Chapter 27: The Gyre of Fate

Magic is a vast and intricate discipline. For most, mastering even one branch is a daunting task that takes a lifetime; to innovate or pursue multiple paths is a privilege reserved for only the truly exceptional.

Professor McGonagall, while undeniably powerful, had not reached such heights. Regarding alchemy, she could claim only a functional knowledge; her primary focus remained on Transfiguration, and she had never ventured far into the alchemical arts. In fact, her initial interest in alchemy had been purely utilitarian—an attempt to explore the limits of Transfiguration, specifically to see if she could conjure alchemical objects directly. When those efforts proved fruitless, she abandoned the pursuit.

Still, it was more than enough to guide Roger, a complete novice.

McGonagall had her own reasons for taking Roger under her wing. She had seen through him: Roger was an extraordinarily stubborn individual. While he was willing to listen to advice, once he decided on a course of action, nothing could deter him. Even if he were walking toward certain death, he would move forward without hesitation.

Minerva McGonagall had not forgotten their conversation in front of the Leaky Cauldron. To reverse time, to seek salvation from the river of history... life is long, and who among us is without regrets? Both as a teacher and as a person, she hoped Roger would survive. By guiding him toward a new path, she hoped to provide him with an outlet; experimenting on inanimate objects was, after all, a far safer and more forgiving endeavor than experimenting on his own body.

Of course, the study of alchemy could not be rushed. After agreeing to set aside time for private tutoring, the two left the Deputy Headmistress’s office and headed toward the spacious courtyards of Hogwarts Castle. Madam Rolanda Hooch’s flying lesson was about to begin.

By the time Roger and McGonagall arrived, most of the students had already gathered. Hogwarts championed two distinct philosophies: first, an emphasis on tailored education. Ordinary students took standard classes, while the ambitious studied independently in the library or joined faculty-led clubs. Whether you were destined for manual labor or the Ministry of Magic, the school believed everyone had a bright future. Second, it valued both unity and competition. Students were divided into four houses, but they were not isolated; to encourage interaction, classes were typically held with two houses combined—Gryffindors with Slytherins one day, Gryffindors with Ravenclaws the next.

Today, fate had paired Slytherin and Gryffindor. They stood in two lines, exchanging subtle glares and mocking grimaces—a daily ritual between the rival houses. However, as soon as Roger appeared, the expressions of both the young lions and the little snakes twitched, and the atmosphere grew uncharacteristically calm.

Draco Malfoy, who had been nursing a grudge ever since Harry Potter rejected his overtures on the train, lowered his gaze and stared at his broomstick. After being "sanctioned" by Roger for his previous confrontation with Harry, he had no desire to provoke him again. *Aren't prophets supposed to only predict the future? How can he peer into the past and drag up someone’s dark history? That’s just underhanded!*

Roger ignored the tension and began discussing matters with Madam Hooch. The calm and conservative Rolanda Hooch had clear reservations about a first-year student like Harry becoming a Seeker, yet she hesitated to openly object. One side was the Deputy Headmistress and a Prophet; the other was the "Boy Who Lived." As a teacher of a subject as technically light as "Flying 101," she knew better than to interfere.

Things progressed smoothly. Harry’s natural aptitude for flying, coupled with the physical enhancements Roger had given him, made him terrifyingly proficient. With a little training, he would be qualified for a professional Quidditch league; watching him compete against Hogwarts students was like watching a national team player in an amateur match. Once Harry performed the maneuvers Roger had requested, even Madam Hooch—who usually despised special treatment and rule-breaking—was left speechless. Her earlier annoyance vanished, replaced by a gaze that practically glowed.

"A brilliant talent!" Madam Hooch was already fantasizing about Harry winning the Quidditch World Cup.

Professor McGonagall was equally satisfied; it seemed she wouldn't have to avoid Snape this year. Roger, meanwhile, looked forward to the spectacle the upcoming Quidditch season would bring.

Harry, having performed several high-difficulty maneuvers, knew he had secured his spot. But just as the four of them were in high spirits, an accident occurred.

"I told you, I don't need your teaching!" Ron stumbled to his feet, covered in grass stains.

"Hahahaha!" Draco let out a boisterous laugh at the sight of the long, red welt across Ron’s face, caused by the handle of his broom. The Malfoys, who prided themselves on blood purity, had always loathed the Weasleys, whom they considered a "disgrace to the sacred pure-blood line." Seeing Ron humiliate himself brought him great pleasure.

"I..." Hermione Granger frowned, wanting to intervene.

Seeing Hermione about to speak, Ron, ignoring Draco’s mockery, felt his blood pressure spike. Red-faced, he glared at her. "I said, I’ve had enough of you! Enough of your high-and-mighty, meddling attitude! No wonder you don't have any friends!"

He shouted the words. Hermione’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. Her breath hitched, and though she opened her mouth, no words came out.

Hermione Granger was a witch from a Muggle family. Her home had no connection to magic; a single acceptance letter had thrust her into this strange, unfamiliar world. She was curious about magic, but terrified by this alien land where she knew no one. To cope, she had turned to books, arming herself with knowledge. But at the very first step of her journey, she had stumbled.

She had met Roger.

She discovered that the techniques she struggled to even begin to understand—skills that only elite wizards were supposed to master—were things that truly gifted wizards could perform effortlessly, even as children. Her confidence, shattered then, only began to rebuild once she started at Hogwarts and realized Roger was an outlier, and that most of her peers were even less capable than she was.

Yet, the sense of powerlessness lingered. The feeling of being excluded from the circles formed by students from wizarding families only deepened her loneliness. She craved friends, recognition, and an escape from the invisible discrimination born of her background.

How could she achieve this? Hermione decided the answer was simple: Roger Virgil.

He, too, was Muggle-born, yet he had easily earned everyone’s respect. While many feared his methods, those he had helped genuinely trusted and admired him. "If you’re at a dead end, try asking Roger," the rumors went.

Hermione envied Roger, so she decided to emulate him. Roger was indifferent to the opinions of others, so Hermione adopted a facade of arrogance to set herself apart. Roger never slowed his learning, so Hermione buried herself in the library. When Roger offered help, he did so efficiently; Hermione used her knowledge to point out others' mistakes and offer "correct" guidance. She shared her most precious knowledge freely, hoping others would feel her sincerity.

Apart from the "iron-fist" discipline that kept the four houses in a state of superficial peace—something she simply couldn't replicate—Hermione tried to copy Roger’s every action. Yet, it led to nothing. Loneliness still clung to her, and people kept their distance.

And today, it had culminated in this.

Ron’s situation was different. Born into a large family where he felt overlooked and undervalued, his childhood was filled with frustrations. He longed to be a great wizard, someone like a Quidditch captain—admired, powerful, and respected. But after arriving at Hogwarts, he found his talent mediocre. He began to slack off, playing wizard chess, doing the bare minimum for his assignments, and constantly grumbling about life.

Today, his only real friend, Harry, seemed destined to become the person Ron had always dreamed of being. Ron was happy for him, but a bitter, stinging sensation persisted in his heart. He looked at his broomstick, a fire burning silently in his eyes. *Try it, just try it. Maybe I have talent like Harry?*

He began attempting maneuvers he had seen in the news, movements beyond the scope of the lesson. Hermione noticed his recklessness and tried to stop him, but Ron wouldn't listen. She pointed out his errors to prevent an accident, but flying required focus. The shame of being corrected, combined with Draco’s mocking expression, became too much for the eleven-year-old boy.

In his frustration, the broom spiraled out of control, hitting him across the face and sending him crashing to the ground.

Professor McGonagall moved to intervene, but Roger reached out and held her back.

"Leave it to me, Professor."