The sound of the last arrivals was still echoing through the lobby when Hestia and Flora clung to Aurelian in one last, tight embrace.
"You'll do perfectly, my love. We're sure of it," Hestia whispered in his ear, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.
Flora nodded, smoothing out a wrinkle in her fiancé's tunic.
"Dazzle them all," she added with a proud smile on her face.
After one last glance, the girls gracefully stepped away from him and walked toward the head table, where Alaric Carrow and the rest of his family were already waiting for them.
Aurelian was left alone for a moment. He smiled slightly, took a crystal glass from a floating tray passing by his side, and with a steady stride, made his way toward the center of the immense ballroom.
As he advanced, the conversations began to die down. One by one, the heads of the wizards and witches turned toward him. From the silent, deadly Death Eaters to the imposing archmages at the Flamel table, everyone watched him with almost suffocating attention.
Aurelian felt his heart begin to race. The weight of hundreds of scrutinizing gazes threatened to crush his usual confidence. He was the absolute center of the world in that moment.
He stopped in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes for a split second and took a deep breath, recalling an old saying he had read in one of his mother's diaries: "The brave are not those who have no fear, but those who, even when afraid, take action."
He opened his eyes. The panic receded, replaced by a clear determination to face his own fears.
He let out a small sigh, widened his smile, and began to walk slowly across the room, making eye contact with the various people gathered that evening.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" He raised his voice, clear and resonant, projecting it throughout the hall without needing to use a Sonorus. "I want to offer my most sincere thanks to each and every one of you for accepting this invitation. I know there is a lot of anticipation tonight, and I hope, from the bottom of my heart, to fully satisfy your curiosity with what Mr. Filch and I have developed."
He paused and gave a small, elegant bow to his guests.
"But before the revelations, please enjoy your meal. The night is young. Bon appétit!"
His words were immediately followed by a wave of respectful applause. Classical music began to play softly in the background once more, and the food began to appear on the tables, sparking lively murmurs among the guests at the sight of such diverse dishes.
Having officially kicked off the evening and diverted everyone's attention for a moment, Aurelian slipped through the tables to look for his partner.
He found Argus Filch sitting at a small side table near the curtains. The caretaker was staring intently at his heaping plate, unable to take a single bite. His hands were clasped in his lap, clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
Aurelian approached silently and sat down in the chair next to him.
Filch jumped, startled. Realizing who it was, he lowered his gaze, embarrassed by his reaction.
"I… I'm sorry, lad," Argus murmured in a trembling voice, wiping his sweaty palms on his fine ceremonial robes. "It's just that… I'm terrified. To appear before so many people, before the entire Wizengamot, before the Archmages and those foreign wizards… I'm just a Squib. I feel like they're going to laugh the moment I step onto that stage."
Aurelian looked at him with understanding. There was no pity in his eyes, only the respect he had come to feel for the man. He gave him a reassuring smile and placed a firm hand on the old man's shoulder.
"Argus, listen to me carefully," Aurelian said in a low tone that brooked no argument. "We've already done the hardest part. We spent months perfecting it, we failed, we blew up a few walls, and finally we managed to create something new and revolutionary that no one in history had ever done before."
Aurelian squeezed his shoulder lightly.
"Now all that's left is the easy part: presenting it to the world and watching their jaws drop. No one is going to mock or laugh at you. And if anyone does, I'll personally make sure they swallow their laughter and their words."
Argus looked up. Aurelian's confident words seemed to give him a little courage. He swallowed, nodded slowly, and sat up straight in his chair, managing to calm himself a little. However, the tremor in his hands didn't disappear entirely.
Aurelian withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair. He couldn't blame him; no matter how calm he tried to appear, he himself felt a knot in his stomach. They were about to challenge the way their society viewed magic; he didn't know exactly how they would react.
Time seemed to fly by. Once the plates were clean and all the desserts had been eaten, the murmur in the room began to die down naturally. Anticipation filled the air once more.
Aurelian exchanged a glance with Filch and nodded. It was time to make history.
Together, the brilliant Lord Gaunt and the humble Hogwarts caretaker walked down the central aisle, heading toward the large dark-wood platform that had been specially prepared for the occasion at the front of the hall.
The silence that fell over Gaunt Manor was total. Not even the clink of a glass could be heard. Dark wizards, heroes of the light, ancient alchemists, and archmages fixed their eyes on them.
As he climbed the steps and stood in the center of the stage, Aurelian felt his fear fade away, replaced by the pure adrenaline of the moment.
He smiled, letting his gaze wander over every attentive face in the crowd. He lifted his chin, letting the silence stretch out for a few more seconds to build maximum tension, and finally spoke.
"What is magic?"
The question hung in the air.
"What is magic?"
The guests looked at one another, visibly confused. Everyone frowned at the apparent simplicity of the question. They didn't know exactly what the young lord meant, or whether it was a rhetorical question or a genuine invitation to participate.
Aurelian stood in the center of the stage, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently for at least one person to attempt an answer.
The silence was broken from the table of the Gray Faction.
Hopping slightly in her chair to see over the adults' shoulders, little Astoria Greengrass raised her hand. In a shy voice, she answered what she understood magic to be: making nice things happen when you wanted them to.
The tension in the room evaporated. The cold masks of high society melted away, and many of those present smiled and even let out little laughs at the girl's sweet and innocent answer.
Aurelian nodded, smiled at little Greengrass, and thanked her for her courage in answering.
"Astoria is absolutely right," Aurelian began, walking slowly across the stage, his voice taking on a newfound strength. "For me, magic is built on three pillars. Imagination, to constantly create new things that don't exist in nature. Creativity, to think of new ways to perceive and interact with the energy around us. And Will—the strength to bring your desires to life."
As he spoke, he raised a hand. A small, glowing sphere of golden light sprang from his fingertips. The sphere began to travel across the entire hall, flying over the guests' heads, taking all manner of forms: a phoenix, a deer, a serpent. And finally, when Aurelian finished his sentence, the light burst into a shower of beautiful sparks over the crowd.
Aurelian stepped aside, yielding the center of the stage.
Argus Filch stepped forward, trembling slightly. Aurelian looked at him and gave him a supportive smile.
Argus clung to the edges of the lectern. He looked at the crowd and swallowed hard.
"I… I came here with a whole speech prepared on these scrolls to give you today," Argus began, his rough voice echoing through the hall. "But… I realize that reading this now is pointless."
He smiled weakly at everyone, setting the scrolls aside.
"Ever since I realized I was a Squib as a child, my life has been a shadow. I always looked for some way, any way, to perform magic. I read books, tried rituals, tried all sorts of things just to produce even the tiniest spark of light. And I always... failed."
Argus spoke with such conviction, with such real pain and such deep emotion in his voice, that even the most extreme Pure-bloods paid him their full attention.
Aurelian snapped his fingers. A blank sheet of parchment and a brush appeared, floating gently through the air, coming to rest right next to Argus.
The caretaker took the brush in a steady hand.
"Just when I thought I was finally going to make it, something would always slip through my fingers and everything would go wrong," Argus continued. He turned his head to look at Aurelian and let out a small, weary laugh. "In the end, I realized that the only thing I needed to make my greatest dream come true... were the crazy ideas of the boy standing right here beside me."
Aurelian spoke again, stepping closer to the edge of the platform.
"Magic is present in everything and everyone. Wherever you look, there will be magic. Some places, some objects, and some people have more magic than others," Aurelian explained, smiling broadly. "As you all know, the current paradigm dictates that a mage's power comes from their internal magical reserves. The more reserves you have, the stronger you are, in theory."
Most of the guests nodded in agreement. It was the fundamental law of their world, the very thing that distinguished an ordinary mage from an Archmage.
Aurelian narrowed his eyes. His tone grew as sharp as a blade, and he spoke without mincing words.
"That way of thinking... that rigid, archaic mindset, is exactly what has the magical world stuck in a rut and unable to progress."
A murmur rippled through several tables. Many traditionalists felt deeply offended by the young man's insolence, while others—the more open-minded in the room—accepted it in silence, waiting to see where he was going with this.
Aurelian pointed at Argus with complete conviction.
"But now, with this… even a Squib can use the world's magic to their advantage. Mr. Filch, if you'd do me the honor."
Argus nodded. He traced a complex, swift Pattern onto the sheet of paper with the brush. No sooner had the last stroke of ink glowed than an immense flame shot from the paper toward the center of the hall, roaring loudly before vanishing into thin air.
The wizards and witches gasped in shock at the same time. Some even stood up, unable to believe that a man without magical reserves had just conjured pure fire.
Aurelian watched their reactions with delight before continuing.
"As you've just seen, Mr. Filch, lacking a magical core, needs a catalyst—in this case, ink and paper—to channel ambient magic through what we call Arcane Patterns," Aurelian explained. "But I don't need any external catalyst."
He raised his right hand and drew an Arcane Pattern directly in the air.
With a deafening roar, an oriental dragon made entirely of green lightning materialized in the center of the hall, flying in circles above the stage and illuminating the astonished faces of the guests before dissipating into harmless static. Immediately afterward, Aurelian drew another pattern on the floor. From the wood of the stage, a rosebush sprouted and grew at a dizzying speed, blooming with beautiful and deadly emerald-green roses.
Silence fell over Gaunt Manor. Awe had paralyzed them all.
Aurelian opened his arms, embracing his entire audience.
"Magic is the power to shape reality into whatever we want it to be," he declared in a voice that made the hall's crystal chandeliers tremble. "And from this night forward, ladies and gentlemen... the only limit for a wizard or witch will be their intention and their conviction to shape the reality they desire."
The hall remained in shock for five long seconds.
Then, it erupted. Hestia and Flora, standing at their table, were the first to applaud. Their enthusiasm broke the spell, and a moment later, the rest of the guests burst into a thunderous ovation, still bewildered, still trying to process the magnitude of the display and the words of that boy.
At the table in the back, Solomon Graye couldn't stop laughing. It was a deep, hoarse laugh, revealing exactly how he felt in that moment.
"By all the gods!" Solomon exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. "It's been a long, long time since I've seen anything so fascinating!"
Nicolas Flamel, sitting beside him and clapping with a proud smile, leaned toward the blind archmage.
"I told you, Solomon. My disciple is the best."
Solomon nodded repeatedly, his eyes fixed on the stage, watching the swirls of magic the boy had left in the air.
"You were right, Nicolas," Solomon conceded, his smile widening. "The boy really does have something special. I can't wait to see how far he'll go."
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