Just as he had once declared, Roger would fight endlessly—until the very moment of his death.
Draining the juice in one swift gulp, he thanked Aberforth and headed upstairs.
The terrifying rumors about Roger Virgil continued to spread like wildfire. While the wise dismissed such baseless gossip, wisdom was a rare trait among the masses. Roger knew that lingering downstairs too long might negatively impact the pub's business. Thus, he made it a habit to finish his meals quickly and retreat to his small rented room. If not for the lack of space—where the only available surfaces were his bed and stacks of books—he would have preferred to eat upstairs entirely.
He had received kindness from Aberforth, and Roger firmly believed that unnecessary trouble should never be repaid in return.
However, not everyone saw things the way he did.
"Roger," Aberforth called out just as the boy was about to disappear up the stairs.
"What is it, Uncle Aberforth?"
The pub owner gave him a thoughtful look. "You're always reading, always cooped up inside. Why don't you go out for a walk?"
Roger hesitated. He appreciated the concern, but there simply wasn't time for leisure. "No, time is too precious. School starts in a few days, and I still have a lot of reading to do."
His path was set—transformation. But which form would he pursue? Bloodline transformation, physical transfiguration, or soul metamorphosis? The choice could not be made lightly. His lifespan was finite, and achieving immortality before it ended was his primary goal. Rushing into a decision without thorough understanding could be disastrous.
Roger planned to meticulously study these three paths before selecting the one most suitable for him. Some things demanded swift action, but others required patience. He knew where to draw the line.
At Hogwarts, he intended to consult Professor McGonagall and other distinguished scholars in their respective magical fields. He needed their knowledge before making his choice.
Then there was Voldemort. This year, the Dark Lord would infiltrate Hogwarts under the guise of a professor. Roger wondered if there would be an opportunity to extract knowledge about soul transformation from him…
Shaking off these thoughts, Roger turned back to the stairs, ready to return to his studies. But after only a few steps, something struck him—something he had almost forgotten.
Upon his arrival in Britain, he had been arrested by the Ministry of Magic almost immediately. Between the trial, his funeral preparations, securing a wand, and borrowing money from Professor McGonagall, his schedule had been packed. In the chaos, he had nearly overlooked something of considerable importance.
Pausing, Roger pivoted on his heel and returned to the pub hall. Walking up to Aberforth, he spoke with quiet resolve.
"Uncle Aberforth, I need to ask about a place."
Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "What place?"
"Do you know how to get to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries?"
The pub owner froze. "Huh?"
His gaze quickly swept over Roger, scanning him for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.
Roger hesitated briefly before replying, "I guess you could say that. It's a bit of trouble—nothing a Muggle hospital can handle. But I think a magical hospital should be able to sort it out."
Aberforth's eyes narrowed slightly, but he simply nodded, his expression unreadable. "Alright, lad. I'll tell you how to get there."
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