In the mornings, Perenelle would wake him with a gentle knock on his bedroom door and make him eat breakfast at the table, no excuses or excuses allowed. She would serve him fresh fruit and tea while asking him how his night had been and what his plans were for the day. It was impossible not to feel that this woman treated him like her own grandson.
After breakfast, Nicolas would wait for him in the garden, smiling with that serene expression he never seemed to lose, ready to test his endurance.
"All right, boy, today we're going to practice your magical perception," he explained in the first of those sessions. "This is so you can learn to listen to your magic."
The exercises were exhausting. Aurelian had to maintain a constant flow of power without letting it explode. Perenelle corrected his posture, taught him breathing techniques, and when she noticed he was overdoing it, she didn't hesitate to stop him with a firm gesture.
"Control is the most important thing for a wizard," she said gently. "You must learn to flow without wearing yourself out."
The afternoons were surprisingly peaceful. The boy accompanied Perenelle in tending her greenhouse, where she grew rare herbs and flowers. Amid laughter, she taught him old recipes for potions and remedies. Although Aurelian did not admit it aloud, he enjoyed those hours as much as he enjoyed his training.
In the evenings, the three would gather in the library. Nicolas would read aloud some of his writings on alchemy, pausing occasionally to recount anecdotes from centuries past. Perenelle listened patiently, correcting him when he exaggerated a detail, while Aurelian watched them with a smile and a mixture of amazement and warmth.
As the days passed, he began to feel comfortable, at home. He smiled and laughed at Nicolas' simple jokes, accepting Perenelle's care without resistance.
But every morning he reminded himself that he was there to grow. The training continued to intensify. Each day pushed him a little further beyond his limits. Every time he fell, the Flamels were there to lift him up.
The sun fell at a perfect angle on the garden, bathing the wooden table where the three shared lunch. Perenelle had prepared a meat stew with herbs and warm bread. As they ate, Nicolas laughed as he recounted how a Hungarian Horntail once ruined one of his alchemical experiments.
Aurelian listened, relaxed, with a sincere smile. He felt that these moments were a gift, something he almost never experienced.
The air vibrated with a slight crackling sound. A tall figure appeared on the other side of the garden, his silhouette outlined against the midday light. Albus Dumbledore.
Aurelian blinked, surprised, and stood up immediately.
"Headmaster," he said, his eyes wide, "I didn't expect to see you here."
Albus smiled and replied with a nod.
"And I'm glad to find you here, Aurelian. I see my teachers have made you feel at home."
The boy nodded, still surprised, as he returned to his seat. Perenelle invited him in naturally.
"Albus, you're just in time. There's always room for one more at this table."
Nicolas raised a glass of wine with a mischievous smile.
"Although you'll have to put up with my old stories, just like this poor boy."
Albus laughed softly, moving closer to take a seat next to them. He said nothing more, but silently observed the scene, the three of them sharing a meal, listening attentively, something that was not part of his usual life.
Inside, Albus felt relief. "It's good to see him like this... not just training, but also growing up in a warm environment. Nicolas and Perenelle have given him something every child should experience... the love of a family."
The meal proceeded calmly, amid old stories and soft laughter. For a moment, everything seemed to belong to a simpler world.
It was Albus who broke the lighthearted tone. His gaze grew more serious as he twirled the wine glass between his fingers.
"I've been receiving reports... the acolytes are still moving... now more obviously."
Aurelian, who until then had been quietly enjoying Perenelle's food, looked up suddenly.
"Acolytes?" he repeated quietly, to himself.
Grindelwald's followers. His mind quickly connected this with everything he knew about that man.
Nicolas and Perenelle reacted instantly. Their expressions hardened.
"Aurelian," said Perenelle, with unusual firmness in her voice, "Please come inside."
The boy looked at them, surprised.
"Why? I want to know too."
Nicolas shook his head, for the first time since Aurelian had known him, his smile disappeared.
"This is not something you should hear. Do as we say."
The way they spoke to him was so different from the others that Aurelian felt a knot in his stomach. He frowned, suppressing the urge to protest.
"As you wish..." he muttered, standing up.
He walked away toward the house. Inside, the idea wouldn't leave him alone. Grindelwald... again?
The door closed behind him, leaving the three older wizards face to face, with a heavy silence hanging in the air.
Albus was the first to speak.
"Don't you think it would be better to tell him the truth?" His voice was soft. "Aurelian is not just any child, and you know it. If Grindelwald makes another move, he could get caught up in whatever comes next."
Nicolas fixed his eyes on those of his former disciple.
"It's not a question of power, Albus. We know how strong he is. But we also know that his youth is a double-edged sword."
Perenelle placed her hand on the table, interrupting any attempt at reply.
"We will train him, we will guide him... but while we can, we want him to be safe." Her gaze softened, like that of a grandmother protecting her grandson. "We don't want or need him to carry the shadow of Grindelwald on his shoulders."
Albus listened to them in silence. That boy was destined to be in the middle of everything, whether he liked it or not. But seeing Nicolas and Perenelle, so fond of him, he also understood their desire to protect him.
He sighed and changed the subject.
"As I said, the rumors are no longer just rumors. The acolytes have begun to show themselves more strongly. I have received reports from Asia and South America. Entire groups moving in the shadows, as if they were waiting for something."
He took a crumpled photograph from his robe and placed it on the table. In it, a woman with an imposing bearing, intense eyes, and dark hair looked directly at the camera.
"Vinda Rosier," said Albus, with a hint of concern. "If she's on the move, it's because something bigger is brewing. The last time we faced her, it wasn't easy. For now, she's been seen in Romania."
Perenelle pressed her lips together, her expression serious.
"If the acolytes reunite... the already fragile balance of the magical world will be shattered once again."
Nicolas leaned back in his seat, thoughtful, though his gaze reflected an iron determination.
"Then all the more reason to prepare the boy. When the time comes... he will have to decide what role he will play in all this."
Albus remained silent, but inside him, doubt was growing. Were they training a savior, or someone destined to unleash an even greater storm?
Albus couldn't take his eyes off the photograph. Vinda Rosier's face seemed to stare back at them defiantly from the paper, as if she knew her name was being spoken aloud again.
"Romania," he repeated softly. "It has always been fertile ground for this kind of movement. If Vinda is there, it means she's not acting alone."
"She never does," Nicolas replied gravely. "She's not like any other follower; she's a fanatic. Wherever she goes, more than one person will be willing to sacrifice everything."
Perenelle nodded slowly, then fixed her eyes on Albus.
"And what do you know about Gellert?"
Albus tensed slightly. The name, spoken so casually, weighed heavier on him than any other.
"Nothing beyond the obvious," he admitted. "He's still in Nurmengard. But if his acolytes are acting with such confidence, they may have received some sign."
"The stars..." Nicolas murmured, talking to himself. Then he turned to his former disciple. "You know better than anyone what that means... Albus."
Albus closed his eyes for a moment.
"Gellert was always able to move the world with the power of his words alone. If he still retains his influence... the danger is no less than it was fifty years ago."
Perenelle, who had remained calm, placed her hand on Nicolas's, then looked firmly at Albus.
"What worries me most are not the acolytes, nor even Gellert. What worries me is that young people like Aurelian are destined to inherit a conflict that began long before they were born."
The silence lingered, broken only by the song of a bird in one of the nearby trees.
Nicolas leaned forward, fixing his gaze on his disciple once more.
"Albus, you know how strong he is becoming. But you also know why he should not yet bear the burden of these battles."
"I know," replied Dumbledore, sighing. "And believe me, I respect that. But the day will come when we can no longer hide anything from him. I hope that when that day comes... it will not be too late."
The tension hung over the table like an invisible weight.
Perenelle was the first to smile, although her expression did not hide her sadness.
"That's why we let him laugh, eat, feel part of a family. Because that way, if one day he has to face the darkness, it won't consume him."
Albus watched them both silently, bowing his head in respect. He understood the truth in those words, even though doubt remained in his heart.
Nicolas took the photograph of Vinda again and, with a wave of his hand, reduced it to ashes.
"For now, all that matters is that Aurelian continues to grow. When the time comes... we'll see if that's what the world needs."
Aurelian sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his fists clenched. He could still feel the frustration burning in his chest.
"It's always the same..." he muttered under his breath. "They say I'm strong, that I can handle anything, but as soon as something serious comes up, they treat me like a child."
The room was dimly lit by the light filtering in from the garden. The murmur of voices lingered in the air, like something he couldn't access.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He had learned not to let himself be carried away by anger; anger was a double-edged sword. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts take shape.
"If Grindelwald... if he really is on the move again..."
The name weighed heavily on his mind. He had read and heard enough to understand who he was. A man capable of shaking entire nations, of dragging crowds behind an impossible ideal.
"If this Grindelwald is like the Dumbledore of this world..." he whispered, letting out an almost amused laugh amid all the tension.
He opened his eyes. His pupils gleaming with icy certainty.
"Then... my father will be the least of my problems."
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