Exactly one week had passed since the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange had moved into Gaunt Manor, and with each passing day, Hestia and Flora Carrow's patience wore thin a little more.
The Death Eater's presence in their home kept them constantly on the defensive. At night, in the privacy of the room they shared with Aurelian, the twins would curl up against him under the sheets and let all their venom out.
"You have to kick her out of our house, my love," Hestia would whisper, tracing circles on his chest with her fingernail. "She's completely unhinged."
"Sooner or later she'll cause us trouble, Aurelian," Flora added, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I don't trust her lurking in our hallways. Get rid of her. Or at least let us get rid of her."
Aurelian, stroking their backs to calm them in the darkness, really didn't know what to do about it.
To be fair, since that unexpected encounter, Bellatrix had settled down quite a bit. Thanks to the strict diet imposed by Stinky and the revitalizing potions, she no longer looked like a walking corpse. She now wore haute couture black robes that highlighted her former beauty, and her hair was clean and styled, though she still had her wild curls. Furthermore, after a couple of stern warnings from Lord Voldemort about how she should behave in the house, Bellatrix had brought her madness under control. She no longer tried to touch Aurelian, though when they crossed paths in the hallways, she still gave him that strange look—one he still didn't quite understand.
One afternoon, as the rain gently pelted the mansion's windows, Hestia and Flora were in the library, seated at a large oak table, surrounded by heavy books, engrossed in deciphering a complex grimoire that belonged to the Black family and detailed ancient blood magic and curses for torture.
They were so focused that they didn't hear the silent footsteps approaching.
"Ah… that was one of my favorite books when I was a child."
Flora and Hestia jumped violently. They leaped backward, knocking over the heavy wooden chairs, and spun toward the voice, their dark eyes narrowed and muscles tense, ready to raise their wands at the first sudden movement.
Bellatrix Lestrange was standing behind them. She was wearing an elegant black dress and had one hand casually resting on the back of a chair. Seeing the girls' reaction, Bellatrix raised both hands in a gesture of surrender and gave them an amused smile that didn't convince the twins in the least.
"Relax, girls. Don't be so tense," Bellatrix told them in a sing-song voice.
But the twins didn't let their guard down. Flora stepped forward, lifting her chin with a hostile expression.
"Listen to me carefully, Lestrange," Flora warned her, her voice dripping with pure hatred. "We know how you look at our fiancé. But I swear you'll never take our Aurelian away from us. He's ours, forever and ever."
Beside her, Hestia nodded vigorously, clenching her fists with the same determination in her gaze.
Bellatrix blinked, processing the threat from the teenagers standing before her. Suddenly, breaking the tension in the library, the Death Eater threw her head back and burst into laughter. It was a loud, somewhat choked laugh that echoed off the tall bookshelves.
Hestia and Flora looked at each other, completely baffled and a little offended by the reaction.
When she finally managed to calm her fit of laughter, Bellatrix wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and looked at them with a mocking smile.
"Please, girls... don't be ridiculous," said Bellatrix, leaning on the table. "I don't want your young Lord that way. I admit I find him endearing, but solely and exclusively because of his striking physical resemblance to my Master. I find him cute, like a small, lethal portrait of his youth... but nothing more. My heart, my loyalty, and my soul belong to one man alone."
Bellatrix's eyes took on a feverish, fanatical gleam.
"Lord Voldemort is the most perfect being to have ever walked this earth," Bellatrix began to list, pacing in front of the girls. "He is the most feared Archmage of all, the ultimate Dark Wizard. His power is unmatched, his cruelty is majestic, and his vision for this world is unrivaled. No child, no matter how brilliant, could even dream of matching the greatness and terror of my Lord."
That was enough to light the fuse. No one insulted or belittled Aurelian Gaunt in front of the Carrow twins.
"You're completely blind to think that!" Hestia shouted, stomping her foot hard on the floor. "Aurelian is infinitely better than your Lord in every way!"
"Our beloved is an absolute genius! No one compares to him!" Flora continued, raising her voice to drown out Bellatrix. "At seventeen, he had already created the Arcane Patterns, revolutionizing all the magic we use!"
"He's the founder of Gauntcorp, he has the entire Wizengamot eating out of his hand without even lifting a wand, and on top of that, he's a million times more handsome and elegant than Voldemort will ever be!" Hestia concluded, her cheeks flushed with anger and passion.
For the next five minutes, the normally silent Gaunt library turned into a battlefield. The three witches engaged in a war of fanaticism, shouting in each other's faces about the countless achievements, genius, and perfection of their respective loves, refusing to give an inch.
Finally, the three witches were out of breath.
Gasping for breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, Bellatrix raised her hands again in surrender. She collapsed heavily onto one of the library's comfortable sofas, exhausted but thoroughly amused by the unwavering loyalty of those two brats.
She picked up the grimoire the twins had been reading from the table and stroked the worn leather cover with a touch of nostalgia.
"It's good to see that all these beautiful books won't be lost in Sirius's hands," Bellatrix remarked, carefully turning a fragile page.
Hestia, still catching her breath, crossed her arms and looked at her with a frown.
"Doesn't it bother you that Aurelian has taken all of your family's ancient knowledge? Technically, he stole it from you and your kin."
Bellatrix smiled wryly and closed the book carefully.
"That's the best thing that could have happened," Bellatrix replied sincerely. "If I'm honest, with that traitor—my cousin Sirius—at the helm, all these relics would have been lost, sold, or worse yet, handed over to Dumbledore. I'd much rather have the entire Black legacy here, safe in the hands of my master's brilliant son."
Bellatrix looked at the girls for a moment. She saw in them the same darkness, the same devotion, and the same thirst for power that had consumed her at their age.
"This book is complex," Bellatrix told them, pointing to the Latin title. "It speaks of very ancient arts. If you'd like… I could help you with whatever you don't understand in these volumes. "I know the Black magic better than anyone in the whole world."
Hestia and Flora looked at each other. They exchanged a silent debate through their eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange might still seem like a crazy fanatic disrupting their peace with Aurelian, but they weren't stupid. They knew perfectly well who the woman sitting on that sofa was. She was Voldemort's most powerful lieutenant. Having the direct help and private lessons of a Dark Arts master and a Invoker as powerful as she was an opportunity they couldn't pass up. It would make them stronger. It would make them more useful to their beloved.
Slowly, the girls nodded.
"All right, we accept," said Flora, lifting her chair and sitting back down. "But if you try anything funny with us or with Aurelian..."
"We'll slit your throat while you sleep," Hestia finished with a sweet smile.
Bellatrix Lestrange burst out laughing and clapped her hands with delight, thrilled with her new charges.
The lobby of the Ministry of Magic was bustling with activity. Wizards and witches were rushing back and forth, trying not to bump into one another, but as two imposing figures crossed the room, the commotion gradually died down. Everyone present stopped to watch.
Aurelian walked along, bored. At his side, Lord Voldemort—now known as Tom Gaunt—wore a dark suit that radiated such power and authority that even the Aurors lowered their gaze when they passed him.
Aurelian ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he spoke to his father in a low voice.
"Honestly, I still don't understand why I had to come with you this time," Aurelian complained, letting out a weary sigh. "I'm incredibly busy overseeing the mass production of catalysts for the Arcane Patrons. Literally, the only reason I gave up my seat on the Wizengamot to you was so I wouldn't have to come deal with the bureaucracy of this place."
Voldemort didn't wipe the faint smile from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the department heads and journalists looked at them.
He knew full well that this display was vital. If he wanted the position of minister, the public needed to see the Gaunt family united, standing shoulder to shoulder. That image was more powerful than a hundred political campaigns. But if Tom was completely honest with himself, there was another, much simpler reason. He was proud of his heir and simply wanted to spend time with his son outside the mansion.
Voldemort opened his mouth to reply with some political excuse, but the words died in his throat. His instincts kicked in.
He narrowed his eyes. Coming toward them from the hallway leading to the main elevators was Albus Dumbledore.
Aurelian, sensing the sudden shift in his father's aura, followed his gaze. Upon seeing the Headmaster, he took a step forward.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Aurelian greeted him with a smile and a slight nod. "It's a pleasure to see you."
Dumbledore returned the smile.
"The pleasure is all mine, Aurelian. You look very well," he replied, before shifting his gaze to the tall figure standing behind the boy. The warmth in Dumbledore's eyes vanished. "Hello, Tom."
Voldemort held his gaze, his expression hardening.
"Dumbledore," Voldemort replied curtly, making no effort to hide his displeasure. "What brings you here? We're busy."
"In fact, my presence here is fortunate," Dumbledore explained, turning back to Aurelian. "I needed to speak with you about a matter of the utmost urgency, Aurelian. A matter concerning the safety of..."
Before Dumbledore could finish his sentence, Voldemort stepped forward, cutting him off. In an instinctive gesture, the Dark Lord placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder.
"You will not drag my son into your foolish schemes, Dumbledore," hissed Voldemort, his voice dropping to a tone that made a couple of curious wizards nearby step back. "He is not one of your pawns to be used. Stay away from him."
Dumbledore didn't flinch at the threat. On the contrary, a wry smile played on his lips.
"It's funny you should say that, Tom," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Given your... track record, I'd say it's you who would most likely get Aurelian into trouble. After all, you're the wizard who is feared, hunted, and hated by half the country. I'm only trying to ensure that young Gaunt's future isn't marred by the shadows of his father."
Voldemort tightened his grip on Aurelian's shoulder, his eyes flashing with a fury barely contained by their public surroundings.
Aurelian looked at Dumbledore, then turned his head to look at his father. The magic of both Archmages was beginning to clash in the air, creating a suffocating pressure around them. He slumped his shoulders, exhaled deeply, and ran a hand over his face, wearing an expression of defeat.
"This is going to be an incredibly long day," Aurelian thought with annoyance.
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