Apocalypse: I Can Enter Hogwarts

Dumbledore sat there quietly, his soul adrift as though he were a lifeless statue.

After what felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment, the centenarian removed his half-moon glasses, wiping his damp eyes with one hand.

"Thank you for your trust, Ian. As President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and current Headmaster of Hogwarts, I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, thank you for all you've done on behalf of Hogwarts."

The tall old man stood, giving Ian a solemn British bow.

Ian quickly stood to return the gesture. Then, in a soft tone, he said, "Professor, you can really think of it as a deal. To be honest, I also have my own troubles, but those are my own to bear.

You know my situation—I lack much of the foundation others take for granted, and I desperately hope for your guidance and support."

"As for the future, my suggestion is that only the two of us should know about it, and we shouldn't interfere too much with its course. We can collect the Horcruxes in advance, but it's best not to destroy them too soon.

Letting events unfold as they originally would, at least until the Triwizard Tournament, might be for the best. Harry is destined to die once, and the challenges he faces in those years may be crucial for his ultimate success against Voldemort."

"What you've said aligns perfectly with my own thoughts. Thirty years ago, a Muggle philosopher in America coined a fascinating term—let me think... Yes, the butterfly effect. The development of any event involves constants and variables, and the butterfly effect is a chaotic phenomenon.

Neither prophecy nor a time-turner can alter constants, but chaotic events can affect variables and, in turn, change constants. It's a frightening concept.

Prophecy, therefore, is a formidable power. I'm glad to see you using it responsibly. If you're interested, I could take you to the Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries someday. I believe that, as a prophet, this experience would be invaluable to you."

Ian inwardly rolled his eyes. Only he truly understood his situation. He had no prophetic abilities—just memories of the original story.

Still, he chose not to explain. As he'd said before, a single lie often requires countless others to sustain it. Embracing the role of a pseudo-prophet seemed like the best option.

He wasn't surprised that Dumbledore brought up the butterfly effect. As one of the few wizards deeply familiar with the Muggle world, Dumbledore was highly knowledgeable. Ian wouldn't even bat an eye if he started discussing quantum entanglement.

"Professor, it seems we've reached a consensus. That's truly a relief," Ian said with a smile.

Dumbledore studied the young man before him, so composed and mature. He couldn't help but recall another young man from the past—handsome, brilliant, and burdened with prophetic insight. Memories stirred, filling him with a bittersweet nostalgia.

After a pause, Dumbledore said, "Ian, I may not know the specifics of your troubles, but I do have something that might be of help to you."

He turned to the cabinet housing his Honeydukes sweets and retrieved a square box adorned with pink petals. Opening it carefully, he revealed a thumb-sized, axial-octahedral gem of a vivid red hue. Handing it to Ian, he smiled.

"Since you've chosen not to exploit your prophetic insight for personal gain, I'd like you to have this as a token of my gratitude. However, you shouldn't place too much expectation on it.

Even the Philosopher's Stone is not eternal. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel relied on it for a fleeting immortality, but six centuries of use have nearly exhausted its magic.

That said, it isn't entirely useless. As one of alchemy's greatest creations, it retains the ability to transmute base metals into gold. Based on my estimation, the remaining magic should allow 5 to 7 uses—each yielding about 10 pounds of gold—or 1 to 2 instances of permanent transmutation.

It's yours now, and how you choose to use it is entirely up to you."

Ian quickly calculated in his mind. At 16 ounces to a pound and 28.35 grams per ounce, each transmutation would yield approximately 5 kilograms of gold. Seven uses meant a potential total of 35 kilograms.

He thought, I don't know the exact Gringotts exchange rate, but surely this much gold would grant me temporary financial freedom.

Exhaling in relief, he asked, "If the Philosopher's Stone is now with me, what should we do about Quirrell?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Tom thinks he understands me, but he only knows the man I was before. Had I not met you, I might have placed the Stone in the Mirror of Erised and waited for him to take it, given its diminished magic.

But now, it clearly has other uses. I could easily place a Fluffy Teeth Mint or an Exploding Bonbon in its stead."

He grinned mischievously, clearly amused at the thought of Voldemort enduring great effort only to find a piece of candy.

"Ah, I almost forgot your admission." Dumbledore tapped his wand lightly. An admission letter and train ticket flew into Ian's hands.

"You'll leave with Fawkes for the Leaky Cauldron shortly. Spend tomorrow ensuring you have everything you need. Then, board the train to Hogwarts—it's quite the journey."

With a chirp, Fawkes lit the room in a warm orange-red glow, ready to take Ian.

As Ian vanished with Fawkes, Dumbledore sighed deeply. His usually straight posture sagged slightly, a reminder of his years.