Chapter 2: The Headmaster's Visit
September fifteenth, nineteen ninety-one. Adam's world had shrunk to the size of a scrub brush and a bucket of gray water. Two weeks of punishment duty—floors, walls, bathrooms, anything that would keep his hands busy and his mouth shut. Mrs. Brennan watched him with the vigilance of a warden, waiting for another outburst.
The brush scraped against the corridor tiles in a steady rhythm. Scrub. Rinse. Scrub. Rinse. Adam's knees ached where they pressed against the floor, but the repetitive motion helped quiet the storm in his head. The transmigrated memories had settled into an uncomfortable coexistence with his orphan past, but they still flared without warning.
"Wright!"
Mrs. Brennan's voice cut through the morning quiet like a whip crack. Adam's hands stilled on the brush handle. Her tone was different—nervous, almost excited. In fifteen years of orphanage life, he'd never heard her sound excited about anything.
"Come to my office. Now."
Adam climbed to his feet, wiping soapy hands on his trousers. The other children lined the corridor, watching with the fascination of vultures. Jenkins whispered something about Adam finally getting transferred. Sarah made a throat-cutting gesture and giggled.
None of them understood. This wasn't about punishment or transfers. Something had changed in the air, like the pressure drop before a storm.
Mrs. Brennan's office door stood ajar. Through the gap, Adam glimpsed the edge of a visitor's chair and the hem of unusual robes. His blood turned to ice water.
"Don't just stand there gawping," Mrs. Brennan snapped, but her usual sharpness was blunted by something that looked almost like awe. "You have a visitor. Someone... important."
Adam pushed through the door and stopped breathing.
Albus Dumbledore sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair as if it were a throne. Half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose. Silver beard cascaded down his chest like a waterfall. Those terrible blue eyes—eyes that twinkled like broken glass—fixed on Adam with the intensity of a surgeon's scalpel.
He looked exactly like the illustrations, exactly like the films Adam remembered from another life. Real. Impossibly, undeniably real.
Hope exploded in Adam's chest like a supernova. Dumbledore was here. The Headmaster himself had come to the orphanage. This was it—his Hogwarts letter, his invitation to the magical world, his salvation from this gray half-life.
"Ah, Adam," Dumbledore said in that familiar voice, warm honey over broken glass. "Please, sit down."
Adam perched on the edge of the remaining chair, every muscle coiled with anticipation. Mrs. Brennan hovered by the door, clearly wanting to stay but not quite daring.
"Perhaps we might have some privacy?" Dumbledore suggested gently.
Mrs. Brennan flushed. "Of course. I'll be... I'll be right outside." She backed through the door, closing it with unnecessary care.
Alone with his hero, Adam felt his heart hammering against his ribs. This was the moment. After two weeks of despair, after the barrier's rejection, after the cursed gibberish—finally, finally someone who would understand.
"You feel... wrong, child."
The words hit Adam like a physical blow. Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, blue eyes narrowing with something that might have been distaste.
"Not evil. Not dark. Simply... wrong."
Adam's mouth opened and closed without sound. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Dumbledore was supposed to smile and explain everything. He was supposed to offer candy and wisdom and a place at Hogwarts.
Instead, those terrible eyes bored into him with growing suspicion.
"I am Albus Dumbledore," the wizard continued, as if Adam might not recognize him. "Headmaster of a... private school. I investigate unusual children, you see. Children who might benefit from specialized education."
The lie sat heavy in the air between them. Adam heard it for what it was—a cover story for Muggles, a way to explain his presence without revealing magic. But underneath the deception was something worse: the sense that Dumbledore saw him as a problem to be solved rather than a child to be saved.
"You're the Headmaster of—" Adam began desperately.
"PURPLE BANANA SCHOOL!" The words tumbled out in a rush of nonsense.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "I beg your pardon?"
Adam tried again, concentrating with everything he had: "You run RAINBOW TEAPOT CASTLE for DANCING OCTOPUS CHILDREN!"
Each word of gibberish made Dumbledore's expression darker. The wizard stood abruptly, moving with the fluid grace of someone far younger than his apparent age.
"I'm sorry, child. I must understand what you are."
Before Adam could react, before he could even process the threat, Dumbledore's eyes locked with his. The world disappeared.
Violation.
That was the only word for it. Invisible fingers rifled through Adam's mind like pages in a book, tearing open memories, examining his soul like a dissected insect. He felt Dumbledore searching, searching, hunting for the source of wrongness.
But there was a barrier—something vast and cold and alien that wrapped around his deepest secrets. The transmigrated memories, the System knowledge, everything that mattered most lay protected behind walls of blue static. Dumbledore's mental fingers slid off them like water off glass.
Instead, the wizard found ordinary orphan memories: hunger and loneliness, beatings from older children, the crushing weight of abandonment. Pain without purpose. Suffering without meaning. A lifetime of institutional neglect that explained nothing.
Adam collapsed to his knees, gasping. The office floor felt like ice against his palms. His head throbbed as if someone had split it open with an axe.
Dumbledore frowned, confusion creasing his ancient features. The wrongness persisted—Adam could see it in those blue eyes—but the source remained hidden. Whatever had protected his mind was beyond even Dumbledore's considerable skill.
"Fascinating," the wizard murmured. "You are quite the puzzle, young Adam."
Adam hugged his knees to his chest, shaking. He'd been violated in the most intimate way possible. His mind felt raw and exposed, every thought suspect. The man he'd idolized, the hero of a thousand stories, had just raped his consciousness without permission or warning.
And found him wanting.
"You are disturbed," Dumbledore announced with the calm certainty of a diagnosis. "Perhaps touched by accidental magic gone wrong. The mind is fragile, especially in the young. Sometimes exposure to forces beyond our understanding can... scramble things."
He raised his wand—thirteen and a half inches of elder wood that Adam recognized from a dozen descriptions. Pale light began to gather at its tip.
"For your own safety and ours, I must ease your mind."
"No!" The word ripped from Adam's throat. "Don't—"
White light exploded behind his eyelids. The Obliviate spell crashed against his consciousness like a tsunami, seeking to wash away everything inconvenient. But the same barrier that had protected his secrets now shielded his memories. For one impossibly brief moment, something vast and alien stirred to full wakefulness, creating a perfect shield.
The spell shattered like glass against diamond.
Dumbledore didn't notice the failure—the magic seemed to work exactly as intended. The casting looked perfect, the light show dramatic, the victim properly stunned. He tucked his wand away with the satisfaction of a job well done.
"There. Much better."
But Adam remained conscious. His memories stayed intact. And something new burned in his chest like swallowed fire: rage.
Pure, crystalline, absolute rage.
The man who was supposed to save him had instead tried to erase him. Had deemed his mind too damaged to repair, his memories too dangerous to preserve. Had attempted to solve the problem of Adam Wright by simply deleting him.
"The boy will be fine now," Dumbledore told Mrs. Brennan as she re-entered the office. "Just delusions brought on by magical exposure. Nothing that rest and routine won't cure."
He patted Adam's shoulder with grandfatherly affection that made the boy's skin crawl. "Be well, young man. And remember—some doors are closed for good reasons."
Then he was gone, leaving behind only the faint smell of lemon drops and the wreckage of Adam's faith.
Mrs. Brennan dragged him back to the dormitory, muttering about "important visitors" and "ungrateful children." She tucked him into his narrow cot and drew the curtains, satisfied that whatever strangeness had infected Adam Wright had been properly cured.
But Adam lay awake staring at the ceiling, his mind crackling with electricity. The rage burned through him like acid, eating away at everything soft and naive. Dumbledore wasn't his savior. The magical world wasn't his salvation. He was truly, utterly alone.
That night, for the first time since the transmigration, Adam Wright cried. Not the desperate sobs of a rejected child, but the bitter tears of someone whose innocence had been murdered by the person meant to protect it.
"I'll make them see," he whispered to the darkness. "I'll expose everything. You had no right to try to erase me."
The vow sat in his chest like molten metal, searing itself into his soul. Somewhere in the walls of the orphanage, electricity hummed a little louder. In a distant castle, delicate instruments began to chime warnings about something stirring.
And in the space between sleep and waking, Adam saw words written in fire: [MISCHIEF SYSTEM ACTIVATED. HOST: ADAM WRIGHT. MISSION: SURVIVE AND GROW STRONGER.]
He blinked, certain he was hallucinating.
The words remained, burning blue against the darkness of his closed eyelids.
+1 CHAPTER AFTER EVERY 3 REVIEWS
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ Harry Potter and Mischief System ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ Harry Potter and Mischief System ] with exclusive access to 25+ chapters on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse, Breaking Bad , The Walking dead ,The Hobbit,Wednesday].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!