Apocalypse: I Can Enter Hogwarts

Since school had not started yet, Hogwarts was dominated by silence and solemnity.

Inside the majestic castle, only the dazzling staircases and the moving portraits that whispered from time to time broke the quiet. Even so, Ian found himself deeply captivated by the castle's charm.

"Okay, stop staring at the portraits. You'll have plenty of time to talk to them in the future. Now follow me. The headmaster's office is on the eighth floor. Be careful on the stairs," said Professor McGonagall.

True to her efficient and resolute nature, she didn't intend to waste any time.

It's worth noting that the Floo Network connection was located in Professor McGonagall's office on the third floor of the castle, so the trip to the eighth floor wasn't particularly long.

Ian's mind, however, had already begun working rapidly. As mentioned earlier, he hadn't given much thought to the matter of his admission.

And now, it feels like I've been pushed into this situation.

He hadn't expected to meet the great Albus Dumbledore, the pinnacle of the wizarding world for nearly a century, so soon.

This man wasn't someone he could deal with as easily as Professor McGonagall, and the upcoming meeting made Ian cautious. Still, as a mature man, he was already thinking about how he might gain some benefit from Dumbledore.

"I can't pretend to be innocent anymore. Although Old Deng probably won't use Legilimency on me immediately, it'd be foolish to try and act in front of a centenarian with so much experience."

Ian knew very well that first impressions mattered deeply to the headmaster.

Hadn't another Tom been forever marked by his first meeting with Dumbledore, when he was caught stealing and bullying other orphans? That encounter had solidified Dumbledore's observations and distrust of Voldemort throughout his school years.

What Dumbledore hadn't realized was that the young Tom Riddle, despite his cold exterior, had secretly regarded the man who took him from the orphanage as a father figure.

This wasn't surprising. Children in orphanages, knowing they'd either be kicked out upon adulthood or adopted, often latched onto figures of authority. For a sensitive child like Tom, living in an unfamiliar environment, even the castle's admiration couldn't replace the approval he sought from Dumbledore.

It was no wonder that many children who grew up in such conditions ended up with distorted psyches. In an idealistic magical world like this, Tom's eventual descent into darkness seemed inevitable.

Later, Dumbledore himself would regret not guiding Voldemort better, lamenting the missed chance to steer him away from a path of no return.

In Ian's opinion, however, stealing from others in British orphanages during WWII wasn't unusual. Anyone who had read Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist would understand that Voldemort's actions were relatively tame compared to the fates of orphans in such stories.

Still, Dumbledore's distrust during their first meeting had set a precedent, one that could have been avoided.

Dumbledore sat in a high-backed chair in his office, absentmindedly stirring his tea with a silver teaspoon. His gaze wandered to the Forbidden Forest beyond the window.

Too much had happened this year: Harry Potter's upcoming enrollment, Quirrell's peculiar behavior after returning from Albania, the Gringotts break-in, and the Philosopher's Stone... the list went on.

Left with little choice, Dumbledore had delegated most of his headmaster duties to Minerva McGonagall. He chuckled as he recalled her exasperated expression, causing the portraits of former headmasters to roll their eyes.

But the moment was interrupted by the grinding sound of the stone gargoyle turning. Dumbledore looked up to see McGonagall approaching.

"I thought we'd finished all the preparations for the new term. Minerva, what brings you here now?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "The preparations were completed by myself and the other professors, with little help from you. You've spent your time enjoying sweets instead. However, this time I'm here about Ian Titus's admission.

"His name isn't in the Book of Admittance, so I need you to use your authority to add him."

As she spoke, she gestured for Ian, who had been standing behind her, to step forward.

Without McGonagall's shielding presence, Ian finally faced the legendary wizard.

Just as described in the books, the spiral staircase behind the grotesque stone gargoyle led to a spacious, elegant circular room. The walls were adorned with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, most of whom were dozing in their frames, occasionally snoring softly.

In the center stood a long, polished desk, devoid of books but cluttered with an array of fascinating silver instruments.

Ian's gaze shifted to the man seated behind the desk: an old wizard with flowing white hair and a long beard, his eyes twinkling with warmth and wisdom. The flickering candlelight reflected off his half-moon glasses, highlighting his sharp blue eyes—eyes that seemed capable of peering into one's soul.

Yet, the sharpness of his gaze was softened by the crooked nose, a reminder of past battles.

"Adding a name to the register is no trouble at all," Dumbledore said warmly. "It's how we handle transfer students. Minerva, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Mr. Titus alone. I have a feeling he has something to say to me—don't underestimate an old man's intuition."

He winked at Ian mischievously, earning an exasperated sigh from McGonagall.

"Very well," she said. "But don't think this means I'll handle all your work again. I still have my own responsibilities to attend to."

With that, she departed in a flurry, leaving Ian and Dumbledore alone in the grand office.

The two sat quietly across from each other, the weight of the conversation ahead hanging in the air.