Note:

*Peers over glasses at Dumbledore's lesson plan*

"Of course, Phil's first day involves cart rides through underground goblin caverns, a crash course on magic, and transfiguration homework. Nothing says 'Welcome to Hogwarts' like sensory overload."

...

No soul lingered in the corridor as my steps echoed softly against the stone floor. The path to Dumbledore's office stretched ahead, each step drawing me closer. A day had passed since the fateful evening in the Great Hall, and now the old wizard had summoned me.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows, while the students of Hogwarts were ensconced in their classes. Relief washed over me; solitude was a comforting companion.
Humans often puzzled me, yet the girls in my dormitory were tolerable. The boys seemed agreeable as well, though Lily persistently advised caution regarding them. My interest in such matters, however, remained minimal.
Life had become a whirlpool of confusion, a stark contrast to my previous ignorance of this world's existence. Navigating these new realities was daunting, an overwhelming flood of sensations and experiences. I was confused. Until recently, I had not even known this world existed, and now I was in the midst of it. It was okay to be too much for me.

»Everyone is allowed to have weaknesses,« whispered this voice in my head, »but you must not show them to anyone.«
The voice, as ever, was correct. Exposing vulnerabilities would only invite peril.

Steeling myself, I straightened my shoulders as I approached the headmaster's office. The door opened of its own accord, and I stepped inside. Dumbledore awaited me, resplendent in a dark purple robe and matching hat, both adorned with silver stars. His half-moon glasses perched comfortably on his nose.
»I'm glad to see you again, Phil. I hope today has been going well for you?« he inquired. A simple nod sufficed; the morning had been uneventful. Immersed in a book about magical creatures - courtesy of Lily - I had spent the hours absorbed in its pages while the girls attended their classes.
I had opened all the windows in the dormitory to let in the winter air. This had caused problems for the girls, which I had not understood when they had come before lunch to pick me up. I had not wanted to go into the Hogwarts courtyards, but everything had seemed too oppressive, like a prison.
That's why I had opened all the windows. Warming up the room with the stove again would take several hours, according to the girls.

Humans truly are peculiar.

»Well, you're not very talkative today,« Dumbledore noted, raising an eyebrow with a smile. »Let me just tell you what we'll be doing today: We'll go to Diagon Alley. There are a few errands to run, and when we're back, I'd like to give you an introduction to magic. First, we'll visit Gringotts, the wizarding bank. You probably own a vault there.«
Offering his forearm, Dumbledore guided me through a disorienting transition as Fawkes, his phoenix, cried out and circled us. The world blurred, a sensation of being squeezed through a narrow space enveloped me. Thankfully, my meagre breakfast remained undisturbed.
I had to gag briefly, but I quickly recovered. The moment passed, and Diagon Alley unfolded before my eyes, bustling with witches and wizards engaged in their daily routines.
Dumbledore naturally attracted attention, his presence commanding silent respect. Yet, he remained unperturbed, his focus unwaveringly on me. We stood before a grand, snow-white edifice with a gleaming bronze gate, its towering structure dominating the surroundings. Ascending the white stone steps, we approached the gate, where a strange and small creature stood sentinel.

»Goblins,« Dumbledore whispered, reading the question in my eyes. I nodded, observing the goblin in its scarlet, gold-embroidered uniform.
»Welcome to Gringotts,« it greeted us in a strangely melodic voice, bowing politely.
»Likewise, good afternoon,« Dumbledore replied, and we entered the bank. The silver double doors bore an ominous inscription, warning of dire consequences for those with dishonest intentions.
Inside, a vast marble hall stretched out, high counters manned by goblins perched on equally elevated stools. Each was engrossed in their tasks, occasionally glancing up to scrutinise us.

Too many impressions...

Dumbledore approached the bank employee in the last row with an air of confidence. The goblin was busy processing papers, and we halted in front of him. I observed him as he licked his elongated fingers, turning a piece of parchment with a practiced ease. He set it aside, interlaced his fingers on the desk, and looked up at us.
His hooked nose cast a shadow over his mouth. He scrutinised his eyes as he examined Dumbledore and me with mild curiosity.
»What can I do for you both?« his tone laced with boredom.
»I would like to inquire if a certain Philomela Aquila owns a vault?« Dumbledore's question immediately drew the goblin's gaze to me. He leaned forward, scrutinising me from head to toe, his attention particularly fixated on my red hair and the scar on my cheek.
»What are your parents' names?« he demanded.
»Ethan-«
»Louder!«
»Ethan J. Aquila and Catherine Young!« I replied, and he nodded in acknowledgment.
The goblin hopped off his stool and vanished into a back room. His absence was brief, and he returned with several parchments and a golden key. Seating himself once more, he began to read, his lips moving silently.
After a moment, he moistened his lips and declared, »Indeed, there is a vault. Catherine Young's vault was closed a few years ago, and her documents state that her possessions were to go to her daughter, Philomela Aquila.«
»Who closed the vault?« Dumbledore's surprise was evident. The wizarding world likely knew my mother was no longer alive, but the specifics remained a mystery.
Had my father or her second husband closed the vault?
The goblin sighed, his boredom resurfacing, »This information is not disclosed to third parties.« He continued, »The young lady's vault was last deposited into five years ago, anonymously.« After these words, he nodded, stamped something, and handed me a parchment. »Sign.«
I awkwardly scribbled my name and handed it back. The goblin examined my signature with raised eyebrows, then hopped off the stool and stood before us, a few heads shorter.
»I shall now escort the lady to the vault. Does she wish the wizard's company?« he inquired, looking at Dumbledore.
I nodded.

I don't want to follow the goblin alone.

He led us through another marble corridor lined with many doors. Dumbledore seemed pensive during our walk, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Five years ago, my mother was still alive; could she have been the one depositing money? My father's involvement seemed unlikely, and I doubted he had closed my mother's vault after her death. Perhaps it was her second husband, if he was a wizard at all. My childhood memories were hazy, but I could not recall anyone wielding a wand.
The goblin ushered us through a door, revealing a labyrinth of stone corridors lit by blazing torches. The cold air and embedded tracks in the tunnels added to the eerie atmosphere. A small cart came into view, and the goblin gestured for us to get in. Dumbledore went first, his presence giving me the courage to follow. The goblin positioned himself at the back, and we set off at a rapid pace.
We raced downward, the cart careening through sharp turns and vast caverns. An underground lake and deep chasms flashed by, my stomach churning with the swift descent. Finally, we came to a screeching halt, and the goblin disembarked with nonchalance. I followed shakily, my breath quickening. To my left, there were many vault doors.
At vault 347, the goblin stopped. »Shall I open it?« he asked, holding the key. I nodded, unfamiliar with vault procedures. The goblin inserted the key, and the door creaked open, revealing a trove of gold coins.
From my earliest memories, financial difficulties were foreign to us. My mother had inherited wealth, yet the sight of so much money felt surreal; the weight of guilt over her death bore down on me.

»She made you do it, she didn't treat you well!« hissed the voice in my head. I wanted it to stop. No, I had killed my mother and she had not inflicted any harm on me.
»The shackles, Phil, and the-«
I shook my head, running my hands through my hair to dispel the thoughts. I focused on the gold, and when Dumbledore suggested I take some, I complied. Mother was dead, and no amount of money would change that.

After our visit to Gringotts concluded, Dumbledore and I embarked on several more errands. We visited Madame Malkin's, where I acquired several Hogwarts uniforms, and Twilfitt and Tatting for some casual attire. Next on our list were the necessary schoolbooks for the first and second year.
Dumbledore shared his thoughts on my education almost immediately. He and other professors would oversee my schooling for the next year and a half, with my stay at Hogwarts extending into the summer. His aim was to ensure my seamless integration into classes. My OWLs, important exams, would be taken when I was deemed ready.
He also made it clear that my stay at Hogwarts would not span the usual seven years. Given the challenges of being a werewolf and finding employment in the wizarding world, Dumbledore expressed relief over the financial security ensured by our Gringotts visit. Consequently, he planned to streamline my education, focusing on essential subjects and exams. The goal was for me to sit for my NEWTs in a few key subjects by the seventh grade.
During our discussion, it became apparent that I possessed a decent understanding of Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. My mother had imparted much of this knowledge during my childhood, and I vaguely recalled her brewing potions in a cauldron. The reasons behind her secrecy about the existence of magic remained a mystery. Nonetheless, Dumbledore concluded that my existing knowledge would be advantageous in mastering the Hogwarts curriculum.

Our shopping continued until the afternoon when we returned to Dumbledore's office. He magically transported my purchases to my dormitory, and I found myself seated in front of his desk, my new wand placed before me.
»So, Phil,« Dumbledore began, »As a witch, your wand is the most important thing for you, next to knowledge.«
He delved into the intricacies of various spells and their effects. Demonstrating a fundamental spell taught at the very start of one's Hogwarts journey, Wingardium Leviosa, he showed me how to make objects float. With precise instructions on wand movements and grip, he performed the spell, causing a book to levitate.
Despite my awareness of magic and having witnessed a few spells, the sight of a floating book was astonishing. It was as surreal as moving staircases, sentient portraits, or the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall - elements I would need to grow accustomed to.
Dumbledore placed a feather from Fawkes before me, urging me to attempt the spell. Despite numerous efforts, the feather remained motionless. Towards the end, a slight breeze seemed to shift it, but that was the extent of my success. The headmaster reassured me, emphasizing the importance of practice, and assigned homework to be submitted to various professors.

As evening approached, darkness enveloped the windows, marking the end of our lessons.
»That's it for today, Phil,« Dumbledore said with a smile. Standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, he continued, »I would like to introduce you to your house teacher today: Minerva McGonagall. She will be here shortly to accompany you to the common room and provide occasional evening lessons in Transfiguration.«
Before he could elaborate, the office door swung open. A tall, slender woman, likely in her mid-thirties, entered. Her black hair was neatly tied in a knot at the back of her head, complemented by a dark cloak and a pointed hat. Despite her stern appearance, her smile reached her eyes.
She introduced herself and explained the curriculum of her class. She promptly informed me of the required reading from the textbook for our first lesson, and I hung on her every word. After our conversation, she escorted me to the common room, showing me the way to her office first.
By the end of the evening, I was simply relieved to see my bed. Human life was indeed exhausting...