While the Ministry of Magic was still overwhelmed by the aftermath of the Diagon Alley attack, Roger had already returned to the country villa of the Old Wizard, Enrico Foley.
The Old Wizard was dead. As his nominal "apprentice," it was only natural for Roger to take over the place, right? It could even be considered a form of inheritance.
More importantly, when they had left, Roger had been right there, using his Bio-computer to precisely record the spell needed to open this magical safe house. There could be no safer base than this.
However, when he pushed open the familiar wooden door, heavy with the smell of damp and pungent herbs, a deep sense of bewilderment instantly washed over him.
What should I do next?
There was no information about his relatives in the memory fragments left behind by the original owner of this body. Even if there had been, the Old Wizard had probably silenced them long ago.
Now, Roger was the master of this place. But looking around, he could only feel shocked by how shabby it was. The main house where the Old Wizard had lived was almost no different from the small wooden hut Roger had stayed in.
The entire so-called "country villa" was dilapidated on the outside and extremely crude on the inside. Among the seven or eight wooden huts, it was hard to find even a single decent piece of furniture. It could only be described as dirt poor.
But was the Old Wizard truly poor? Not necessarily.
Just considering this magical property at 99 Rose Road, London, though it looked like a condemned building from the outside, it was covered in powerful protective spells. The land and the magical defenses alone had terrifying potential value. If properly restored, it could certainly become a comfortable, even luxurious, residence.
Even more valuable was his trunk enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm, stuffed with various obscure Dark Arts books, yellowed parchment scrolls, and rare potion ingredients seldom seen on the market.
In a locked wooden hut nearby, there was even the complete, bloodless corpse of a unicorn.
This was the truly astonishing wealth.
The Old Wizard had been much like Hagrid, with no interest in material pleasures, keeping his expenses to a minimum and leaving Roger with only eleven or twelve Galleons. But Roger desperately needed money to improve his diet, buy furniture, and purchase necessities for studying magic. Every single item required Galleons.
After spending three days buried in the villa, Roger used the Bio-computer to carry out a preliminary analysis of all the books and scrolls the Old Wizard had left behind.
This greatly broadened his horizons and helped him piece together the Old Wizard's background.
The Old Wizard's real name was Enrico Foley, and he came from the Foley family, one of the so-called Twenty-Eight Sacred Pure-Blood Families. This place should have been the Foley family's ancestral home.
Although the Foley family did not take part in the conflicts of the First and Second Dark Lords, they were indeed a long-established Dark Wizard family, with generations obsessed with researching various suicidal forbidden Dark Arts.
The school of thought Enrico belonged to was even more unscrupulous: dissecting werewolves, capturing Inferi, studying vampires, manipulating souls, hunting unicorns.
After several generations, few had died natural deaths, and in the end, only Enrico remained as the sole descendant.
Paying such a heavy price did yield some astonishing results. For example, they had actually captured a werewolf and controlled him with the Imperius Curse. Waiting for the night of the full moon, they connected through magical patterns and discovered that the changes in the werewolf's magical patterns were fundamentally no different from those of other Animagus forms.
From this experiment, they proposed a bold theory: werewolves are not independent magical intelligent creatures, but an extremely special, uncontrolled form of Animagus.
According to this deduction, if the secret of werewolf transformation could be deciphered, wizards would not only be able to transform into ordinary animals more safely, but might even be able to transform into magical creatures such as dragons, griffins, or even goblins.
Moreover, they would no longer be limited to a single form, but could freely switch between multiple forms.
At present, the only spell Roger truly mastered was the Imperius Curse. Therefore, the only research he could begin with was the set of Transfiguration theories related to Imperio.
But once he actually started, Roger realized that he severely lacked a great deal of fundamental knowledge, such as basic Transfiguration spells.
Although he possessed a large amount of magical data, it was still far from enough to support the Bio-computer's complete analysis of these Dark Arts.
Building a system of knowledge was like constructing a skyscraper. Even with the aid of the Bio-computer, one could not skip laying the foundations.
Just as Roger was considering selling potion ingredients to raise money, a series of "thump, thump, thump" knocks came from outside the villa gate. A dark gray owl was impatiently scratching at the door panel with its claws, its wings fluttering.
A letter? Roger was puzzled. He did not know anyone who would send him mail.
He cautiously took the unexpected letter. The moment he clearly saw the envelope, his pupils contracted and his heart rate suddenly quickened. The address was neatly printed on it, and the recipient's name stood out clearly—"Roger Lewis."
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, addressed in emerald-green ink, and sealed with a purple wax crest: the Hogwarts coat of arms featuring a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter "H."
Opening it, Roger found two pieces of parchment inside. The first was the acceptance letter itself.
~~~~
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Lewis,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
~~~~
The second sheet was the required equipment list for first-year students, detailing uniforms, course books, and other items— including the note that students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad, and that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks.
"Is this real?!" Roger clutched the letter in disbelief. It turned out the original owner of this body was named Roger Lewis—and apparently, he wasn't from any famous pure-blood family.
Snapping back to reality, he quickly found a quill and a spare piece of parchment, scribbled a brief acceptance reply, and tied it carefully to the leg of the waiting school owl that had delivered the letter.
The owl hooted impatiently, took the reply in its beak for good measure, and launched itself out the window without waiting for any treats—clearly a professional on official Hogwarts business.
Returning to the wooden hut, Roger sat at the creaking table, unfolded the acceptance letter, and read it again and again, finally confirming that this was not an illusion.
Going to Hogwarts offered tangible benefits.
He could receive systematic foundational magic education and have relatively sufficient experimental materials and basic equipment. Most importantly, the Hogwarts library. Its collection was nothing less than an inexhaustible treasure trove of knowledge.
This was extremely important to him. With these resources, the Bio-computer would be able to fully analyze the obscure and difficult Dark Arts knowledge and research materials left behind by the Old Wizard.
But a practical problem presented itself once again.
Money.
He clearly remembered that Harry Potter had spent over a hundred and thirty Galleons on first-year supplies alone, including textbooks, a wand, and a cauldron.
Albus Dumbledore's arrival was far quicker than Roger had expected.
The next day, by the calm lake outside the villa, the air twisted without warning. Accompanied by a few clusters of golden sparks, Dumbledore's figure appeared out of thin air.
He wore magnificent purple robes trimmed with gold. His long silver-white hair and beard reached his waist, and the clear, piercing blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles seemed capable of seeing straight into a person's heart.
In his eyes, the dilapidated country villa before him, every piece of wood and every shard of rubble, was imbued with traces of powerful and ancient protective magic.
After several days of investigation, Dumbledore had begun to sense a connection between the reaction of Harry Potter's scar and the Dark Wizard attack. That was why he had come in person, determined to investigate the matter thoroughly.
"Knock, knock, knock." A gentle yet clear knocking sound rang out.
Roger immediately set aside the parchment scroll and went to open the door. The moment it opened, he recognized the legendary figure of the wizarding world at once.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lewis. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore," the old man said kindly.
In just a few days, having faced Lord Voldemort and now Dumbledore, Roger had truly "seen the world." He tried hard to remain calm. "Welcome, Headmaster Dumbledore. Please, come in."
Dumbledore stepped into the villa, his gaze calmly sweeping over the few wooden huts in the compound. When his eyes fell on the hut that contained the unicorn's body, his steps paused, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Perfect.
Seeing Dumbledore's reaction, Roger's heart stirred, and an idea immediately took shape.
Who was Dumbledore? If Lord Voldemort was the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore was the White Lord.
He had weathered countless storms in his life, and after personally guiding Lord Voldemort in his youth, he exercised extremely strict control over young wizards' access to the Dark Arts.
The vast quantity of contraband-level potion ingredients left behind by the Old Wizard, especially the unicorn corpse, was a dangerous burden. But if he could sell it to Hogwarts, an institution with ample funds and a commitment to controlling dangerous magical items, then Dumbledore would likely be more than willing to take it off his hands.
Roger quickly led Dumbledore toward that special wooden hut. When he pushed open the door, the body of a young unicorn lay clearly visible inside.
Although its blood had been drained, its golden coat, pure horn, and even every inch of its flesh and bone still gave off a faint glow. They were priceless treasures.
Whether for crafting top-tier wands, brewing precious potions, forging flying brooms, or carrying out advanced alchemy, unicorn body parts were highly sought-after premium materials, almost impossible to find on the market.
Most of them were, in fact, priceless and unobtainable.
Dumbledore instantly understood why Enrico Foley had become a target.
Who would be so desperate for unicorn blood? The answer was almost self-evident. Time was truly running out.
In the heavy silence, Roger's clear, direct, and slightly naive question came from the side:
"Headmaster, may I ask… does the unicorn need anything?"
Roger could swear he saw Dumbledore's long silver beard twitch almost imperceptibly, and the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch as well.