Hagrid's booming voice cut through the nervous chatter of the first-years, drawing their attention to the gruff Gamekeeper. "All firsties here!" He held aloft a lantern, its warm glow illuminating his enormous silhouette against the dark shore.
With nervous excitement, Hermione and I followed the throng of bewildered first-years, leaving their trunks stacked near the boats.
Hagrid winked at me, his gruff face crinkling with something that might have been a smile. "Doin' alright, Harry?"
I simply nodded and returned the wink, already familiar with the giant's gruff kindness. Hermione, however, looked at me with a mix of curiosity and surprise. "You know him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh, Hagrid was the one who brought me to Diagon Alley," I replied casually. 'Well, the one who brought 'Harry Potter', anyways', I thought to myself.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Professor McGonagall brought me," she confided, her voice dropping to an even lower pitch. "You wouldn't believe it, but she transformed into a cat right there in the hallway! She calls it being an Animagus. My father dropped his mug when he saw it."
I chuckled. "That's Professor McGonagall alright," my voice laced with amusement. I knew exactly what Hermione was describing, having witnessed it myself in the movies I've been so enamoured with.
We shared our boat with two others. Our conversation was interrupted by a collective gasp from the crowd. Across the lake, the magnificent silhouette of Hogwarts Castle loomed, its dark stone illuminated by countless dim lights like a thousand watchful eyes. The castle bathed in an ethereal glow, its towers piercing the twilight sky like giant uneven chess pieces.
"According to Hogwarts: A History, the four founders first sailed to Hogwarts in boats just like these," Hermione whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. "That's why all first-years have to make the journey."
I nodded, a smile playing on my lips. I knew the lore, of course, which Potterhead wouldn't? Only now, it wasn't just fiction but tangible history, connecting us to the magic that flowed through the very stones of this castle.
As the boats drew closer, the murmurs grew quiet, replaced by a palpable sense of anticipation. Having dreamt of this moment for what felt like a lifetime, and now, magic was finally within my grasp.
Stepping onto the solid ground of the jetty, I felt a surge of nostalgia and childish wonder course through me. I am here, at Hogwarts, surrounded by real witches and wizards, ready to embark on a journey I knew would be extraordinary. Yet, despite the familiarity ahead, a thirst for discovery threatened to engulf me.
Together with Hermione, I followed the first-years towards the towering gates. The Great Hall awaits.
As we passed through the heavy oaken doors and the hovering ghosts, I took a deep breath, the scent of old parchment and indescribable warmth washing over me.
I was… home.
Headmaster's Office, West Towers.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stared out of the windows to the first-years in his magenta robes. 11 years after the fall of Voldemort, Albus has been ready, weary of another dark wizard forming from one of those innocent students.
Better than anyone, Albus knew the allure of magic, more specifically Dark Magic that corrodes the mind. Though he had modified his own memories just in case of Veritaseum and Legimency,
Albus had personally hunted down and mercilessly tortured and killed various Death Eaters over the last decade, some of whom are equally if not more dangerous than Voldemort. Some not a day older than 20.
Each time Albus dealt with a Dark Wizard, it feels like nine more take their place, an endless battle against evil. But he had to, for it is the last wish of many who died and many to come who sacrificed for the Greater Good.
Just now, Albus felt both a powerful existence and an irredeemably evil one from the first years that went into these walls. For a moment, Albus Dumbledore, the White Wizard, wanted to kill an 11-year-old child.
But he didn't do it. He couldn't. Just as he couldn't all those years ago, in that orphanage, facing a bright, young child named Tom Riddle.
Ashamed as he is, Albus desperately wished the child would prove him wrong, that his faith in innocence was not unfounded.
For his test, Albus Dumbledore is willing to risk the ultimate alchemy item: the Philosopher's Stone. Should the child prove itself worthy, the mirror would grant it the ultimate possession of the stone.
"Severus," he spoke without looking back, "please keep an eye on Quirrel for me."