"Too slow, Roger!" Mr. Abbott's voice called out from the front.
"Sorry, things are a bit more complicated than I expected," Roger apologized, his voice tinged with frustration.
Today was the day Hogwarts began. As Roger prepared to leave for the school, he realized that the books in his room, stacked high in what was essentially a pub, needed to be sorted. It wasn't a library— it was a place of business.
The books, which chronicled the entire evolution of wizarding magic, had been borrowed by Professor McGonagall for Roger's studies, not gifted to him. Therefore, he needed to return them. His approach was simple: only keep the books he hadn't finished or those worth revisiting, and send the rest back to Professor McGonagall by post.
What he hadn't anticipated was the complications of the wizarding postal service. He'd been delayed for 20 minutes filling out the necessary forms, a process that turned out to be more cumbersome than he'd imagined.
Although Roger had purchased a magical owl to help with deliveries, the bird was still a juvenile, not yet a mature hunting owl capable of handling multiple packages. Technically, he could have sent the books in batches, but that seemed cruel to the animal. Since he'd bought it, the owl was family, and Roger wasn't willing to overburden it for something so trivial.
"Sorry I kept you waiting," Roger said, finally walking out of the post office and climbing into the backseat of the car.
Mr. Abbott raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing else, right? Any more delays and we'll be late."
Roger shook his head. "No, that's it."
Mr. Abbott turned his gaze toward the girl sitting beside him. "And you, Hannah?"
Hannah Abbott, a fair-skinned, golden-haired girl of eleven, was also preparing for her first year at Hogwarts. Her family had kindly offered Roger a ride since they were heading in the same direction.
"I'm all set," Hannah replied, her voice soft and polite.
Satisfied, Mr. Abbott pressed the gas pedal, and the car sped toward King's Cross Station, where Platform Nine and Three-Quarters awaited.
As they drove, Mr. Abbott passed the time with small talk, sometimes chatting with Hannah, sometimes with Roger. But there was little interaction between the two children. They weren't at odds—there just wasn't much common ground between them.
For Roger, Hannah was just a child, still too young and uninterested in the nuances of magic. He didn't see the point in engaging with her when he could be reading his magical textbooks, which he knew would aid in his development far more than idle conversation.
Hannah, on the other hand, had been curious about Roger. The patrons at her father's pub often talked about the two boys who were about to begin their Hogwarts journey: Harry Potter, the legendary savior, and Roger Virgil, the equally renowned seer. In the eyes of the bar's regulars, both were destined for greatness.
But as she got to know Roger better, she found him... unimpressive. He was a quiet, studious type, always buried in books, hardly the figure of intrigue she had imagined. He didn't even seem to enjoy the attention people lavished on him. It made her wonder if the rumors about Harry Potter were similarly exaggerated.
Despite their proximity, Roger and Hannah exchanged only a few words during the ride. Neither seemed to have much to say to the other.
Mr. Abbott, watching this quiet interaction from the front, sighed inwardly. As a bar owner who had seen countless people come and go, he recognized Roger's potential. The boy's ability to focus on a single task with such intensity made it clear that, whether or not he was a seer, he was destined for great things.
He had hoped Roger might become friends with his daughter. After all, the wizarding world was rife with conflict and rivalry. Even though most British wizards attended Hogwarts and were technically "siblings," tensions ran high. Conflicts from one generation often bled into the next, and school rivalries had a way of shaping future relationships.
Having connections to powerful wizards and pure-blood families was always an advantage. A favor from someone influential could go a long way, whether it was a simple gesture like a photo together or something more substantial.
But it seemed that his hopes for a friendship between Roger and Hannah were fading. Roger didn't appear interested in making friends with anyone—least of all a young girl like Hannah. All Mr. Abbott could do now was hope that, should Hannah face any troubles at school, Roger might show a bit of kindness out of respect for him, even if they didn't form a closer bond.
"Spatial teleportation, precise cognitive distortion... Amazing," Roger murmured to himself, pushing a trolley loaded with school uniforms, cauldrons, and owl cages through the bustling Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station. He stared in awe at the crimson Hogwarts Express, which seemed to shimmer with magic.
Just moments ago, Roger had witnessed something truly astonishing. A group of young wizards' parents had casually spoken about Muggles, and then, without any warning, their children vanished through the platform. It was utterly baffling how no ordinary person passing by had noticed anything at all.
"Is it some kind of regional enchantment?" Roger pondered. "Once you step into the area, your mind is automatically confused?"
Before he could dwell on the idea any further, a voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.
"Roger, it's time to go!" Hannah called out.
"We've already wasted enough time. If we don't get on the train now, we'll be standing all the way. You don't want that, do you?" she urged.
"Of course not," Roger replied, pushing forward.
The two of them squeezed through the crowd toward the train. The noise of the bustling crowd, the cries of various magical pets, and the thick steam rising from the train's engine created a cacophony that made them both frown as they navigated through the chaos. Children who had already boarded the train leaned out of the windows to say their goodbyes, adding to the tumult.
Hannah's concerns were justified. By the time Roger made it onto the train, the front carriages were completely full. The middle and rear carriages weren't much better. While not entirely packed, most of them had enough passengers to make finding an empty seat impossible.
"It looks like I'll have to share a seat with someone," Roger thought to himself. Just as he was about to accept this, something caught the corner of his eye—a toad clinging to the door of one of the carriages.
The toad clung there for a moment, unresponsive to the closed door. Then, it turned its lifeless eyes toward Roger, before cautiously hopping two steps in the opposite direction.
What in the world…
As Roger drew closer, a young voice reached his ears.
"Grandma, I've lost Trevor again!"
The boy, leaning against the train window, spoke in a helpless, almost teary tone.
"Oh, Neville…" The old woman on the platform looked at her grandson with a mixture of affection and mild exasperation.
Bang. The latch on the door clicked open.
"Excuse me, is this Trevor you're talking about?" Roger asked, smiling as he took in the scene before him.
Neville, startled, turned his head. He blinked in surprise as he saw Roger standing there, a kind-looking young man with soft golden hair, and the toad floating in midair just a few feet away.
"Trevor!" Neville's eyes widened in delight, and he quickly scooped the toad into his arms.
Seeing the boy's joy, Roger seized the opportunity. "Many of the carriages are full. Would it be alright if I squeezed in here?" he asked.
Rather than wandering from carriage to carriage, asking if anyone would let him in, Roger figured it would be simpler to ask now and avoid the inevitable rejections. Some of the students who had already settled in preferred the quiet, and they wouldn't be keen on letting him join them.
"Of course!" Neville responded enthusiastically, grateful for the help with finding Trevor.
Roger accepted the offer, stepping into the carriage.
As he did, he couldn't help but think about how this seemingly trivial encounter marked the beginning of something much larger—something he knew would lead to the legendary trio of Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley meeting for the first time.
His actions might very well ripple through the future, altering the course of events in ways he couldn't predict. But Roger didn't care.
The concept of fate, the idea of a grand, unalterable destiny, was foreign to him. As a seer, Roger had always believed that there was no such thing as predetermined destiny. No matter what actions he took, his world would not be worse off because of his existence.
Sure, he was still weak—unable to defend himself against the full power of Voldemort's potential vengeance, especially considering he hadn't seen the later years of the war. He lacked many details, only hearing scattered rumors and tidbits. But that didn't stop him from planning. Roger was already determined to report everything he knew about Voldemort's Horcruxes to Dumbledore.
Even if he didn't care about much beyond his own path to immortality, he owed Dumbledore too much. He couldn't let the man lie in a grave, helpless, or continue to watch the steady stream of beloved students slip away one by one.
To let Dumbledore's sacrifices be in vain would be a disgrace. It would make Roger's debts feel cheap, and he wouldn't allow that.
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