Hogwarts

Silas felt as if he'd been shoved into an incredibly narrow rubber tube, unable to breathe. Just as he thought he was about to be squeezed flat, the oppressive feeling vanished abruptly, and his feet landed on solid ground again.

He stumbled, nearly falling, but thankfully Dumbledore's hand gently steadied his shoulder.

"Your first time Apparating always feels a bit uncomfortable, you'll get used to it," Dumbledore said kindly, as if the experience, which felt like being tumbled in a washing machine, was a trivial matter.

Silas shakily straightened his body, his stomach churning. He suppressed the discomfort, looked up, and then froze.

Under the moonlight, two grand wrought-iron gates stood before him, entwined with intricate vine patterns. Tall stone pillars flanked the gates, topped with... stone carvings of wild boars with wings spread as if ready to take flight.

Hogwarts Castle loomed in the distance, faintly visible in the night, with scattered warm lights twinkling from its windows. It was more magnificent and mysterious than any movie special effect. But Silas's gaze was first drawn to the pair of wild boar sculptures.

An indescribable sense of familiarity and... a desire to complain surged within him. He subconsciously muttered in a tone of slight disdain and "as expected": "Ravenclaw's aesthetic isn't great either..."

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. At the entrance of the school designed by one of Hogwarts' founders, a woman known for her wisdom, to criticize her aesthetic, especially in front of the unfathomably deep Dumbledore, was practically dancing on the edge of danger.

As expected, Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes flickered behind his half-moon spectacles, a hint of genuine curiosity flashing within them. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Silas, his tone still calm, but his question hit the core: "Oh? It seems you know a great deal about Hogwarts' history. You even know the relatively obscure fact that the school's gates were personally designed by Lady Rowena Ravenclaw."

He paused, his gaze seeming to pierce through space and see into the study of Kirill's home in London. "However, if my memory serves me correctly, less than an hour ago, I happened to glance at your bedroom bookshelf. It didn't seem to contain 'Hogwarts: A School History' or any books related to the history of the wizarding world."

Silas broke out in a cold sweat. Here it comes! The old bee really went to his house and "happened to glance" at his bookshelf! The feeling of being completely controlled made his scalp tingle. His mind raced, and he forced a smile that he thought was innocent and naive, throwing out the excuse he had prepared long ago:

"Hahaha... My mom told me!" he said cheerfully, trying to mask his guilt. "You know, my mom, Pella Shackel! Even though she's a Squib, she's from a pure-blood family, so she grew up hearing stories about Hogwarts. She sometimes tells them to me as bedtime stories! She said Lady Ravenclaw was incredibly talented, but her aesthetic was sometimes a bit... well... unique?"

He'd perfectly shifted the blame to his mother. Pella being a Squib and pure-blood was a flawless reason, explaining both his knowledge of Hogwarts and some "inside information," like the origin of the gates. He'd even cleverly used the word "unique" to try and salvage a bit of his "disrespect" towards the founder.

Dumbledore listened quietly, wearing his usual inscrutable smile. He neither nodded in agreement nor refuted, merely giving a soft "hmm," as if accepting the explanation, or perhaps seeing through everything.

"I see. Pella is indeed a learned lady," Dumbledore said faintly, his gaze shifting from Silas to the distant castle. "Shall we go inside, then?"

With a gentle wave of his hand, the two massive iron gates slid open silently, as if welcoming their master.

Silas secretly breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as though he had passed a preliminary interrogation. He followed Dumbledore, stepping through the gates of Hogwarts. The Levitating Cloak seemed curious about the ancient castle as well, its collar lifting slightly, sensing the rich, ancient magical aura in the air.

Walking along the stone path leading to the castle, Silas's heart was still in his throat. He knew that was just an appetizer. The real "talk" would likely begin in the Headmaster's office, under the gaze of that Phoenix, Fawkes. And the "story" he needed to concoct had to be plausible enough to explain his "secret art" abilities, which were completely different from wizarding magic, as well as his precocious and... irritating behavior.

Silas felt like an ant that had stumbled into a giant's land. The towering stone walls, the burning torches, the moving staircases – everything was dynamic and filled with magical energy, far more shocking than anything he'd seen in movies.

Despite it being night, many students in various house robes were still moving through the corridors. When they saw the respected Headmaster accompanied by a child in a strange dark blue robe and a crimson cloak, who was clearly far too young, almost everyone stopped, their gazes filled with astonishment, curiosity, and scrutiny. Whispers spread around them like a tide.

Silas felt incredibly uncomfortable under their stares. He couldn't help but lean closer to Dumbledore, lowering his voice to complain, "Mr. Headmaster, your students... are these strange looks they're giving me normal? I feel like a new monkey in the zoo."

Dumbledore let out a light, amused chuckle. He blinked his blue eyes and replied casually, "Of course, my dear child. In the history of Hogwarts, no wizard under the age of 11 has ever been formally invited into the castle. You've set a precedent, so it's only natural for them to be curious."

Silas pouted, responding in a tone of mixed helplessness and a hint of comical pride, "Wow, so as the first ever, I should be 'extremely proud' of this." He deliberately emphasized "extremely proud," making the wrinkles around Dumbledore's eyes deepen with laughter.

They ascended the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office door. Dumbledore spoke a password (Silas didn't hear it clearly, it sounded like the name of a dessert), and the stone gargoyle slowly moved aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it.

The office was much as Silas had imagined, filled with silver instruments and books, with portraits of past Headmasters hanging on the walls. Many of the old Headmasters in the frames seemed to be dozing, but Silas keenly felt several pairs of eyes peeking at him from between their eyelashes or from the edges of their frames. Fawkes the Phoenix, perched on its stand, raised its head and glanced at him with wise black eyes before lazily closing them again.

"Please sit down, child," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a comfortable armchair. He himself walked to a small table where a silver pot and several cups were placed. Instead of hot chocolate, he poured Silas a glass of iced pumpkin juice, which was emitting wisps of cold air, and pushed it towards him. "I don't think my senses are wrong," Dumbledore said, sitting opposite Silas, his fingertips pressed together, his gaze calm yet incredibly penetrating. "The magic within you is immense, truly immense – to an astonishing degree. If I hadn't already carefully observed and completely dismissed the idea, I would have asked if you were an Obscurial, after all... I've seen the tragedies that arise from it."

Silas's heart grew tense. An Obscurial, that dark monster born from suppressed magic – he wanted nothing to do with it. He picked up the glass of iced pumpkin juice, cautiously glancing at the orange-yellow liquid, hesitated, and then quietly put it back down. He was skeptical about this peculiar wizarding world beverage.

Dumbledore noticed his small action but paid it no mind, continuing, "I believe your special magical system, while powerful, also requires systematic guidance and practice, especially at your young age. Letting you explore on your own at home is likely not the safest choice."

Silas nodded; he couldn't argue with that. He had almost died trying to practice Portkeys on his own and caused a Ministry of Magic disturbance. "Of course, sir. I also realize the need for more systematic... uh, 'learning'."

"Then," Dumbledore's voice grew even gentler, with a sincere invitation, "would you mind staying at Hogwarts to study for a while? Practicing this... kind of..." he paused appropriately.

"Vishanti Magic," Silas interjected.

"Precisely, this Vishanti Magic, would clearly be much simpler and safer than practicing alone at home," Dumbledore smiled. "Therefore, I sincerely invite you to stay at Hogwarts for a period. Of course, perhaps this 'probation' should start with you being able to stably control that magical Portal? After all, we don't want you 'teleporting' to any unexpected places again and adding unnecessary work for Mr. Kingsley and his colleagues."

Silas's face flushed slightly, knowing Dumbledore had surely learned about his "feat" tonight from Kingsley. Weighing the pros and cons, staying at Hogwarts, with a powerful figure like Dumbledore watching (albeit a bit of a sly old fox), was indeed much better than messing around on his own or being targeted by the Ministry. Moreover, this was Hogwarts! Experiencing magical school life ahead of time and legitimately researching his own magic – there couldn't be a better arrangement.

"I would be very willing, sir," Silas replied earnestly. "Thank you very much for your invitation."

"Excellent." Dumbledore's face showed a relieved smile. He stood up. "Then, I will go and persuade your parents now. I imagine they must be very worried at this moment."

He walked to the fireplace, picked up an exquisite silver box from the mantelpiece, pinched a small pinch of sparkling powder from it, and sprinkled it into the hearth, which had no flames. Green flames immediately ignited in the hearth, leaping and rising.

"Floo Network communication is much faster than owls," Dumbledore explained to Silas as he turned back, adjusted his robes, and clearly spoke into the flames: "London, Bromley, Privet Drive!"

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

The Headmaster's office was suddenly left with only Silas... and a room full of portraits pretending to sleep, and a quietly perched Phoenix.

Silas breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back into the soft armchair, his body relaxing. He looked around the office, filled with wondrous items, feeling as though the night's experience was like a bizarre dream.

"So... I'm... starting school early?" he murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth involuntarily curling upwards. Although the process was thrilling, exciting, and embarrassing, the outcome seemed... not bad?

He picked up the glass of iced pumpkin juice again. After much hesitation, he finally mustered the courage and took a cautious sip.

"Pfft—!"

An indescribable, overly sweet taste, a mixture of pumpkin and too many spices, instantly filled his mouth. He almost spat it out immediately.

"My goodness..." Silas said with a grimace, pushing the cup far away. "This stuff is worse than British cuisine! System! Can't you add this recipe to the beginner's benefits?! It's a survival necessity!"