Summer had reached its warmest point, and the air in Little Hangleton was so clear that the horizon looked like a painting with a life of its own. In the garden of Gaunt Manor, a gentle breeze stirred the flowers that Stinky had planted in honor of Elaine, which he claimed were her favorites, and the sound of water running through the central fountain filled every corner with calm.
Aurelian stood by one of the windows in the main hall, looking outside with a steaming cup of tea in his hands.
The silence of the place contrasted with the intensity of the last year at Hogwarts. It was a year without any major surprises. Without his father's diary, there were no mysteries hidden in the shadows waiting to be found... a normal year, as far as his life could afford such a thing.
Slytherin House had won the House Cup by a wide margin, a credit shared between the efforts of its students and, in particular, Aurelian's impeccable tactics in enchantment and dueling classes.
Even Professor Snape, who rarely smiled, had given him a silent nod of approval on the last day of the school year.
Hestia and Flora had celebrated in their own way, organizing an impromptu dinner in the dungeons with their closest friends, although the real celebration came later, when the lights went out and only the three of them remained... laughing in the darkness.
Now, a few days later, life in the mansion had returned to normal.
Stinky kept the house spotless and prepared meals worthy of a nobleman, Aurelian spent his mornings reviewing some of the books the Flamels had given him, and in the afternoons he meditated and practiced energy control and enchantments in the dueling room.
There was something constantly on his mind. Something that, even though he tried to ignore it, kept him in a state of curious anticipation:
The Wizengamot.
A gathering of the 'powerful', of the oldest families in the country, of wizards who had woven the history of the United Kingdom with blood, gold, and secrets... many secrets.
The place where the laws of the magical world were decided and where, for the first time, he would take his seat as Lord Gaunt, heir to the Slytherin lineage.
He set the cup down on the table, exhaling calmly.
"The Wizengamot..." he murmured to himself. "I wonder how different they will be from the men Kravix spoke so much about, or if in the end they will be all bark and no bite."
He walked toward the portrait hanging in the main hallway, a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. He had obtained it during his visit to the Gaunt vault... one of the last possessions they had been able to keep before he took charge. It had been carefully restored so that he could communicate with his ancestor without needing the stone. The ancient founder watched him from the painting, his piercing dark eyes and serene expression.
"What do you think, Salazar?" Aurelian asked with a smile. "What do you think it will be like to sit at the table with those old snakes?"
The portrait responded after a few seconds of silence, his deep voice resonating with a hint of wisdom and amusement.
"You'd be surprised, my heir. Some of those men pretend to have power, but their magic is as weak as their will. Just remember that true power doesn't need to be shown off, it's simply felt."
Aurelian nodded respectfully.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"And remember," added Salazar Slytherin with a sharp gleam in his eyes, "when you enter that room, don't see them as your equals... but as your rivals."
The young Lord smiled calmly.
His fingers brushed Slytherin's ring, the same one that had belonged to Salazar generations ago and within which rested the essence of his ancestral lineage.
The air in the mansion vibrated slightly with his magic, more powerful, more refined, and above all, controlled. It was a sensation that had become instinctive.
As Stinky entered with a breakfast tray, Aurelian turned toward the window once more. The sky seemed to foreshadow change. The world was shifting, the pieces were beginning to fall into place, and he would finally be an active player on the political stage in the United Kingdom.
"So..." he said in a low voice with a smile on his face, "let the game begin."
Stinky looked at him with a mixture of pride and concern, but Aurelian just smiled back calmly. The title of Lord Gaunt was not just an honor, it was a responsibility, a mask and a sword that he still had to learn to wield with elegance.
The Wizengamot meeting was approaching, and with it, the beginning of a new stage in his life.
The streets of Diagon Alley were bustling with activity that morning.
The metallic sound of coins being counted at Gringotts mingled with the murmur of merchants and the sweet aroma wafting from Sugarplum's Sweets Shop.
Aurelian descended the steps of the bank with the bearing of someone who no longer belonged entirely to the hustle and bustle of everyday life. His black robe, adorned with subtle silver filigree of the Gaunt crest, fell elegantly with each step he took.
Kravix had accompanied him to the exit, making sure all the documents were in order for that afternoon's session.
"Remember, Lord Gaunt," said the goblin with his usual seriousness, "The seat you will claim today has not been occupied in almost a century. Everyone will want to see it, measure it, and some will want to test it."
Aurelian nodded serenely.
"Then it will be fun," he replied with a hint of irony.
The goblin bowed his head complacently and climbed the steps until he disappeared behind the doors of the bank.
Aurelian took a deep breath, letting the morning air clear his thoughts. He was about to start walking when a familiar, calm, deep voice interrupted him from his side.
"Well, Lord Gaunt, it's not every day you see a young man leaving Gringotts with the look of someone who is about to change the fate of a country," said someone amused.
Aurelian turned his head slightly and saw him.
Albus Dumbledore, in his midnight blue robe and with his characteristic intelligent gleam in his eyes, approached with a calm gait, holding a wooden cane that he clearly did not need for support, but rather as a symbol of his rank.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Aurelian greeted him courteously, bowing his head slightly. "I'm afraid I was just organizing a few details before this afternoon's meeting."
Dumbledore smiled, with that expression that mixed humor and complicity.
"Ah yes... young Lord Gaunt making his political debut. I must admit it's an interesting sight for a man of my age."
Aurelian raised an eyebrow.
"Would it make it seem that you no longer belong in that arena, sir?"
"Oh, not at all, I still enjoy watching it," replied the Archmage lightly. "Some say that the Wizengamot is a more dangerous battlefield than any duel between wizards. In a way, they are right."
The young man smiled, and the two began walking together down the alley.
The hustle and bustle seemed to fade as they passed, as if the air itself recognized the presence of two forces that did not belong on the same plane as the rest.
"If you have no immediate plans," said Dumbledore after a few moments of silence, "you could accompany me to the Ministry. I was about to stop by to review some documents... and I would like to take the opportunity to show you the place before your grand appearance."
Aurelian considered the offer for a second.
"Show me around?"
"Let's just say," replied the Archmage with a smile that betrayed his experience, "that it's better to know the cave before facing the dragons that live in it."
The answer elicited a slight chuckle from Aurelian.
"I accept your proposal, Headmaster."
"Excellent, just what I wanted to hear. What's more," added Dumbledore as he elegantly twirled his wand, producing a silver key, "I have direct access through a private network. Much more efficient than crowded chimneys."
Aurelian looked at the object with curiosity, noticing the delicate magic emanating from it.
"A personal key-shaped portkey... I suppose from the days when you still moved beyond the walls of Hogwarts."
"Great deduction, Aurelian," Dumbledore replied with a nostalgic gleam in his eye. "Teaching doesn't only happen in classrooms."
They both took the key, and in an instant, the air around them distorted. Diagon Alley vanished in a swirl of light and was replaced by the majestic lobby of the Ministry of Magic.
Aurelian looked up calmly, observing the tall golden arches and sculptures representing the founders of the British magical council. The walls were covered with ancient, enchanting paintings depicting decisive moments in British magical history.
Dumbledore watched him out of the corner of his eye, amused by his apparent serenity.
"You don't seem impressed."
"I've been here before," Aurelian said with a slight smile, "but I admit the Ministry has its... charm."
"That's how they prefer it to be seen," the Archmage nodded. "To show stability, tradition, power, and... control of British society."
Aurelian turned his head, interested.
"Control?"
"Of course," replied Dumbledore. "Every symbol here is designed to remind you that magic needs order, a hierarchy. But the truth is that magic belongs to those who can master it."
The young man nodded, understanding more than he let on.
They both walked through the lobby, attracting the attention of employees and wizards. Some recognized Dumbledore and bowed their heads respectfully, while others looked with discreet curiosity at the boy in the black robe and serene aura who accompanied him.
"In a few hours," said the Archmage as they ascended a marble staircase, "all those eyes will be on you. Not because of what you can do... but because of what you represent."
Aurelian looked at him calmly.
"And you, Headmaster, what do you think I represent?"
Dumbledore watched him silently for a few seconds, weighing his words.
"The new generation," he said at last. "The one that could remake this world or destroy it... again."
Aurelian smiled without looking away.
"Then I will make sure it is the former, Headmaster."
The Archmage let out a soft chuckle.
"I know, Aurelian. That is why I trust you more than you realize."
The conversation faded away amid the echo of their footsteps and the glow of the main hall as they both made their way to the high chambers of the Wizengamot.
The magical politics of Great Britain were about to begin.
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