Dumbledore entrusted Minerva McGonagall with a task: to observe Roger closely. He wanted to understand the boy's inner world and guide him before he strayed down a dangerous path. The tragedy of Tom Riddle was enough; he would not allow another.
But McGonagall was no spy. She believed trust was the key to reaching troubled hearts. Concealment, even with good intentions, only created distance. To help Roger, she had to earn his trust.
Once she confirmed that Roger's mind was far more mature than most young wizards, she decided to engage him in deeper conversations—particularly about his future.
She had supported him through difficult times, from the funeral to answering his magical inquiries. In return, Roger spoke candidly about what he did not consider a secret.
"I don't plan to join the Ministry of Magic or return to Muggle society. I want to study magic," he said. "If nothing unexpected happens, I'll devote my life to it. I want to understand all of magic."
McGonagall could tell he was serious. This was not the fleeting ambition of a child aspiring to greatness. He wasn't seeking fame or recognition. He truly intended to make magic his life's pursuit.
"Why?" she asked, genuinely curious.
Most people sought success or admiration. Even aspiring scientists often dreamed of becoming legendary figures like Einstein, remembered for their breakthroughs. Yet Roger's passion seemed different—rooted not in legacy but in understanding.
"Because I don't want to die," he said with a gentle smile.
McGonagall blinked, taken aback.
"Professor, do you like this world?" Roger asked before she could respond. Then, as if answering himself, he continued:
"I like it very much."
He spoke with an intensity that left McGonagall silent.
"For thousands of years, human civilization struggled through primitive agriculture. Then, in just three centuries, three industrial revolutions reshaped the world. By studying the logic of nature, even Muggles have harnessed wind, fire, thunder, and lightning. They've made the sun bloom on Earth.
"Science has freed minds. Capitalism, communism, constitutional monarchy—new systems emerge, shaping the course of history. Art flourishes: movies, television, comics. Everyone can share their inner world with others.
"And this is only the beginning."
He looked up at the sky as if peering beyond it.
"The Earth is but a speck in the cosmos. Our Milky Way holds nearly 400 billion stars, and the universe contains nearly two trillion galaxies. And beyond this universe? There may be others."
He said 'perhaps,' but deep down, he knew it to be true—because he had come from another universe himself.
On the flight back to England after the war, Roger had felt lost. The end of chaos had not brought happiness, only emptiness. Like many veterans, he struggled to find purpose in peace.
With his knowledge of the future, wealth and fame would come easily. His ability to sense danger would allow him to achieve legendary feats effortlessly. The Roger of his past life would have reveled in the thought—luxury, power, admiration. He would have woken up laughing at the mere possibility.
But now, he only wanted to understand. To learn. To see what lay beyond the horizon of knowledge.
And, perhaps, to outrun death itself.
Through countless dances with death, in blood and fire, Roger had realized one truth—everything is vanity. Only life is truly precious.
No matter how much one accumulates, in the end, it all turns to dust. Wealth, power, even the ability to dodge a thousand bullets unscathed—none of it could defy the relentless march of time.
As he wavered between indulging in mortal pleasures to numb his growing emptiness, fate intervened. The wizards who came to arrest him shattered his plans but also gave his drifting soul a new purpose.
He wanted to witness the unfolding of human history—to see civilization break free from its cradle, venture into the cosmos, and challenge the limits of the universe itself. He longed to watch stars burn out, to witness life in all its infinite forms, to observe entropy's relentless rise and the final fate of all existence. How was the universe born? What lay beyond its boundaries?
"I want to see all the wonders of the world. I want to meet countless fascinating souls. I want my name to be woven into one extraordinary story after another."
He wanted too much. He refused to let all those possibilities—everything he had never seen, everything he had never had—fade into oblivion with his aging body, lost in the currents of time.
Like tears vanishing in the rain.
"Human life is too fragile. A single, cheap bullet can end it. And even if a seer like me can dodge every bullet filled with malice, I cannot escape the gunfire of time itself."
"I don't want that. So, I made a choice."
He didn't want to die. He wanted to live forever.
And in the world of magic, that was not impossible.
Nicolas Flamel, the creator of the Sorcerer's Stone, had lived for over six centuries. The path existed. And perhaps, Roger could go even further.
Minerva McGonagall looked into Roger's eyes—eyes that shimmered like the night sky, filled with burning ambition. She remained silent for a long time.
"Professor."
Roger lowered his gaze from the heavens, fixing it on McGonagall.
"Aren't you curious? Wizards, Muggles, humanity—how far can we go? Don't you want to witness it with your own eyes?" His voice was deep, almost hypnotic.
"Infinite time means infinite possibilities. Give a monkey eternity and a typewriter, and it will eventually type out 'Hamlet.' Give a wizard infinite time and magic, and perhaps—just perhaps—we could rewrite destiny, erase regrets, and grasp everything we have ever longed for."