words carefully. Before the chamber could descend into full-blown debate, Dumbledore's voice cut through the murmur.
"Roger Virgil, you have killed so many people. Do you feel guilty for ending the lives of others?" His tone was solemn, but there was no judgment in his words—just a question that demanded an answer.
Roger had anticipated this moment. This question, too, was something he had thought about during the long, grueling months in the war. His answer came without hesitation, as if the very words had been engraved into his soul long before the trial began. "No," he said, his voice as firm as the edge of a blade. "He who kills shall be killed. From the moment they picked up the butcher's knife, they should have been prepared to face the consequences. I know that they may have been someone's sons, husbands, fathers, or even sisters and brothers. People may mourn for them, and some may not believe their actions were evil—they were fighting for national interests, for their families, their country. But that is not an excuse for slaughter. It does not absolve them from the consequences of their actions."
Roger paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I will not feel the slightest guilt for killing them. They were responsible for their own actions. They knew the risks when they picked up their weapons."
The Wizengamot was silent, every member processing his words in their own way. For some, his response was an unsettling expression of ruthlessness; for others, it was a logical and justified stance, given the circumstances of the war. It was a pivotal moment, one that would color the rest of the trial and possibly the verdict.
At the heart of this trial was more than just Roger's guilt—it was about the consequences his actions would have on the broader wizarding world. The case had become more than a legal matter; it was a question of philosophy, of what kind of world the wizarding community was willing to create and uphold.
Dumbledore, who had spent decades navigating the complex political landscape of the wizarding world, understood that the judgment of this trial would have far-reaching consequences. He trusted his judgment and his understanding of the world, but he also knew that the Wizengamot would need to consider more than just the law. They would have to consider what kind of future they wanted for magic, for wizards, and for those who, like Roger, were walking the fine line between power and responsibility.
As the court began to adjourn, a figure moved toward Dumbledore's side. The old man was wearing the Wizengamot robes, though his frailty was evident. "Dumbledore, you will face some trouble next," the man said in a low voice, his words heavy with foreboding.
Dumbledore, not at all surprised, met his old friend's gaze. "Yes, I am prepared," he said. He knew what was coming.
The Magical Congress of the United States had not shown particular interest in Roger's case—after all, the interests of the Congress were not always aligned with those of the U.S. government. Their attention on Roger was merely a pretext for larger political maneuvering. The real trouble, however, lay in the Middle East. Roger's claim of being a religious prophet was one thing, but what made the situation far more complicated was that many people in the Middle Eastern magical community genuinely believed him to be the long-awaited prophet. It was this belief that threatened to spark more unrest, further complicating the already volatile political landscape.
The divisions between magical and non-magical communities were not as clear-cut as they appeared. Even the wizarding world's borders were not defined by geography alone; they were tied to the cultural and political realities of the Muggle world. And with Roger's connection to the Middle East, the potential ramifications for the wizarding world were vast. His trial was not just a matter of law—it was a matter of power, influence, and the precarious balance between different magical factions.
Dumbledore knew that the decision made in this courtroom would echo far beyond the walls of the Wizengamot. The stakes had never been higher.
Some pure-blood wizarding families were more than just wealthy and influential; they were often ennobled by Muggle countries, granted titles and estates that transcended the magical realm. These families walked a fine line between two worlds, with one foot planted firmly in the aristocracy of the Muggle world and the other in the complexities of the wizarding community. Despite the International Statute of Secrecy, which theoretically kept the wizarding world and the Muggle world separate, the boundaries between the two were not as impermeable as some might have liked to believe.
Many of the wizarding world's oldest and most powerful families had deep ties to Muggle institutions, and their influence spread far beyond the magical world. These ties were often complicated, a mixture of alliances, trades, and, in some cases, outright manipulation. Even the most prestigious pure-blood families could not escape the political intricacies that arose from such dual identities. In a world where most nations were religious, a substantial portion of the wizarding community, influenced by both Muggle upbringing and the historical animosity between wizards and the Church, found themselves caught between conflicting beliefs and loyalties. Some wizards, raised in households that revered Muggle religious institutions, adopted their values and practices. Others, particularly those from wizarding families who had long been persecuted during the "witch hunts" of history, developed a deep distrust of any religious structure, choosing instead to embrace a more secular or magical worldview.
This conflict became particularly pronounced in the Middle East, where religious divisions played out both in the Muggle world and among the magical community. Some believed Roger Virgil was the 'prophet' foretold in their scriptures, a figure whose return was said to herald great change. Whether this belief was founded in truth or a result of centuries-old prophecies, it had powerful consequences. Some magical communities wanted to support Roger, eager to embrace the possibility of a new age. Others, however, saw him as a dangerous figure who could destabilize their region, and they were determined to stop him at all costs.
The trial of Roger Virgil, ultimately moved to the UK, was as much a result of geographical politics as it was of any legal considerations. Roger had been born in the United Kingdom, and with tensions running high in the Middle East, no one could find a suitable place to hold a fair trial. In the end, the case was dumped onto the Wizengamot, the wizarding world's supreme court, which, despite its inherent biases, was seen as a relatively neutral ground.
After months of deliberation, the trial reached its conclusion. Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock, expressed his stance through silence, neither vocalizing his support nor his opposition to the outcome. Nevertheless, the Wizengamot voted, and the final verdict was delivered: Roger Virgil was found not guilty by a vote of 30 to 20, acquitting him in court. However, as Dumbledore well knew, this decision was not the end of the matter.
Roger had been through a trial that would have broken most men, one that questioned not just his actions but the very essence of his identity. There were those who had doubted him, who saw him as a threat to both the magical and Muggle worlds. Yet, despite the controversy surrounding him, Roger had been given a second chance, an unexpected reprieve. This, however, was not the final resolution to the complex web of politics, religion, and wizarding affairs that had surrounded his case. While Roger had been acquitted, the ripples of his trial would continue to affect both the British and Middle Eastern wizarding communities, with friction likely to arise in the future.
An old wizard, who had known Dumbledore for many years, approached him after the trial. "Dumbledore, you will face some trouble next," he said in a low voice, his words laced with foreboding. Dumbledore, ever calm, nodded in acknowledgment but showed no signs of worry. "Yes, I am prepared," he replied, fully aware of the political ramifications that awaited him. Despite the conflict brewing between the British and Middle Eastern wizarding worlds, Dumbledore was resolute. He had seen worse crises in his long life and had faced down more dangerous foes.
The old wizard left, confident that Dumbledore, with his vast influence and unparalleled wisdom, would be able to navigate the challenges ahead. After all, Dumbledore was not only the headmaster of Hogwarts, the most prestigious school in the wizarding world, but also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the President of the International Confederation of Wizards. He had weathered far greater storms in his time, and his ability to rise above the fray was legendary.
Meanwhile, on the streets of London, Roger stood outside one of the Ministry of Magic's hidden entrances. Behind him, the phone booth that served as the Ministry's magical entry point was now silent, having once been a portal to his trial. Yet, in this moment, everything felt strangely surreal. Roger had prepared himself for the worst—the possibility of being sent to Azkaban, where he would have to endure the torment of the Dementors. He had even considered using his time in the wizarding prison to learn dark arts and magical knowledge from the prisoners around him. His escape plan had been simple: lie dormant for seven years, waiting for Voldemort's return and the release of the Death Eaters from Azkaban, then make his move.
Yet, this was not how things had turned out. Roger had never read the Harry Potter books, nor had he watched the entire film series. He had seen Order of the Phoenix once, but the tone of the later films had been so different that he hadn't bothered to watch the rest. Still, he knew that if Voldemort's Death Eaters had been released, it was likely that a "general amnesty" would be granted to those who had been imprisoned—himself included. The possibilities had seemed endless, though Roger had learned to rely on little more than hope and grit.
He had not expected this outcome—his acquittal.
"How is it? Do you feel a sense of relief all over your body?" A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.
Roger turned to find Dumbledore standing beside him, as if he had materialized out of nowhere. The old man was still wearing his Chief Warlock robes, looking every bit the dignified leader of the wizarding world, but there was no trace of courtroom formality in his demeanor. Instead, his face held the warmth and kindness of a grandfather.
"Indeed, this feeling of freedom is fascinating," Roger admitted, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Mr. Dumbledore, I can't thank you enough. I will remember everything you have done for me," Roger said, his expression one of deep gratitude.
If this Dumbledore was truly the same figure Roger had known from the movies, then offering help would be in line with his nature. However, Roger did not take such kindness for granted. He knew better than to expect help without understanding its significance.
Dumbledore chuckled softly, his fingers brushing through Roger's golden hair in a gesture that was both gentle and fatherly. "You're only 11 years old, still a child," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Don't be so serious all the time. You're free now, you're safe. I hope you can live like other children—smile more, laugh more."
Roger lowered his head, silent. A child... he thought, his heart heavy with the weight of his experiences. He had survived life-or-death situations, faced battles and trials that had aged him far beyond his years. How could I ever be like other children?
Seeing Roger's downcast expression, Dumbledore paused, then withdrew his hand, sensing the depth of the young boy's turmoil. Instead, he shifted the conversation. "Roger, what are your plans for the future?"
Roger didn't know. But for the first time in a long while, he felt that maybe, just maybe, he could begin to think about the future.
Just as the old Wizengamot wizard had anticipated, Dumbledore's decision to protect Roger was not a fleeting one. The wise headmaster was not someone to simply drag the boy out of prison and leave him to fend for himself in the chaos of the streets. No, Dumbledore would support him fully, even if the road ahead was fraught with challenges.
While the United Kingdom was a relatively peaceful country, it was not devoid of danger. A child, especially one without any familial connections or resources, would have a hard time surviving in the streets. The world around him was far from secure—there were vagrants, illegal immigrants, gangs, rogue wizards, and magical creatures lurking in the shadows, all contributing to an underlying instability. Roger, however, appeared unfazed as he stood next to Dumbledore, his mind focused on far more practical concerns.
"First, I'll try to contact my mother's relatives," Roger began, his voice steady, betraying no hint of emotion despite the weight of his words. "My father was an orphan, so I can only reach out to my mother's side. Her business was based in Kuwait, and now with the destruction of her assets and the liquidation of unsatisfied contracts, the company is probably bankrupt."
His tone remained flat as he continued, "If I decide to inherit, it will mostly be debts. I've lived in Kuwait since I was seven, and I've had little contact with my relatives here for the past four years. I don't know how they'll view me now."
Roger paused, his eyes distant as he contemplated the situation. Turning from a wealthy Roman aristocrat to a penniless pawn hadn't shaken him—he had long accepted the instability of his life. To him, the loss of wealth and status was of little consequence. His true value, he knew, lay in something far more valuable: knowledge.
"But even if they don't welcome me," he continued, "they shouldn't ignore my mother's affairs. I brought back some money from Kuwait. It's not much, but it's enough to take care of the funeral arrangements."
He glanced at Dumbledore, who watched him carefully. "It's very inconvenient for a minor to handle these matters alone, so I need their help. After dealing with my parents' funerals, I will devote myself to one thing."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, sensing that the boy's thoughts were far from over. "What thing?" he asked, intrigued.
Roger's expression hardened, as if he had been waiting for this question. "Confirm whether I am truly a wizard."
The simplicity of Roger's response surprised Dumbledore, who had expected something more complex. Roger's eyes seemed to glaze over slightly as he continued, "If I am a wizard, I will find opportunities to learn magic."
Dumbledore blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
Roger gave a small sigh, knowing that Dumbledore was puzzled. He quickly explained, "Although you and others say I've committed magical crimes, I'm actually not sure whether I truly know magic. I don't know if I am really a wizard."
He hesitated before continuing, "From what I've learned in the detention center and from other people, the magical outbursts of normal young wizards are short-lived. Mine, however, has been ongoing, and apart from sensing danger related to myself, I have no other abilities."
Roger's voice softened as he said, "So sometimes I wonder... is this ability truly magic? I've heard stories about other creatures—ghosts, centaurs, vampires, trolls—who possess special abilities. Could I be one of them?"
A subtle uncertainty lingered in his words. He had been through so much in his young life, and the possibility that he might not be a wizard—if his "abilities" weren't truly magical—haunted him. Magic was the key to power, and Roger had learned the hard way that power was everything. Without it, he would be helpless.
Dumbledore's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding as he shook his head gently. "You child," he muttered, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "You think too much."
He placed a reassuring hand on Roger's shoulder, his voice warm. "The Ministry of Magic has charged you with these crimes. If they've charged you, there must be concrete evidence to support that you are a wizard."
As he spoke, Dumbledore reached into his robes and withdrew a clean white envelope, holding it out to Roger. "This," he said, "is your Hogwarts acceptance letter."
Roger blinked, his heart skipping a beat. "Hogwarts?" he repeated, the word feeling surreal on his tongue.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Yes, Roger. Without a doubt, you are a wizard."
The weight of those words sank into Roger's mind, his thoughts spinning. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the envelope in Dumbledore's outstretched hand, as if it were some incredible illusion. The realization hit him like a wave. He had suspected it, feared it, but hearing it spoken aloud was something entirely different.
He was a wizard.
A sense of relief, mixed with a renewed determination, flooded through Roger. This was the key to his future. This was his way forward. The uncertainty that had clouded his thoughts was gone, replaced by the burning desire to seize this new reality.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice steady now, though his mind raced with possibilities. "Thank you for everything, Professor Dumbledore."
Dumbledore's smile deepened, and he nodded. "You don't need to thank me, Roger. You've always had the potential. Now it's up to you to decide how you will use it."
Roger's heart swelled with a newfound resolve. He was a wizard. And with that, his future, however uncertain it may have seemed moments ago, was suddenly filled with endless possibilities.