A deathly silence hung over the ballroom at Gaunt Manor, finally broken when Aurelian, with a serene smile, took a step forward onto the stage.
"Does anyone have any questions? Don't be shy," he asked, his voice resonating calmly.
For a second, no one moved. The most powerful and influential guests of the magical world simply looked at one another, processing the magnitude of what they had just witnessed. And then, the dam broke.
Chaos erupted throughout the venue. Politicians, academics, aristocrats, and international envoys snapped out of their stupor and rushed en masse toward the front of the stage. They all began shouting at once, jostling one another, desperate for their questions, doubts, and demands regarding that demonstration to be answered first.
"How is it possible to channel without a core?!"
"Lord Gaunt, I demand to know the price of these patents!"
"This violates Gamp's Law! Explain yourself!"
"Will they always have a green hue when conjured, or does it depend on the person?!"
Aurelian's eyes widened, momentarily overwhelmed by the human avalanche he himself had unleashed. He raised both hands, trying to make himself heard above the din.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen, a little order! I will answer everyone!" he tried to calm the shouting, but it was completely useless. The thirst for knowledge and power had blinded them.
Suddenly, a warm presence materialized beside him. Albus Dumbledore appeared behind Aurelian and placed a firm, reassuring hand on the young lord's shoulder.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts straightened his posture and let the weight of his authority as Archmage fill the room.
"Everyone, please calm down!" Dumbledore commanded in a loud voice. It was not a shout, but it resonated with such force that it cut through the commotion instantly. "I am entirely certain that Lord Gaunt has ample time to respond to each of you, provided we maintain the composure that this evening demands."
The crowd froze. Seeing the serious, unyielding expression on Albus Dumbledore's face, the guests took a step back, lowering their heads. No one in that room, not even the boldest, was foolish enough to anger the Conqueror of Grindelwald and face the consequences.
Aurelian exhaled the breath he had been holding and turned his head.
"Thank you very much, Headmaster," he murmured in gratitude for his intervention.
Dumbledore gave him a brilliant smile and a slight nod.
"It was an absolutely brilliant performance, young man. I'll be sure to ask you my own questions in private later," replied the Archmage, stepping back to return the stage to him.
Aurelian smoothed his robes, ready to begin answering, when a voice tinged with disdain and disbelief rang out from the front rows.
"With all due respect, Lord Gaunt," said one of the wizards sent to represent the International Confederation, folding his arms, "you're asking us to believe that this is real. But frankly, I find it very, very hard to believe that a Squib—a being without a shred of magic in their body—could have even helped with or understood something as complex as this. "This must be some elaborate illusion on his part to improve his image."
Immediately, several more traditionalist wizards and witches in the crowd nodded skeptically. Others, unable to set aside their blood-based prejudices, laughed openly, casting looks of pure mockery toward the figure of the caretaker.
To one side of the stage, Argus Filch stood. Far from cowering or trembling, the elderly Squib stood tall. He held his chin high, his expression stoic, not flinching in the slightest at the taunts and accusations. He knew this would happen; the world was always like this with him. He had expected it; he knew what he had achieved, and those comments would not affect him.
Aurelian's smile vanished. His eyes turned icy, and he let a fraction of his magical power seep into the air, applying a slight pressure that choked the mockers' laughter in their throats, silencing them instantly.
Aurelian pointed at his partner with an open hand and looked at the crowd with utter seriousness.
"You're very much mistaken," Aurelian declared, his voice cutting through the air like a razor. "If you're looking for the true genius behind all this, he's right here beside me. The whole concept, the entire mechanism, and the underlying calculations... the true creator of the Arcane Patterns is him: Argus Filch."
Aurelian let the revelation sink in like a leaden weight, smiling slightly at the caretaker.
"I was merely the tool that helped him complete it. I simply provided the magic he lacked to test his theories and bring his idea to completion.
Aurelian stepped toward the edge of the platform, looking directly at the Confederation wizard who had spoken.
"So I invite you all to swallow your pride, set aside your ignorance, and give a big, well-deserved round of applause on behalf of Argus Filch. The Squib who has just changed the way we view magic forever."
Without waiting for the crowd, Aurelian raised his hands and began clapping loudly.
Barely a second later, Albus Dumbledore joined him, clapping with a small chuckle. Beside him, Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel stood up and began to cheer for the caretaker.
The weight of those figures was enough that, one by one, the Ministry officials, the foreign envoys, and the pure-blood families began to clap. The sound grew, multiplying until it became a thunderous, deafening ovation, directed solely and exclusively at the "insignificant" Squib they had been mocking just minutes before.
On the stage, Argus Filch was completely speechless.
His hands trembled. He pressed his lips together, making a superhuman effort not to let the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes fall. The emotions overwhelming him were a whirlwind ranging from relief and pride to a happiness he never thought possible to experience.
Slowly, with the dignity that had been denied him his entire life, Argus stepped forward and offered a deep, elegant bow to the elite of the wizarding world.
As he straightened up, a broad, radiant smile lit up his wrinkled face. As the applause rained down on him, the only thought filling his mind was: "At last, he sees me. At last, I am no longer a nobody."
Argus turned his head slightly. At his side, Aurelian was still clapping, looking at him with a genuinely happy and proud smile.
Amid the ovation, Argus Filch looked him in the eyes and mentally thanked the brilliant, somewhat dark but extraordinary Slytherin boy. He thanked him for being the only person in the world who truly saw him and believed in him.
The evening had been, in every sense, a resounding success.
After the ovation for Argus Filch, the evening was filled with discussions and negotiations. Aurelian had managed to answer most of the technical, legal, and theoretical questions the guests had thrown at him. He had left all his guests completely satisfied, yet with an insatiable hunger to learn even more about the Arcane Patterns and how they would revolutionize their lives.
Hours later, when the last of the guests had passed through the doors of Gaunt Manor and the cleanup of the grand hall had begun, Aurelian was finally able to relax.
He loosened the collar of his robe slightly and walked toward the foot of the grand staircase, where Hestia and Flora were waiting for him.
The girls, despite their usual boundless energy, looked tired after keeping up the facade of high society all night. As they saw him approach, their eyes sparkled with that love reserved only for him.
Hestia stepped forward and caressed his cheek, while Flora leaned against his shoulder.
"We're so tired, my love… I think we're going to go to sleep now," Hestia murmured, her voice taking on a low, seductive tone.
"But" Flora added, sliding a hand across Aurelian's chest and looking him in the eyes with a smile, "we hope you won't take too long to come up. We want to properly congratulate you on such an incredible presentation."
Aurelian felt the heat rise to his face, but he kept his composure. He gave them a smile, kissed each one on the forehead, and said goodbye to his fiancées, watching them climb the stairs hand in hand, whispering to each other.
His pulse still slightly racing, Aurelian turned and made his way to the back of the room. There was only one table left with people seated at it.
Albus Dumbledore, Solomon Graye, Nicolas, and Perenelle Flamel were still sitting there, drinking tea and conversing in hushed tones. Aurelian approached with a calm stride and took a seat in an empty chair next to his masters.
Seeing him sit down, Perenelle set her cup on the saucer and looked at him curiously.
"Why did Hestia and Flora leave so soon, dear?" Perenelle asked in a motherly tone. "I wanted to talk to them a little longer. They're such… fascinating young ladies; you can tell they love you very much."
Aurelian blushed slightly, betrayed by the girls' words. He cleared his throat softly, trying to sound as stoic as possible.
"They were very tired from the event. They decided it was best to go to sleep now."
Perenelle watched him for a second, noticing the slight blush on the young man's cheeks. She smiled knowingly and decided to drop the subject, giving him a friendly little tap on the arm.
It was then that Solomon Graye, who had been silently sipping his tea, turned his face toward Aurelian.
"What you did up there, boy… it was very pretty" Solomon said.
Aurelian frowned. "Pretty"? He had summoned a lightning dragon. He had expected words like "impressive," "dangerous," or "revolutionary," but not "pretty."
"What do you mean by 'pretty,' Mr. Graye?" Aurelian asked, genuinely puzzled.
Solomon smiled, the wrinkles on his face deepening. He rested both hands on the table and seemed to stare into nothingness, though Aurelian knew he was seeing far more than any of them.
"Magic takes many forms, Aurelian. Some are more majestic, others more violent, others simply loud," the American Archmage began to explain. "But the image I saw when you used magic through your Arcane Patterns… was simply beautiful. There was no force compelling nature to yield. It was so in tune with natural energy, so perfectly balanced, that the magic seemed to be dancing in the air of its own accord. It was a work of art."
Aurelian listened to every word with absolute attention. His eyes studied the Archmage's serene face, desperately trying to understand the world from his perspective and decipher how he saw reality.
Nicolas Flamel chuckled softly, snapping Aurelian out of his trance.
"Don't try to understand it, boy," Nicolas warned him, taking an amused sip of his tea. "Solomon likes to sound mysterious, but deep down he's just a sentimental old man who enjoys watching colorful sparks."
Solomon let out a hoarse laugh, and the atmosphere at the table became relaxed and convivial. The five of them talked for quite a while, sharing anecdotes, theories about the possible uses of the Arcane Patterns, and lighthearted jokes. For Aurelian, sitting there and being treated as an equal by those legends gave him a feeling he couldn't quite describe.
But the peace shattered in a fraction of a second.
As Nicolas told a story about a 15th-century Italian wizard, Albus Dumbledore's affable expression vanished completely.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts tensed. His blue eyes lost all their sparkle. Immediately, Solomon Graye stopped smiling and turned his head sharply toward the east, his white eyes widening. At the same time, Nicolas and Perenelle also stiffened.
Aurelian didn't sense the change, but the reaction of the four titans around him was enough to put him on high alert.
"Is something wrong?" Aurelian asked in a low voice.
Dumbledore jumped to his feet, the Elder Wand sliding silently into his hand.
"Please excuse me. I must leave immediately," said Dumbledore, his voice grave and tinged with urgency. Without waiting for a reply, the headmaster turned on his heel and vanished from Gaunt Manor with a loud crack.
Solomon Graye let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping.
"It's already happening," he murmured.
Nicolas Flamel nodded slowly, his face hardening, and uttered the name that had struck terror into the hearts of everyone just a few years ago.
"Grindelwald."
Aurelian narrowed his eyes, his heart pounding against his ribs. The man who had been gathering strength in the shadows was finally making his move. And of all places… he just had to do it in Great Britain. The game of thrones had just begun.
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