HP: The Son of Tom Chapter 165 - 165 Why

The silence in the headmaster's office was absolute. Albus Dumbledore's words still hung in the air, foretelling a future that no one in that room had anticipated or even imagined.

Aurelian blinked a couple of tis, processing the magnitude of that offer. He looked at the powerful headmaster of Hogwarts, and then at the stunned professors surrounding them. Finally, he let out a slow sigh and settled into his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

"To be completely honest, Headmaster… I don't know how to take that proposal," Aurelian admitted, his voice regaining its usual tone. "It's quite a heavy burden to place on the shoulders of a student who isn't even in his final year."

Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. He smiled at him sympathetically, that characteristic sparkle in his blue eyes.

"You don't have to give an answer right now, Aurelian," Dumbledore said kindly. "It's just an idea I have. I see your potential, your ideas, and your ability to lead. I only ask that you think it over and then give an honest answer."

Aurelian nodded slowly. A spark ignited in his eyes like a fla. If the most influential wizard in the country wanted him on his side, he was going to collect a favor in advance.

A businesslike smile appeared on the young lord's face.

"Don't worry, Professor, of course I'll think about it," Aurelian conceded. "But since we're talking about my future and my potential... the truth is, I could really use your help with sothing else... more urgent right now."

Dumbledore looked at him, clearly amused by the sudden change in attitude. He rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his fingertips together.

"Oh, really? And what does the heir of Slytherin require my humble assistance for?"

Aurelian leaned forward slightly.

"As you know, my work with Mr. Filch on the Arcane Patterns has been a reality for so ti now," he began to explain, his tone taking on that of a craftsman presenting his masterpiece. "We've managed to get everything working perfectly, and they're even officially patented in both our nas at Gringotts, the Ministry, and the respective international entities. But, to be frank, I could really use a little help from you in introducing them to the entire wizarding world."

Aurelian made a dismissive gesture with his hand, downplaying the importance of the man's status before him.

"You know… with all that stuff about you being a highly renowned Archmage, the Head of the Wizengamot and the Confederation, the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, and blah, blah, blah. Your face sells—and it sells big ti."

The sheer audacity with which Aurelian sumd up and dismissed Albus Dumbledore's legendary titles with a simple "blah, blah, blah" had an instant effect on the room.

Professor McGonagall let out a little snort, forcing her to quickly cover her mouth to hide the fact that the corners of her lips were trembling with amusent. Professor Snape rolled his eyes, snorting at the boy's arrogance, yet unable to hide a look of approval. Even the paranoid and grumpy Alastor Moody let out a snort that turned into a faint and very, very small smile.

Dumbledore let out a hearty, crystal-clear laugh. He scratched his perfectly shaved chin, his eyes sparkling with genuine delight.

"I've always been looking for a way to help Argus find his place in our world," the headmaster remarked, his tone growing more thoughtful and warm. "And from what I can see of your results, this would be the best and fairest way to do it. "You have my support, Aurelian. What exactly do you need?"

"I hope you'll help organize a press conference or a eting," Aurelian requested imdiately, without missing a beat. "I want you to convene it in front of as many important people as possible and influential journalists you know. I want the whole world to see what a Squib can achieve. And you shouldn't worry at all about the costs of such an event—money is the least of my concerns; I have Galleons to throw out the windows."

"Bah!" Moody growled, thumping his cane on the floor, his smile vanishing instantly. "That all sounds very nice, Gaunt. But if those so-called 'Arcane Patterns' are as revolutionary and powerful as you claim, wouldn't it be a terrible idea to reveal them to the world right now? There are literally two genocidal maniacs on the loose who could use them to arm their armies!"

Before Aurelian could sharpen his tongue to reply, a sharp, indignant voice cut in.

"Knowledge must be shared, Alastor!" Filius Flitwick interjected, nearly leaping out of his chair to confront his colleague. "Withholding a discovery of this magnitude out of fear would be a cri against magic itself. It is only by sharing knowledge and new ideas that people's imaginations flourish and new ideas are born. Magic will evolve because of this!"

Aurelian nodded to the diminutive professor in gratitude before fixing his cold gaze on the old Auror.

"Professor Flitwick is absolutely right, Mr. Moody," said Aurelian, his voice carrying a maturity unbecoming of his age. "I do not deny that this magic could fall into dangerous hands. All power carries that risk. But if we continue to act driven solely by fear of what wizards with dark intentions might do, we will never move forward."

Aurelian stood up slowly, letting his gaze wander over each of the adults in the room.

"Look around you. Take a look at our society. Wizards have beco stagnant. We've been using exactly the sa spells, the sa types of wands, the sa tactics, and the sa magical theory for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. While Muggles build machines that take them to the stars and weapons that wipe out cities in seconds, we're still arguing about the thickness of cauldrons. If we don't evolve now, if we don't take a leap forward… the wizarding world will eventually die out under its own diocrity, with or without a Dark Lord in the picture."

The silence that followed those words was crushing.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, and even Moody lowered their gaze almost in unison. None of them could refute a single syllable of what the young Lord had just said. It was an uncomfortable and painful truth. They had been living in a vast bubble for centuries, repeating the sa spells as their ancestors without daring to push the boundaries of what is believed to be possible.

Aurelian watched them, hoping he had planted an indelible seed in their minds. He knows better than anyone what will happen if they do not evolve.

The end of Aurelian's sixth year was quiet, to tell the truth, and before he knew it, the Hogwarts Express was already pulling into Platform 9 ¾.

When Aurelian stepped off the train, he imdiately noticed the change in the atmosphere. King's Cross Station was as usual, crowded with families picking up their children, but in the area where most of the pure-bloods gathered, the atmosphere was radically different from that of previous years.

As he walked down the platform, the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Nott, Parkinson, Rosier, and Zabini families paused their conversations. They stepped aside to clear a path for him, looking at him as if they were seeing their ssiah, their greatest idol incarnate. The mothers smiled at him with a mixture of reverence and ambition, while the fathers gave him subtle nods.

Aurelian nodded sowhat awkwardly at them with polite smiles.

"The old man hasn't been sitting still," Aurelian thought, quickly putting two and two together. "Who knows how many families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight he's t with—from what I can see, it's the vast majority."

However, this new and overwhelming attention did not go unnoticed by his fiancées. Hestia and Flora, noticing how the admiring glances—and in so cases, clear interest from the mothers of other families—were fixed on their beloved Aurelian, grew jealous.

Her instincts kicked in. The twins clung to him like shadows, gripping his arms tightly as they walked through the station, shooting hostile glances at anyone who dared to hold Aurelian's gaze for more than five seconds.

When they reached the barrier separating the magical world from the Muggle world, Aurelian stopped to say goodbye.

"I have to go, girls. I have sothing to do in London," Aurelian said, trying to gently pry himself free.

But Hestia and Flora refused to let go of him. They buried their faces in his shoulders, tightening their grip on his robes.

"We don't want to be apart from you," Hestia murmured, pouting.

"Our family mansion is so boring without you, my love," Flora added, looking at him with those beautiful, dangerous eyes of hers.

Aurelian sighed, knowing that the only way to escape his devoted and obsessive girlfriends was to make a concession.

"I promise that very soon you'll be able to co visit at Gaunt Manor. I'll send for you personally, okay?" he assured them in a low voice, stroking their hair.

Upon hearing that promise, the girls' faces lit up imdiately. The idea of being back at Aurelian's house filled them with great joy. Finally, they loosened their grip, said goodbye to him with a quick kiss, and let him go—but not before reminding him that they would be holding him to that promise very soon.

Aurelian stepped through the barrier and blended into the crowd at the Muggle station. He walked briskly until he found an alley near London's main streets.

Making sure no one saw him, he raised a hand and his Slytherin robes rippled, changing shape, texture, and color until they transford into simple yet elegant Muggle clothing: a well-tailored dark coat, a turtleneck sweater, and black trousers.

He erged from the alley and walked a couple of blocks until he reached a quaint but unassuming London café. The doorbell jingled as he entered.

At the back of the café, seated at a secluded table by the window, Nicolas and Perenelle Flal were waiting for him.

The two alchemists looked like an adorable elderly couple. When they saw him approaching, they smiled at him with a warmth that made Aurelian relax his shoulders.

"Aurelian! It's so good to see you," Nicolas greeted him, motioning for him to take a seat.

"How was the end of your school year, dear?" Perenelle asked, as a waitress set a steaming cup of tea in front of the boy.

"Pretty hectic, to be honest," Aurelian replied, taking a seat and inhaling the aroma of the tea. "But I'd say it was a resounding success."

There was a brief silence at the table as Aurelian took his first sip of the drink.

Nicolas set his own cup down on the saucer. The warmth in his face vanished, replaced by the unfathomable gravity of a man who had lived for more than eight hundred years. His eyes fixed on Aurelian.

"Aurelian," Nicolas began, his voice low but firm, "Why?"

Aurelian blinked, stopping his cup midway. His mind analyzed all his recent actions without understanding what he was being asked.

"I don't understand what you an, Master," Aurelian replied, with a look of confusion.

Perenelle, sitting beside her husband, gave Aurelian a gentle, almost lancholic smile, but her eyes shone with absolute and terrifying knowledge.

"Aurelian, my dear…" Perenelle said calmly, "Why did you revive your father?"

Aurelian's heart skipped a beat. For a split second, his perfect expression cracked. He had altered Harry Potter's mory, deceived Albus Dumbledore, outwitted the paranoid Mad-Eye Moody, and concealed his involvent from the entire Ministry of Magic. He believed he had left no loose ends.

Aurelian swallowed hard. He tried not to lose his composure, but he couldn't stop a nervous laugh from escaping his lips as he set the cup down on the table.

"Well," Aurelian muttered, running a hand through his hair, realizing that lying to these two was a futile exercise. "I suppose my masters truly do not miss a single thing in this world."

Nicolas and Perenelle exchanged a knowing glance and smiled at him again, this ti with the indulgence of those who have seen empires rise and fall.

"That's right, my dear apprentice," Nicolas replied, clasping his hands on the table. "That is exactly our job."

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