To the untrained eye, the new caretaker's routine at Hogwarts Castle seemed utterly monotonous and ordinary… if one didn't take into account his demeanor and the way he looked at and spoke to the people in the castle. Sweeping the hallways, mopping the empty classrooms, and making sure the torches stayed lit. That was his job.
However, behind that facade of servitude, his true routine was far more precise and analytical. His real job consisted of meticulously studying the schedules, movements, and habits of absolutely everyone within Hogwarts. He memorized the prefects' patrol routes, the professors' preferred paths, and the blind spots of the portraits. He had to know everything and everyone.
But above all that, his top priority each day was a single one. To avoid drawing attention to himself at all costs and under no circumstances arouse the curiosity of the Archmage Albus Dumbledore regarding him. Drawing the legendary headmaster's attention would be his complete undoing, a swift end at the hands of the light. And what was worse, his master would not be at all pleased if he failed in his task.
Thinking of his creator, the caretaker stopped in the middle of the Charms classroom he was supposedly cleaning. A sudden, violent tremor seized his body. He dropped the rag he was holding and brought his hands to his own neck and forearms.
He began to scratch. First slowly, and then with unbridled, frantic violence. His nails, hard as iron, dug into the pale flesh, tearing the skin so forcefully that strands of blood—black as coal and thick as oil—began to ooze out, staining the collar of his work robe. He did it without being able to stop, while his mind vividly recalled the indescribable and atrocious punishments his beloved master had inflicted on him back in his icy fortress whenever he made the slightest mistake. The physical pain he inflicted on himself was the only way he had to calm his mind from those moments.
When the caretaker finally managed to calm down, letting out short, ragged breaths, he lowered his arms. He looked at the dark blood on his fingernails and let the wounds on his arms begin to slowly close until they disappeared, courtesy of his beloved master's experiments.
His mind cleared, refocusing on his sacred mission: to obtain the Deathly Hallows. According to Archmage Kazimir's calculations, those legendary artifacts were hidden within the castle and bound to the last two direct descendants of the ancient Peverell line: Harry James Potter and Aurelian Gaunt.
However, after months of serving, cleaning, and lurking through the castle's corridors, the disguised creature had come to realize an undeniable truth. Aurelian Gaunt would be a far greater danger than his master in Russia believed if he insisted on attacking him directly.
The young Lord seemed to be perfectly aware of each and every one of his movements. Every time they crossed paths in a hallway, Aurelian's eyes seemed to pierce through his flesh-and-blood disguise, sizing him up. But what unsettled and held the creature back from acting most of all was that, no matter how much he sharpened his magical senses, he couldn't accurately gauge Gaunt's power level; it was like trying to measure the depth of an abyss… infinite.
So, processing the variables with the cold logic for which it was created, it made the most sensible decision. It had to deal with the weakest one before even attempting to hunt the greater beast.
And Harry James Potter was pathetically weak by comparison.
In the caretaker's eyes, the famous Boy Who Lived was nothing more than a timid fool, a mediocre boy who made absolutely no use of the enormous opportunities and immense power that life and his lineage had bestowed upon him. He was a waste of life and magic, which made him easy prey.
The caretaker picked up his rag from the floor, wiped the drops of his blood that had fallen onto the tiles with a simple swipe of his shoe, and left the classroom where he had been working.
With his classic posture, his shuffling gait, and his cold, empty gaze, he continued his false routine through the silent corridors of the castle, lurking in the shadows and patiently waiting for the perfect moment to act and snatch the first relic from the lion's trembling hands.
The soft murmur of the waters of the Black Lake lapping against the thick windowpanes was the only sound in Aurelian's private room in the Slytherin dungeons.
Aurelian Gaunt shuffled into his chambers, slowly and laboriously unbuttoning his tunic. He made his way to his comfortable bed and flopped onto the mattress on his back, staring up at the stone ceiling. He had just finished another marathon training session in the Hall of Chores, and he felt a physical and mental exhaustion he rarely experienced.
Honestly, he was already getting thoroughly bored of playing "teacher." His mind simply couldn't grasp how on earth there were people in the world who actually enjoyed teaching. Of course, helping out one or two friends was perfectly fine with him, but when the number of students in the room nearly doubled day after day, dealing with their clumsiness, their fears, and their egos… it was exhausting, and it was just too much.
A few moments later, the door to his room opened. Hestia and Flora entered, dragging their robes behind them, looking just as exhausted as their fiancé after having spent the last few hours shouting and correcting dueling stances and wand movements.
Without saying a word, the girls walked over to the bed, took off their shoes, and lay down on either side of Aurelian. They curled up against him, hugging him tightly as they rested their heads on his chest, seeking comfort in his warmth and magic.
"Honestly, my loves… I don't know how much longer I can put up with this stupid, exhausting routine," Aurelian whispered to them in the dim light of the room, stroking both their hair.
Flora let out a small sigh, closing her eyes.
"Well… I guess it's not so bad, my love. Some of the clumsy ones are already managing to hold a Protego shield for more than ten seconds," Flora murmured, trying to see the bright side.
"I agree with my sister; I suppose there's a certain… charm to ordering people around," Hestia agreed, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of Aurelian's shirt. "But, frankly, we aren't cut out to have that much patience. Our thing is destruction, not construction."
Aurelian let out a low, vibrant laugh, laden with all the exhaustion of the past few weeks.
"We just have to hold out a few more months," Aurelian told them, his tone growing a little firmer. "We've already thrown ourselves headfirst into this… club. Now we have to see it through to the end."
The twins nodded immediately against his chest. The Carrow sisters, just like their beloved, never—ever—left anything half done.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Aurelian sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked at them with an amused twinkle in his dark eyes.
"Want to see something interesting?" he asked them.
Hestia and Flora raised an eyebrow, exchanging a curious glance, but they smiled and sat down on the bed.
Aurelian stood up, walked over to his desk, and opened a small drawer with a soft click. From inside, he pulled out a small, slender snake with emerald-green scales, no more than thirty centimeters long.
He returned to the bed and brought his companion closer to the girls.
Upon seeing it, Hestia and Flora's eyes widened in fascination. They found the little snake absolutely adorable. Its scales shimmered like jewels in the dim light, and its small yellow eyes—covered by an opaque membrane meant to protect those who looked at it—watched them with intelligence.
"I am very happy to see my master's beloved ladies once again..." hissed the little snake.
Aurelian smiled wryly.
"It says it's very happy to see you again," Aurelian translated for them.
The twins blinked, first at the snake's compliment, and then out of sheer confusion upon recognizing the name implied in their boyfriend's tone.
"Wait a moment, Aurelian," said Hestia, looking at the little creature. "Is that Nythoros? But he's a basilisk over a thousand years old, a colossal beast. It's impossible for him to be this small."
Aurelian sat down in front of them, letting the snake slither from his hands onto the sheets.
"It recently became my familiar through an ancient and powerful ritual," Aurelian explained proudly. "And one of its new and great abilities, thanks to our bond, is that it can now compress its magic and make itself this small so it can stay by my side at all times without arousing the suspicion of others."
The twins' eyes lit up at Aurelian's words; they were always amazed by the feats he performed with his incredible power. Without a second thought, they both reached out and picked up the powerful, ancient king of serpents, placing him in their laps.
They began to gently stroke his little head and run their fingers along his emerald-green scales.
"Ahhh, he's so cute in this form!" exclaimed Flora, scratching him under the jaw.
"He's the most adorable basilisk in the world," agreed Hestia, delighted with their new pet.
Nythoros, the calamity-level beast that had terrorized generations of mages and was capable of killing with a glance, let out a long, vibrating hiss that sounded suspiciously like a purr, shamelessly demanding more affection from his master's witches.
Aurelian smiled upon hearing the words of satisfaction from his deadly companion.
Leaving the girls to entertain themselves with the basilisk, Aurelian looked away and turned his head toward the glass window overlooking the dark, unfathomable depths of Black Lake.
The smile vanished from his lips, replaced by a thin line. His mind refocused on the latent threat lurking in the castle's corridors.
The caretaker.
Aurelian had already solidified his main hypothesis. He was almost certain that this individual was not a human being. It wasn't just the lack of magic he exuded into the atmosphere, but the unnatural, almost mechanical way he walked, the manner in which he spoke, and the emptiness he always saw in his eyes. He seemed like a mere shell, a puppet moved by strings.
He clenched his jaw, his eyes reflecting the light from the room. He absolutely had to discover what or who that creature really was, where it came from, and whom it served. Aurelian Gaunt did not like walking blindly and not knowing what he was up against on his own turf.
Because, as he had always known and applied throughout his life: Knowledge doesn't just give you an advantage. Knowledge is power. Without knowledge, you are nobody.
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