The fire in the fireplace cast long, dancing shadows on the circular walls of the office.
Nicolas Flamel, with a raspy voice full of wisdom and knowledge of old storytellers, began to tell a story that every magical child knew by heart: The Tale of the Three Brothers. He spoke of a bridge over a treacherous river, of Death feeling cheated, and of the three gifts he granted: an invincible wand, a stone to revive the dead, and a cloak to hide from death itself.
Aurelian listened quietly, keeping his expression carefully neutral, though inside his mind was racing. He knew the story. He knew the truth behind the myth better than anyone else in that room.
When Nicolas finished, silence fell over the room.
"It's a fascinating tale, Nicolas," said Aurelian, leaning forward slightly and frowning in confusion. "But I still don't understand what an old children's story by Beedle the Bard has to do with me and my family."
Perenelle Flamel smiled at him with a mixture of affection and sincere concern.
"It's not just a story, my boy," explained Perenelle, her voice soft. "The brothers in the story really existed. They were the Peverell brothers. And the Gaunts, Aurelian, are not only one of the oldest and darkest families in Britain, being direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin... they are also the last blood heirs of Cadmus Peverell. The middle brother."
"The brother who received the Resurrection Stone" Nicolas completed, nodding slowly.
Aurelian blinked and nodded, pretending that the revelation of his Peverell lineage was a new piece in the puzzle of his mind.
"Almost a century ago," Nicolas continued, his gaze shifting between Aurelian and the headmaster, "three brilliant young people became obsessed with the idea of gathering these three objects. They believed that together they would become the Masters of Death, as the stories tell. Those young people were Gellert Grindelwald, Marianne Elsenburg, and... Albus Dumbledore."
Aurelian looked away toward Dumbledore. The headmaster, who normally radiated an aura of wise old age, seemed to have suddenly lost color. A small, deeply melancholic smile curved his lips as he stared into the flames, lost in the ghosts of his youth, remembering his time with Gellert and Marianne.
"Those were simpler times, with children having a dream, a dangerous desire," Dumbledore murmured to himself.
"Gellert was the one who became most obsessed with it," Perenelle interjected, her tone becoming sharper. "To the point that he adopted the symbol of the Deathly Hallows—the triangle, the circle, and the line—as his own personal banner during his campaign of terror."
Dumbledore blinked, coming out of his reverie, and looked at the Flamels with a frown.
"This is all ancient history, Nicolas. Why are you telling Aurelian this now? What has changed that I need to see it?
Nicolas crossed the room and placed a heavy, warm hand on Aurelian's shoulder.
"Because Grindelwald is moving his pieces again, Albus," said the alchemist gravely. "Since his escape, he has been rebuilding his network. He still fervently believes that obtaining those three objects is the key to achieving his goals."
Nicolas looked Aurelian straight in the eye.
"Aurelian, he's going to try to attack you. He knows about your lineage. He's convinced that the Resurrection Stone has been passed down through the Gaunt family and that you now have it."
For a split second, surprise broke through Aurelian's mask. His dark eyes widened slightly.
"So soon?" thought Aurelian, feeling his future plans beginning to unravel dangerously. "I didn't expect to become a priority target for Grindelwald while I'm still at Hogwarts." However, his surprise gave way to iron determination. Never, under any circumstances, would he hand over the stone to that old wizard. That artifact was his.
Seeking to change the focus and divert attention from the conversation, Aurelian looked at Dumbledore.
"But are these artifacts... real?" Aurelian asked, injecting a tone of skepticism into his voice. "Aren't the Deathly Hallows just a myth to scare children?"
Dumbledore watched him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he took his wand from his robe and placed it on the surface of his desk. The Elder Wand, with its distinctive spheres carved along its length, seemed to vibrate with a dangerous and silent magic in the light of the fire.
"As real as you and I, Aurelian," Dumbledore said firmly. "This is the Elder Wand. I took it from Gellert Grindelwald himself when I defeated him in 1945."
Aurelian looked at Dumbledore's wand, tempted by the power it radiated, before shaking his head and looking at Nicolas.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Grindelwald is only chasing a ghost," Aurelian lied with chilling conviction, maintaining eye contact without blinking. "If the Resurrection Stone ever belonged to my family, it was lost long ago. As I believe you know, the Gaunts before me squandered the fortune and destroyed the family legacy. I have no stone."
It was the perfect lie, cloaked in the tragic reality of the Gaunts' decline before he took the reins. Obviously, the stone was in his possession, protected under powerful spells that even Dumbledore himself could not unravel—he had made sure of that.
Perenelle sighed, clasping her hands in front of her with obvious concern.
"Even if you don't have it, Aurelian, that doesn't matter to them," Perenelle warned, leaning in to touch his cheek. "Grindelwald won't believe you. He wants those objects at any cost. And neither he nor his acolytes will stop in their search. You must be very careful from now on, both inside and outside the walls of this castle."
Aurelian, pretending that the weight of this revelation was too much for him, slowly sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. He rested his elbows on the armrests and clasped his hands together.
Dumbledore watched him with empathy and offered him a reassuring smile.
"I know this may be a lot to process, Aurelian," said the headmaster softly. "Discovering that you are the target of a wizard of Gellert's stature is not easy. But I want you to know that as long as you are under this roof, I will protect you. I will not allow Gellert to touch you."
Aurelian nodded, playing the role of the grateful student.
Nicolas Flamel, however, did not seem so relaxed. He turned to Dumbledore, his brow still furrowed.
"That is a noble promise, Albus, but there is another student under your care whom you should be equally concerned about. Grindelwald is not only looking for the Gaunts."
Dumbledore sighed and nodded heavily.
"I know, Master. Don't worry, I'm keeping a close eye on him too."
Aurelian, though he knew exactly where the conversation was headed, decided to play his cards close to his chest. He looked up, feigning curiosity.
"Who is it?" he asked. "Is there another descendant of the Peverells at the school?"
Nicolas and Dumbledore exchanged a long, thoughtful look, but it was Perenelle who finally broke the silence, leaning closer to Aurelian.
"It's Harry Potter, dear," revealed the old witch.
Nicolas nodded, resuming the explanation in his history teacher tone.
"You see, Aurelian, just as your family descends from Cadmus, the Potters are direct descendants of the third brother: Ignotus Peverell. Therefore, young Harry possesses the third relic: the Cloak of Invisibility. The one that does not wear out over time and cannot be detected by spells."
Upon hearing this, Aurelian had to make a monumental effort not to burst out laughing in the middle of the office.
A faint smile, which the adults interpreted as nervousness, appeared on his lips. In his mind, memories of how he had manipulated circumstances to obtain the third relic danced with amusement. Aurelian had made sure that Harry only possessed an exceptionally well-made fake, a good cloak, but not the real relic, which would hopefully lose its magic in about ten years, becoming a simple old rag.
Of course, he wasn't going to share that little detail with anyone.
Aurelian snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the three adults in front of him.
"Tell me something," Aurelian said, injecting a tone of intrigue into his voice. "According to legend... Do you really believe that whoever obtains the three objects will become the 'Master of Death'? Is it possible to achieve immortality that way?"
Nicolas Flamel, the only man in the room who had truly tasted immortality through his philosopher's stone, simply shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of ignorance.
"No one knows for sure, lad," replied Nicolas. "It's a mystery that even I haven't been able to unravel. Why? Because no one in all of history has ever managed to possess all three relics at the same time. It's a myth upon another myth."
Aurelian slowly turned his gaze to Dumbledore's oak desk. There, the Elder Wand still rested.
"No one knows because no one has been strong or clever enough to gather them all," thought Aurelian. He already had the Stone. He had the Cloak. Only one item was missing. For a second, the temptation to snatch the wand from the desk crossed his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. Albus Dumbledore was not an opponent he could defeat.
"All in good time," he promised himself.
Abandoning the subject of the Hallows, Dumbledore crossed his arms and looked at his old mentor.
"Let's move on," Albus began. "What are his plans for the future, Nicolas? Where is Gellert concentrating his forces right now?"
The atmosphere in the office seemed to change suddenly. The Flamels' gaze turned somber, almost fearful.
"He's heading east," Nicolas replied in a whisper. "Deep into Russia. He's looking for Kazimir Volyov."
Dumbledore's blue eyes widened, his composure completely gone. A flash of pure alarm crossed his face.
"Are you talking about the Archmage Kazimir Volyov?" asked Aurelian, genuinely concerned.
Dumbledore and the Flamels nodded.
"Of all the Archmages who walk this world, Aurelian," Dumbledore murmured, his voice full of concern, "Kazimir is, by far, the one about whom I have the least information. He is a ghost. A hermit who operates under his own inscrutable laws, and no one has heard from him in twenty years."
"Kazimir is dangerous," Nicolas interjected, clenching his fist. "Very, very dangerous. His mastery of the dark arts and rituals is unparalleled. If Gellert manages to convince him to join his cause..."
Nicolas didn't finish the sentence, but everyone in the room understood. If Grindelwald and Volyov joined forces, the coming war would make the First Wizarding War look like a bar brawl.
"It's unlikely that Kazimir will join him," Albus tried to reason, rubbing his beard. "Kazimir despises politics and ideological 'causes'. Gellert has nothing to offer him that he cannot take for himself."
"That's true, Albus," Perenelle agreed, though her face showed no relief. "But the mere fact that Grindelwald is willing to cross that line and seek him out is deeply troubling. It shows desperation. Or worse, that he has something he wants."
Aurelian remained silent, listening to the conversation.
The board was expanding. It was no longer just a matter of dealing with his father's rebirth or pulling the strings of the tournament from the shadows. Grindelwald was finally taking action, and powerful figures such as the Archmages were entering the equation.
"I am strong," Aurelian thought, feeling the magic pulsing through his veins, "but for this war, it will not be enough."
He knew what he had to do. He had to accelerate his research into the Arcane Patterns and find a way to increase his power much faster than he had planned.
"I need to become stronger," Aurelian murmured, as the flames in the fireplace reflected in his cold, dark eyes. "And I need to do it as soon as possible."
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