Hogwarts

Silas felt as though he had been stuffed into an impossibly narrow rubber tube, unable to breathe. Just as he thought he was about to be crushed flat, the pressure abruptly vanished, and his feet landed on solid ground again.

He staggered and nearly fell, but Dumbledore's hand gently steadied his shoulder.

"Your first Apparition always comes with some discomfort. You'll get used to it," Dumbledore said kindly, as though the washing-machine-like ordeal just now had been nothing worth mentioning.

Silas straightened up dizzily, his stomach churning. He forced down the nausea and looked up—then froze completely.

Under the moonlight, two imposing wrought-iron gates stood before him, covered in intricate vine patterns. Tall stone pillars flanked them, and atop those pillars were... stone boars poised to take flight.

Hogwarts Castle loomed faintly in the distance beneath the night sky, its windows glowing with scattered warm lights. It was grander and more mysterious than any movie special effect. But Silas's eyes were first drawn to those two boar statues.

An indescribable sense of familiarity—and the urge to complain—welled up inside him. Instinctively, he muttered in a tone of mild disdain and unsurprised resignation, "Ravenclaw's taste isn't much better either..."

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Criticizing the aesthetic sense of one of Hogwarts's founders, a woman famed for her wisdom, right at the entrance she had designed—and in front of the unfathomable Dumbledore, no less—was practically dancing on the edge of danger.

Sure enough, Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes glinted behind his half-moon spectacles, genuine curiosity flashing through them. He tilted his head slightly toward Silas. His tone remained mild, but his question went straight to the heart of the matter. "Oh? It seems you know Hogwarts history quite well. You even know the relatively obscure fact that the school gates were personally designed by Rowena Ravenclaw."

He paused, his gaze seeming to pierce through space and into Kirill's study in London. "However, if I recall correctly, less than an hour ago, I happened to glance at the bookshelf in your bedroom. There did not appear to be a copy of Hogwarts: A History, nor any books related to the history of the magical world."

Cold sweat instantly broke out across Silas's back. Here it comes! The Old Bee really did go to my house, and he just happened to look at my bookshelf! The feeling of being monitored from every angle made his scalp tingle. His mind raced as he forced a guileless—at least, what he thought was guileless—smile onto his face and tossed out the excuse he had prepared long ago.

"Hahaha... my mother told me!" he said brightly, trying to conceal his guilty conscience. "You know, my mother, Pella Shackel! She may be a Squib, but she comes from a pure-blood family. She grew up hearing stories about Hogwarts, and sometimes she told them to me as bedtime stories! She said Lady Ravenclaw was extraordinarily talented, but her taste was sometimes a little... um... distinctive?"

He had perfectly shifted the blame onto his mother. Pella was both a Squib and pure-blooded, making the excuse airtight. It explained not only why he knew about Hogwarts, but also why he knew some "inside information," such as the origins of the gates. He had even cleverly used the word "distinctive," trying to salvage some respect for the founder.

Dumbledore listened quietly, wearing his usual inscrutable smile. He neither nodded in agreement nor refuted him. He merely gave a soft "Mm," as though he accepted the explanation—or as though he had seen through everything.

"I see. Pella is indeed a very learned lady," Dumbledore said mildly. His gaze shifted away from Silas and toward the distant castle. "Then shall we go inside?"

With a light wave of his hand, the enormous iron gates slid open without a sound, as though welcoming their master.

Silas secretly let out a breath, feeling as though he had passed an initial interrogation. He followed Dumbledore through Hogwarts's gates. The Levitating Cloak also seemed curious about the ancient castle. Its collar lifted slightly, sensing the rich, ancient magical aura in the air.

As they walked along the stone path toward the castle, Silas's heart remained tense. He knew that had merely been an appetizer. The real "conversation" would likely begin in the Headmaster's Office, beneath the watchful eyes of Fawkes the phoenix. And the "story" he needed to fabricate had to be convincing enough to explain his mystical abilities, so utterly unlike wizard magic, as well as his excessive maturity and... punchable behavior.

Silas felt like an ant that had wandered into a land of giants. Towering stone walls, burning torches, moving staircases—everything was full of motion and magic, far more breathtaking than anything he had seen in the films.

Though it was already late, quite a few students in robes of different house colors still walked through the corridors. When they saw a clearly absurdly young child beside their respected headmaster, dressed in a strange dark-blue robe and draped in a dark-red cloak, nearly everyone stopped to stare at him in shock, curiosity, and scrutiny. Whispers spread around them like a rising tide.

Silas grew uncomfortable under all those stares. He could not help leaning closer to Dumbledore and muttering, "Headmaster, is it normal for your students to look at me so strangely? I feel like a new monkey at the zoo."

Dumbledore gave a cheerful chuckle. His blue eyes twinkled as he replied lightly, "Of course, my dear child. In Hogwarts history, no wizard under the age of eleven has ever been formally invited into the castle. You are setting a precedent, so their curiosity is only natural."

Silas curled his lip and replied with a mixture of helplessness and faintly ridiculous pride, "Wow, then as the first one ever, I'm really... incredibly proud." He deliberately emphasized "incredibly proud," making the wrinkles at the corners of Dumbledore's eyes deepen with laughter.

They followed the Spiral Staircase to the entrance of the Headmaster's Office. Dumbledore spoke a password—Silas did not catch it, but it seemed to be the name of some dessert—and the stone gargoyle slowly sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it.

The office was much as Silas had imagined: packed with silver instruments and books, with portraits of former headmasters hanging on the walls. Many of the old headmasters in their frames appeared to be dozing, but Silas keenly sensed several pairs of eyes peeking at him through gaps in eyelashes or around the edges of frames. Fawkes, perched on his stand, raised his head and glanced at him with wise black eyes before lazily closing them again.

"Please, have a seat, child." Dumbledore pointed to a comfortable armchair, then walked to a small table holding a silver pitcher and several cups. Instead of pouring hot chocolate, he poured Silas a glass of chilled pumpkin juice, wisps of cold air rising from it, and pushed it toward him. "I do not believe my senses are mistaken," Dumbledore said as he sat opposite Silas, his fingertips pressed together and his gaze gentle yet piercing. "The magic within you is immensely, immensely powerful—powerful to an astonishing degree. Had I not observed you carefully and thoroughly ruled out the possibility, I would have asked whether you were an Obscurial. After all... I have seen the tragedies that can result from that."

Silas's heart tightened. An Obscurial—a dark monster born from suppressed magic—was the last thing he wanted to be associated with. He picked up the chilled pumpkin juice, cautiously examined the orange liquid, hesitated, then silently put it back down. He had reservations about magical-world specialty drinks.

Dumbledore took in his little gesture but did not mind, continuing, "I believe that although your unique magical system is powerful, it also requires systematic guidance and practice, especially at such a young age. Allowing you to explore it on your own at home may not be the safest choice."

Silas nodded. He could not argue with that. He had nearly killed himself practicing portals alone, while also causing a disturbance at the Ministry of Magic. "Of course, sir. I've also realized that I need more systematic... uh, 'learning.'"

"Then," Dumbledore said in an even gentler voice, his invitation sincere, "would you mind staying at Hogwarts for a while to study? To practice this..." He paused at precisely the right moment.

"Vishanti Magic," Silas supplied.

"Precisely. This Vishanti Magic will clearly be much easier and safer to practice here than alone at your home," Dumbledore said with a smile. "So I sincerely invite you to remain at Hogwarts for some time. Of course, perhaps this 'probationary enrollment' should begin once you can reliably control that remarkable portal? After all, we would not want you to 'teleport' somewhere unexpected again and create unnecessary work for Mr. Kingsley and his colleagues."

Silas's face reddened slightly. He knew Dumbledore must have learned of his "great feat" tonight from Kingsley. Weighing the pros and cons, staying at Hogwarts under the watch of someone as formidable as Dumbledore—though he was a bit of an old fox—was far better than messing around at home or being watched by the Ministry of Magic. Besides, this was Hogwarts! Getting an early taste of magical school life while being able to study his magic openly—there could not have been a better arrangement.

"I'd be very willing, sir," Silas answered seriously. "Thank you very much for the invitation."

"Wonderful." A gratified smile appeared on Dumbledore's face as he stood. "Then I shall go persuade your parents now. I imagine they must be very worried at this moment."

He walked to the fireplace, took an exquisite silver box from the mantel, pinched a small amount of glittering powder from it, and tossed it into the hearth, though there was no fire burning there. Green flames immediately burst to life inside, leaping and rising.

"Floo Network communication is much faster than an owl," Dumbledore explained to Silas over his shoulder. Then he adjusted his robes and spoke clearly into the flames. "London, Bromley, Beak High Street!"

With that, he stepped into the green flames, and his figure vanished instantly.

The Headmaster's Office was suddenly left with only Silas... along with a roomful of portraits pretending to sleep and one quietly perched phoenix.

Silas let out a breath and relaxed into the soft armchair. He looked around the office, so full of wondrous objects, and felt that the night's events had been like a bizarre dream.

"So... I've... started school early?" he murmured. The corners of his mouth could not help curving upward. The process had been thrilling, dangerous, and utterly humiliating, but the result seemed... not bad?

He picked up the chilled pumpkin juice again. After hesitating for a long while, he finally gathered his courage and cautiously took a sip.

"Pfft—!"

An indescribable cloying sweetness, blending pumpkin with far too many spices, instantly filled his mouth. He nearly spat it right back out.

"Oh my God..." Silas grimaced and shoved the glass far away. "This stuff is even more horrifying than British food! System! Can't you really add a cookbook to the beginner benefits?! This is a survival necessity!"