"The club exists for exchanging knowledge and improving everyone's magical skill. I won't hide what I know, and the club won't restrict anyone based on house or background." Roger's words made the young wizards around him tense, because they all knew it could not possibly be that simple.
"But formal members must have an overall grade no lower than E in the previous academic year, with at least one O." Roger smiled calmly as the students' expressions changed. "Of course, if someone is especially talented in a particular subject, the Raven Magic Club may recruit them through special admission."
"All subjects at E?" the students exclaimed in disbelief. Several of them stared at him with wide eyes, as though he had just announced that membership required wrestling a Hungarian Horntail bare-handed.
Hogwarts grades were divided into six levels: O for Outstanding, E for Exceeds Expectations, A for Acceptable, P for Poor, D for Dreadful, and T for Troll. Roger privately preferred to call the last one "total idiot," though he was polite enough not to say so aloud in front of everyone.
"Is it difficult?" Roger asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "If you're not smart enough, then at least work hard. Oh, right—Quidditch does not count."
Everyone laughed at that, because they all knew Roger was terrible on a broom. Miss Granger was not much better, and the two of them had become an accidental symbol of academic excellence with no aerial dignity whatsoever.
"To everyone who hopes to join the Raven Magic Club, please do your best," Roger said. Then he calmly gathered his textbooks and left the Great Hall.
The younger Slytherins were the first to realise that the Raven Magic Club was not merely a study group. It was an elite circle, a future symbol of status, and perhaps even a quiet network that could matter long after Hogwarts. As a result, they became noticeably more diligent, visiting the library together and participating more actively in class.
Roger was also happy to answer questions when asked. Knowledge only became influence when others understood that you possessed it, and sharing just enough made people both grateful and dependent.
The older students, however, could not easily set aside their pride. Apart from the Patronus Charm, how could Roger's magical knowledge possibly compare with theirs? At least, that was what they told themselves while watching more and more younger students gather around him.
"Roger, you use the Patronus Charm so well, so your Defence Against the Dark Arts must be excellent." Theodore Nott caught up with Roger as soon as class ended, his face full of expectation. "Can you share some tips?"
"To use Defence Against the Dark Arts effectively, you must first understand your enemy correctly instead of blindly memorising a pile of spells," Roger said with a quiet chuckle. He slowed his pace, and besides the younger Slytherins, students from other houses began gathering around with curious looks.
"For example, trolls possess tremendous strength but are extremely stupid. Acromantulas are as intelligent as wizards, but they fear fire." Roger glanced over the listening students. "When facing them, Transfiguration or a strong fire charm may protect you better than some flashy curse."
Everyone listened with great interest. Many of the younger students' eyes shone with admiration, because Professor Quirrell's classes rarely made danger sound this clear or practical.
"In truth, spells are secondary," Roger continued.
"Secondary?" several students repeated in confusion. To them, there was nothing more important than knowing the right spell at the right time.
"Reason and conviction," Roger said. He used himself as the example without the slightest embarrassment. "I was once cornered by a troll, but I held onto the belief that I could win. I turned its club into cotton, created an opening, and finally killed it."
As he spoke, Roger pulled down the collar of his school robe just enough to show them his trophy: an anti-curse vest made from troll hide. The leather had been refined, patched, and reshaped into protective clothing, though the stitching was still ugly enough that he preferred hiding it under his robes.
"If the opponent is too strong, avoiding them temporarily is not shameful," Roger said. "Spells and equipment are tools that help a wizard become powerful, but the wizard himself is the foundation that decides whether power can become greatness."
He paused, then added in a more serious tone, "Take Headmaster Dumbledore, for example. His wisdom is more magical than his magic."
Roger's words inspired the surrounding students, and applause quickly broke out. Even those who had only paused out of curiosity found themselves nodding along, because the explanation sounded more useful than half a term of stuttering lectures.
"Wow, Roger, you're absolutely right!" Daphne said, her eyes sparkling. After listening to him, she suddenly felt that Professor Quirrell was not impressive at all.
"I never understood why Defence Against the Dark Arts required memorising so much material," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Now I finally understand that it is not just about names and classifications."
"Yes, but it is a pity we cannot properly practise it," another young wizard said. Soon the students were discussing animatedly among themselves, while Roger listened patiently and pointed out flaws in their ideas with calm precision.
"Harry, look at him again," Ron muttered nearby, raising the hand that had been bitten by the dragon. He pointed toward Roger's crowd and complained bitterly. "He showed off his Patronus in the Great Hall this morning, and now he's showing off his knowledge. Look at him bragging. Even Hermione isn't that arrogant."
A large group surrounded Roger like he was some Slytherin prince, and Ron found it absolutely disgusting. Hot breath puffed from his nostrils, and his face flushed with jealousy.
"I bet he secretly used a love potion," Ron said darkly. "Otherwise, why would so many people like him?"
He glanced at Roger again, and his irritation deepened when he remembered how close the boy was to Snape. All the anger Ron felt toward the Potions Master found a new target, and he muttered under his breath, "Damn Death Eater."
Harry hesitated and did not immediately agree. Seeing students from his own house run over to listen to Roger made him uncomfortable, especially when Neville kept praising the other boy just because Roger had helped him brew potions in class. Was that really such a big deal?
But when Harry looked at Roger, he could not help thinking of Snape's face. "Ron, I understand how you feel," he said quietly. "Snape likes him so much. He definitely won't become a good wizard in the future."
"Exactly. If we find out he has become a dark wizard, we'll report him to McGonagall and have the school expel him." Ron left in disgust, unable to bear the sound of laughter around Roger any longer.
To most people, however, pure-blooded Roger was far more humble and peaceful than Malfoy. Even with his exceptional magical talent, he was not as openly arrogant as Hermione could sometimes seem in class. His performance in lessons was almost perfect, except in flying, which made Madam Hooch complain to Snape more than once.
Snape had only replied coldly, "Perhaps you should make him like Quidditch."
After Madam Hooch learned why Roger hated broomsticks, she could only give up helplessly. The shadow left by Dementors in Roger's heart was not something a flying instructor could erase with encouragement and school brooms.
"Oh?" Snape frowned and placed a letter into his drawer.
If the headmaster had not reminded him, he would have forgotten that Roger's detention from last year had still not been carried out. On a weekend morning, Roger, Malfoy, Harry, Hermione, and Neville received notes at the breakfast table. Ron, thanks to the dragon bite on his hand, had somehow escaped the punishment unharmed.
"Roger, how will Filch punish us?" Malfoy asked nervously. His fork hovered uselessly over his plate. "Will he lock us in a dungeon? Or hang us from chains and whip us?"
"That is enough, Malfoy," Roger said, folding the note and silencing him. "Perhaps he will ask us to hang ourselves. It is only curfew-breaking, not a capital crime."
His words made Malfoy breathe a little easier. Malfoy's gaze swept across the hall toward Harry and the others, and his pride stirred again. Whatever happened tonight, he could not lose face in front of Harry Potter.
At eleven o'clock that night, Roger arrived in the entrance hall. A wallet-sized expanded pouch was tucked into his waistband, and the Arcadia Amulet hung around his neck. Beneath his black school robe, the anti-curse vest made from troll hide had been transformed into a shirt, though the patchwork was so clumsy that if exposed, its greatest use might have been making enemies laugh to death.
Malfoy followed behind him, and a hint of fear crept into his expression when he saw Filch's smug face. A moment later, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Filch all arrived. Harry's eyes lingered on Roger in surprise, as if he had almost forgotten that Roger had also once earned punishment.
"Last year's detention was never carried out," Roger said half-jokingly, giving them a smile. "I thought I had escaped it."
"All right, come with me," Filch said with a snort.
He lifted his lantern and led everyone out of the castle. Along the way, he kept muttering about medieval punishments, chains, cuffs, and old disciplinary methods that he clearly missed dearly. Frightening young wizards and watching their fear seemed to give him several minutes of real happiness.
"Damn it, how did we end up here?" Malfoy cursed under his breath when he saw the small lit hut ahead.
"What's wrong?" Roger asked.
"That's Hagrid's hut. The ugly one." Malfoy looked at Harry's suddenly brightened expression and muttered bitterly. "I knew that oaf would treat Potter differently."
"Do not think you will have a pleasant time with that idiot," Filch said sinisterly, clearly noticing Harry and Hermione's relief. "Your punishment is to go into the Forbidden Forest, not sit comfortably in his hut. Let us hope this fool brings you all back alive."
"The Forbidden Forest?" Malfoy was shocked, but Roger's relaxed expression calmed him somewhat.
"The Forbidden Forest?" Roger looked toward Hagrid as the half-giant approached with Fang at his side. "Mr. Filch, I remember the headmaster strictly forbidding students from entering the Forbidden Forest on the very first day of school."
His gaze sharpened. "Did you disobey the headmaster's orders and deliberately send us into the forest to die?"
Hagrid looked at Roger and Malfoy with undisguised dislike. "Slytherins," he muttered, his voice full of disgust. If not for these cunning little snakes, Harry would not have been punished at all.
"Do not change the subject, Hagrid," Roger said. "I have heard there are many dangerous magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest, including some that were brought in from outside. To be precise, someone placed them there and raised them."
Roger stared directly at him, and everyone present could easily guess who that someone might be. "For example, a spider. A spider with eight eyes."
"An Acromantula?" Hermione gasped. That was a XXXXX-rated magical creature, a species known to have killed wizards.
Roger gave Hermione a reassuring smile before turning back to Hagrid and Filch. "Whose order was this? Did you decide it yourselves?"
His words carried accusation, and his wand was already pointed in their direction. Fang saw someone threatening his master and immediately bared his teeth at Roger, growling as if he might pounce at any moment.
"Hagrid, keep your dog under control," Roger said coldly. "Otherwise, I will slaughter it and turn it into stew. It should understand that wizards are its masters."
"You…" Hagrid rumbled, taking a heavy step toward Roger.
"Hagrid!" Filch quickly pulled him back and intervened before the situation worsened. "This is the headmaster's order. If you want to stay at Hogwarts, you had better accept your punishment."
"Roger, I can tell my father…" Malfoy said, already frightened. His legs trembled slightly after hearing about the Acromantula.
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