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The sound of clear recitation mixed with various soft and loud snores intertwined, forming a strange symphony.
Normally, students shouldn't be sleeping in class.
But this class was an exception.
This was supposed to be an important class, but in reality, it had become a filler—History of Magic.
The history of wizards was a subject worth studying, but the one teaching it at Hogwarts was a ghost.
Ghosts in the wizarding world weren't just souls of the dead. They were more like echoes of the deceased lingering in the world. They had a certain level of intelligence but no future to speak of.
They could only think about things from their past life. If their obsession was weak, their intelligence would decline further.
Professor Cuthbert Binns, who was still thinking about teaching at the moment of his death, was a prime example of this.
As a ghost, he viewed the living as lifeless objects, making communication difficult. His teaching method was essentially reading directly from the textbook, making the class unbearably dull.
As a result, this class became the perfect time for most students to catch up on sleep.
Only three students stayed awake.
One was Roger. He often used this class the same way he did on the train ride to Hogwarts—comparing wizarding history with Muggle history and his own past-life memories, trying to spot any 'altered' details as a way to entertain himself.
The second was Hermione. Roger's presence made her feel academic pressure, so she focused on reading ahead in her textbooks.
The last was Harry. While he no longer wandered the castle at night, his curiosity about Hogwarts remained strong. He used History of Magic to complete homework from other subjects, giving him more free time to explore the castle and do other things.
Today was no different. Only the three of them remained awake in class, but Roger was different from before. Instead of pulling out two history books for leisure, he was lost in thought.
It had been nearly a month since Professor McGonagall gave Roger his first private alchemy lesson.
In this month, Roger had gained a basic understanding of alchemy.
And then, he realized something—alchemy had immense potential, but... it didn't seem suitable for him?
Alchemy in this world was complex. It involved transforming one material into another and combining magical substances to create new magical properties, requiring a vast amount of knowledge.
But at its core, alchemy could be divided into three main branches.
The first was enchantment, solidifying magical power into an object. Once triggered under the right conditions, the object would produce a magical effect.
Dumbledore's Deluminator, the Weasleys' flying car, and the magically expanded bags were all examples of this.
The second was magical material synthesis, where wizards combined materials imbued with mystical significance and used their own magic to guide special reactions, resulting in magical artifacts.
Unlike the first, this branch required less direct participation from the wizard. For example, to create an alchemical object with spatial properties, a wizard wouldn't need to understand space magic—just follow the formula and have enough magical power.
The third was something Roger read about in Ritual Magic is More Than Just Blood Sacrifices—a path used by wizards seeking to surpass their magical limits by harnessing legendary powers to create alchemical artifacts.
All three branches had great potential. One allowed a wizard to store and transfer their magic. Another granted access to powers they didn't yet possess. The last even had the potential to break through limits entirely.
But the problem was... none of them suited Roger's abilities.
Roger's rapid growth in magic, his ability to create astonishing spells even as a first-year, wasn't just due to talent. His danger sense played a crucial role.
Whenever he performed magical experiments that involved personal risk, his danger sense acted like a guiding light, warning him when something went wrong.
His body modification experiments, for example, carried extreme risks. A single mistake could be fatal. But as long as there was any danger, his sense would alert him, allowing him to adjust accordingly.
Alchemy, on the other hand, was purely external. While there were risks in the crafting process, mistakes in alchemical research rarely led to life-threatening situations.
Which meant his danger sense was useless here.
After all, wizarding alchemy wasn't like goblin engineering, where everything exploded at the slightest mistake.
So compared to his rapid progress in self-transfiguration, his progress in alchemy was painfully slow.
It was like comparing a free-to-play player to someone who had spent ten million dollars on in-game upgrades.
Roger was certain that if he focused entirely on alchemy, he'd never reach immortality. Hell, even extending his lifespan would be a challenge.
But after some rough research, he had to admit that Professor McGonagall was right—alchemy could indeed enhance one's cognitive abilities.
An external alchemical computing and memory storage device was theoretically possible.
Yet, he couldn't let go of this path, nor could he fully embrace it…
Was outsourcing the answer, like Hagrid relying on others to get things done?
But even if he wanted to, where would he find a master alchemist capable of crafting such an advanced artifact in Hogwarts?
Even by the end of the school year, in June, Dumbledore's offer to meet Nicolas Flamel was still eight months away.
Would he really have to just sit and wait, watching this opportunity slip by for eight whole months?
For the first time, frustration showed on Roger's face.
"What's wrong? You don't look like yourself."
A pleasant voice rang beside him. Turning around, he saw Hermione.
Harry was waking up the sleeping students, while Hermione, having noticed Roger's expression while packing her books, had come over.
Last month, Roger had helped resolve her conflict with Ron. That experience gave her a new perspective on herself, making her realize that some of her past behavior had been too much.
She learned from it, reflected on her actions, and became less overbearing. She even started making friends—though most were still superficial, it was a step forward. She was no longer as anxious as before, and life was improving.
And she hadn't forgotten that Roger was the one who changed everything for her.
So, when she saw him troubled, she came over.
(...Though Ron had also noticed Roger's expression, he backed off when Hermione approached. He still felt guilty for hurting someone who genuinely wanted to help him.)
Roger was straightforward and didn't hide things. He explained his dilemma directly.
"An alchemical device that enhances thinking speed, enables multitasking… basically something that boosts intelligence."
Hermione thought for a moment, then her eyes widened.
"Oh my god! You're trying to recreate Ravenclaw's Diadem?!"
With her vast knowledge, she immediately associated it with the legendary artifact.
"The function is similar, but the principles should be different." Roger shook his head.
What he wanted to create was simply an external alchemical computer—a device that could store information and assist with complex calculations.
As for the actual Ravenclaw's Diadem… he wasn't interested. Even though he didn't know the exact details of Order of the Phoenix onward, he was well aware that the Hogwarts founders' artifacts had been turned into Horcruxes by Voldemort.
The diary, Slytherin's locket, Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's cup, and Harry himself—those were the five Horcruxes he knew of.
And he had no desire to deal with the Voldemort fragment inside the diadem.
He wasn't strong enough yet—it would be a death sentence.
After discussing some alchemical concepts with Hermione (avoiding his core secrets), it quickly became apparent that these advanced subjects were far beyond a first-year's level.
Hermione could barely keep up, mostly responding with nods and vague acknowledgments.
Still, she understood Roger's frustration.
But she couldn't help him.
All she could do was sigh and say, "If only your Transfiguration could create alchemical objects…"
Roger nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah… if my Transfiguration could…"
Then, suddenly—
BAM!
Roger shot up so fast that his chair toppled over.
"That's it!"
"My Transfiguration!"
He had been so focused on alchemy that he nearly forgot his greatest strength.
A single sentence from Hermione shattered his mental block.
"Transfiguration… Self-Transfiguration… Alchemy… Human Alchemy…"
"Yes."
"Human Alchemy! That's my path!"
Roger had enlightenment.