Dumbledore had given Minerva McGonagall a task—to observe the boy named Roger more closely.
He hoped that by understanding Roger's inner world, they might guide him down the right path more effectively.
One tragedy like Tom Riddle's was already enough. He didn't want to see it happen again.
But McGonagall's approach to the task wasn't like that of a covert agent silently watching from the shadows. In her view, when it came to children burdened with heavy thoughts, only honest communication could truly reach them.
Those so-called "well-intentioned lies" only drove hearts further apart. Open conversation was the only way to bridge the gap.
Only by becoming someone they trusted deeply could one hope to unlock the knots in their heart.
So, once she confirmed that Roger was far more mature than the average first-year student, McGonagall decided to speak to him about more serious topics.
For example—his plans for the future.
Whether it was at the funeral or while answering his many magical questions afterward, McGonagall had been a great help to Roger. So, when it came to topics he didn't see the need to keep secret, he chose to be honest.
"I won't join the Ministry. And I won't return to the Muggle world either. I'm going to research magic."
"If nothing unexpected happens, I intend to devote most of my life to studying magic. I want to understand everything there is to know about it," Roger answered.
McGonagall could tell he wasn't just being polite. He meant every word. This wasn't the sort of childish ambition born of admiration—like saying "I want to go to Harvard" or "I want to be a scientist or movie star."
Roger truly meant to make magical research the center of his life.
"Why?" McGonagall asked, puzzled.
Most people, after all, sought wealth and fame—to become someone of importance.
Even kids who dreamt of becoming scientists usually wanted to become the next Einstein or invent something that changed the world.
Very few were simply obsessed with knowledge for knowledge's sake—driven by a desire to peel back the layers of the world's mysteries.
Roger's answer surprised her.
"Because I don't want to die," he said with a soft smile.
"Huh?" McGonagall blinked, even more confused.
"Professor, do you like this world?"
Before she could respond, Roger continued on his own, answering the question himself. "I do."
"After thousands of years of hardship, human civilization has finally entered the fast lane."
"In just three hundred years, three industrial revolutions have transformed the world."
"By studying the laws that govern reality, even Muggles can command wind, fire, and lightning—make the sun shine upon the earth."
"Changes in productivity and social structure have shattered the chains on human thought. Capitalism, communism, constitutional monarchies… all sorts of ideologies bloom and flourish."
"Through film, television, comics—anyone can present their inner world for the whole world to see."
"And if the world is already this exciting, I can only imagine what the future will bring."
"And this… this is only what lies beneath our feet." Roger looked up at the clear blue sky above.
As though trying to pierce through it with his gaze and see what lay beyond.
"Our Earth, compared to the vastness of the universe, is but a grain of sand in the sea."
"There are roughly 400 billion star systems in the Milky Way. And around 2 trillion galaxies like the Milky Way in the observable universe. And beyond the universe… perhaps even more universes."
Roger said "perhaps," but he was certain of it. Because he himself was a traveler from another universe.
On the flight back to the UK after the war, Roger had been lost.
He had escaped from the chaos of war and stepped into peace—but what met him was not joy, but emptiness. Like a battle-hardened veteran who couldn't adapt to civilian life, Roger had no idea where to go next.
With his knowledge of future events, he could easily become rich. And with his ability to sense danger, he could achieve historic greatness as easily as breathing. The old Roger might have gladly drowned himself in that kind of success.
Glory, wealth, fast cars, and beautiful people… If the old Roger had all of that, he would have thought he was living a dream.
But after dancing with death so many times—after seeing so much blood and fire—Roger had come to understand something.
Everything was fleeting. Only life itself held true value.
No matter how much one owned, in a few decades it all turned to dust.
No matter how fiercely he resisted—no matter how many bullets he dodged, how much wealth he amassed—he could not escape the power of time.
Just when he was hesitating, wondering if he should simply sink into indulgence and lie to himself forever… the wizards came for him.
Their appearance shattered his carefully laid plans—but gave his wandering heart new direction.
He wanted to see oceans turn into deserts and back again. He wanted to see how humanity left Earth and ventured into the stars, to the farthest reaches of the cosmos.
He wanted to witness the death of stars, the endless possibilities of life, the entropic heat death of the universe, the birth of reality, and what lay beyond its edge.
"I want to see all the wonders of the world. I want to meet countless fascinating souls. I want to leave my mark in story after story, adventure after adventure."
He wanted so much. He didn't want all of life's possibilities—all the things he had never seen or known—to disappear with his aging body, swept away in the flood of time.
Like tears lost in the rain.
"Human life is too fragile. A single cheap bullet can end it. And even if I, as a 'prophet,' can dodge every malicious shot, I cannot dodge the bullets fired by time itself."
"I don't want that. So, I've made my choice."
He didn't want to die. He wanted to live—forever.
And in the wizarding world, that was not an impossibility.
In [Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone], the owner of the Stone—Nicolas Flamel—had lived for over six hundred years.
The path existed. And perhaps Roger could go even further.
McGonagall looked at Roger's eyes—eyes that seemed to reflect the stars themselves, sparkling with dazzling brilliance—and found herself momentarily speechless.
"Professor," Roger said, pulling his gaze down from the heavens to look at her.
"Aren't you curious too? Wizards, Muggles, humanity itself—don't you wonder how far we can go? Don't you want to see it with your own eyes?" His voice was deep and filled with quiet allure.
"Infinite time means infinite possibilities. Give a monkey enough time and a typewriter, and it's almost certain it will eventually produce Hamlet.
Give a wizard infinite time and magic… and maybe, just maybe, they can reverse anything, undo every regret, fulfill every desire."