King's Cross station was still bustling with parents and students. Aurelian, with his trunk silently behind him, made his way through the crowd with a serene expression. His eyes scanned the surroundings until, in a discreet shadow between two stone columns, a hunched figure waited for him.
"Stinky," Aurelian whispered with a hint of relief.
"Young Aurelian," growled the house elf in a tone that oscillated between devotion and happiness, "Did everything go well at the castle?"
"Better than I expected," replied the boy, "though not as peaceful as I thought."
The two exchanged a knowing glance. Then Aurelian adjusted his cloak and changed his expression slightly, softening it.
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes, master. I did as you asked. Dumbledore will know that you returned to St. Eric's Orphanage... and he won't suspect that you went anywhere else. Stinky himself delivered the ssage, with an owl from Hogwarts."
Aurelian nodded with satisfaction.
"Perfect. We'll go to the orphanage first. I won't stay, but I need them to see ."
With a snap of his fingers, Stinky took him directly to a discreet corner a few blocks from the orphanage. Aurelian walked over, making noise with his shoes, pretending to be natural. Several children saw him from the fence of the inner garden and greeted him with shouts and clapping. He smiled back at them.
The director barely managed to approach him to greet him, surprised that he was back so soon. Aurelian elegantly made up that he had only co for a few things he had forgotten and that he would not be staying the night before moving to another place for the sumr.
"Headmaster Dumbledore told I could spend my days off wherever I wanted. And... I thought I'd rest in a different, quieter environnt. I hope that's not a problem," he said in his most charming tone.
The headmistress, sowhat lost in her thoughts and slightly confused, could only nod with a sowhat tense smile.
Twenty minutes later, Aurelian was back with Stinky, who was waiting for him in a back street with an old coat covering his pointed ears.
"Are we ready now, Master Aurelian?"
Aurelian looked back at the orphanage one last ti.
"Of course, now let's go ho."
A blink later, they both disappeared in a silent magical burst. They left behind the Muggle city, the hustle and bustle of trains and city traffic, to arrive at the grounds that now belonged unquestionably to the Gaunt heir.
The sturdy and charming Gaunt Mansion stood in the evening light. The basilisk statues at the entrance stood guard in silence. Their eyes seed to sparkle, as if they recognized the boy approaching.
Aurelian took a deep breath.
"Ho... sweet ho, at last."
The Gaunt Mansion. In the heart of the house was his personal bedroom. Aurelian lay back on a dark velvet sofa, the open curtains allowing him to gaze at the stars in the night sky. The flas in the fireplace danced gently, casting shadows on the walls covered with bookshelves full of books.
He had returned ho.
His first year at Hogwarts had left him with more questions than answers, but also a certainty he hadn't fully understood until now. He had carefully observed teachers, students, and even the ghosts. He had studied their reactions, their attitudes, their limits. All to confirm a single truth:
"In this world and any other, power is everything," he whispered to himself, his gaze lost in the fire.
It was not a phrase uttered at random, nor out of a thirst for power. It was a raw and cold statent, born of experience. In a place where blood, nas, lineages, and magic wove complex webs of loyalty, influence, and fear... no one was truly free without power.
Magical power opened doors, but political power sealed them so that no one else could enter.
Aurelian wanted both. No, he needed both.
Not because he longed for a crown or a throne. Not because he dread of ruling others. But because he knew that without power, one was always a puppet. A tool. A pawn on soone else's chessboard.
It was for that very reason that he never liked the character of Harry Potter. Whenever he read the books or watched the movies, he wondered how soone who was treated worse than a vagrant could trust other people so easily. He never saw Harry make his own decisions; he just let himself be led down the paths that Dumbledore had laid out for him to follow.
He knew that his surna would attract attention sooner or later. He could already feel it in the eyes of certain teachers, in the whispers of the students in the hallways. His surna was a burden, but also a key. If he played his cards right, he could turn the shadow of the Gaunts into a banner. One that would make others think twice about attacking him or his loved ones.
"Am I a dark wizard for wanting power?" he pondered. "Am I one for using all the tools at my disposal to sculpt my own destiny?"
The answer was silence. Because it didn't matter. He wasn't seeking the world's approval.
If others called him dark for mastering Parseltongue, for experinting with his own spells, for reading about magic that others avoided... then so be it. He wasn't looking to fit in. He just wanted to understand, master, transform.
And if he had to cross boundaries to achieve that, he would cross them.
He slowly got up from the sofa and walked over to his desk. On it, several scrolls with designs of magical seals floated in midair. To one side, a list of Muggle companies that he closely followed thanks to his knowledge. In the far corner, his designs for the Noxum broomsticks and an unopened letter from Kravix, which had arrived that afternoon.
It was all part of the sa project.
"I'm going to need more allies," he muttered, running his fingers over the surface of the table, as if tracing the map of his next steps. "More knowledge. More resources, I need more..."
And most importantly... ti.
He turned toward the window. The reflection of his young face overlapped with that of the stars. He was eleven years old. He was just getting started. But inside him was the will of soone who had already lived and lost a lot.
"To be free, I must beco soone no one dares to chain."
A slight glint in his eyes betrayed the intensity of his decision. He knew the road would be long. He knew he would be judged, perhaps misunderstood, even feared.
But he also knew it was all worth it.
Aurelian Gaunt would build sothing new on the ashes of the cursed nas that haunted him, and if the magical world did not agree with that... then he would transform it by force.
With wisdom. With cunning, and if necessary... with fire.
The rain gently tapped on the enchanted stained-glass windows of the mansion. In the underground dueling room, the air still vibrated with the echo of the last spells. Sweat beaded on Aurelian's forehead, but his breathing was calm and controlled. He sat in the middle of the practice circle, his robe unbuttoned, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, covered with runes that glimred faintly.
Every day he felt more attuned, more focused. He had perfected the way he channeled his magic even without a wand, and his control over silent spells already surpassed that of many adults. Even so, training was exhausting. Not because of the physical effort, but because of the concentration required to keep his mind clear and sharp as a dagger.
He sighed and let his body lie down on the cold floor, seeking a montary rest. He closed his eyes, allowing recent mories to envelop him.
The eting with Kravix had been brief but substantial. As always, the goblin wasted no ti with unnecessary words.
"All agricultural plots are officially operational," he had said, handing him a scroll with reports from local administrators. "The first harvests are already being sold to potion makers and allied distributors. Mainly basic ingredients, but of high quality. The land turned out to be more fertile than we projected."
Aurelian nodded without surprise. He knew that the land had high magical potential due to its history, not just for agricultural use. So of it was located on ancient natural energy nodes.
"As for your properties," Kravix continued, unfolding another map, "the restoration of the workshop in Godric's Hollow is complete. We preserved the original structure, but reinforced everything with modern enchantnts. The premises in Diagon Alley are now officially yours. It's located on one of the side streets, but with the right promotion, it will attract attention. The shop in Hogsade has also been restored, as you requested, and is ready for business."
Aurelian smiled slightly when he heard this. Everything was going according to plan.
"And the company?"
"GauntCorp," replied the goblin with satisfaction, "is now registered in both the wizarding world and certain Muggle comrcial networks. We will start with the Noxum brooms as soon as you authorize the first prototypes."
Aurelian did not respond at that mont. But inside, his mind was already working on the next phases: expansion and political presence.
He slowly returned to the present, still lying on the cold tiles of the basent. He opened his eyes and gazed at the stone ceiling for a mont longer.
He had everything he needed to get started:
The Gaunt Mansion, the old Gaunt cottage, which he planned to transform into a secondary base. It was already protected and hidden among the woods. The farm plots, strategically distributed and already in production. The workshop in Godric's Hollow, a place steeped in magical history that would now be his experintal developnt base. The shop in Hogsade, perfect for direct contact with students and magical families. And the new premises in Diagon Alley, the cornerstone for launching his brand and presenting himself as an entrepreneur to the magical world.
He slowly got up, letting his magic shake off its lethargy like an animal stretching its claws. Everything was moving forward. Everything was responding to a goal that only he knew.
He allowed himself a slight smile, calm but full of determination. He still had a long way to go. But he was building it stone by stone. No one was giving him anything, and soday, when everyone looked back, they would not see Voldemort's heir or the last Gaunt.
They would see Aurelian. The one who built his own empire from scratch.
In the library of Gaunt Manor, Aurelian slowly turned the pages of an ancient, dusty to entitled "Myths and Occult Symbolism of the Magical World." He had been reviewing texts on alchemy formulas and fragnts of unofficial history.
That was when he saw it. A simple symbol, engraved in black ink: a triangle, a circle, and a vertical line.
The Deathly Hallows.
He frowned slightly and silently read the brief passage:
"Three gifts given by Death itself: an unbeatable wand, a stone that brings echoes from beyond, and a cloak that defies even the eyes of the Grim Reaper..."
Aurelian leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. It wasn't the first ti he had heard tales of legendary objects, but there was sothing about that symbol, the way it was written, that made him slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't a fable like the others.
The Elder Wand.
The Resurrection Stone.
The Invisibility Cloak.
"The Deathly Hallows," he whispered softly, barely a whisper among the shelves.
He knew them. He had admired them. He had loved them. And now, more than ever, he understood their value... but above all their danger.
Seeing them nad here, in a book forgotten by ti, in this world where everything seed more alive, more complex... sent a chill down his spine.
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