The afternoon light streamed in through the large windows of the headmaster's office. Horace Slughorn pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, breathing heavily after climbing so many stairs.
Albus Dumbledore was standing near his golden perch, stroking Fawkes's feathers as he gazed out at the castle grounds through the window, a pleased smile on his face.
Hearing the footsteps of his old friend and colleague, Albus turned his head. His smile widened instantly.
"Come in, Horace. Please, have a seat," Dumbledore invited him with a wave of his hand.
Horace Slughorn walked slowly forward and sank heavily into one of the padded chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. He let out a long sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.
"I still don't get it, Albus," Horace muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Frankly, I didn't remember teaching being this absurdly difficult and exhausting."
Albus let out a low chuckle at the comment, genuinely amused by the Potions master's drama. He walked around his desk and took a seat in his own chair, interlacing his fingers on the surface of the desk.
"Times change, my old friend, and students even more so," Dumbledore remarked. "But tell me, how have these first two months as a teacher been since your return?"
The question seemed to ignite a spark within Slughorn. The wizard tucked away his handkerchief, sat up straight in his chair, and his chubby face flushed red, betraying his indignation.
"You tricked me, Albus!" Horace reproached him loudly, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You lured me out of my retirement by promising that the famous Lord Gaunt, the creator of the Arcane Patterns, would be someone truly fascinating and interesting for my collection. You never told me he was Tom's son!"
Dumbledore didn't lose his composure. He slowly scratched his chin, watching him with an expression of innocent curiosity.
"And am I wrong, Horace? Don't you find Aurelian interesting?"
Horace opened his mouth to continue complaining, but the words stuck in his throat. He lowered his finger, pressed his lips together, and after a few seconds of internal debate, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Well... I have to admit... he is interesting," Horace muttered reluctantly. "He's a prodigy; I've never seen anything like him. I'd even go so far as to say he's far more talented than Tom was at that same age."
Slughorn stopped his muttering and looked up at Albus, who was watching it all with a smile that tried not to give anything away. Horace narrowed his eyes, worry clouding his mind.
"But, Albus... Who is he, really?" Horace asked, his tone growing more serious. "I've been watching him these past two months. He's the undisputed leader of Slytherin; everyone has great respect and admiration for him, but he also has close friends in other houses. The professors praise him; he always speaks with impeccable respect to almost everyone, and he has... something that draws the masses."
Horace sighed, a chill running down his spine.
"Tom was just as charming during his school years... and we both know perfectly well how that story ended."
Dumbledore shrugged, an unusual gesture for the great and powerful Archmage.
"I don't know exactly, Horace," Albus confessed, his smile fading into a pensive expression. "There was a time when I thought I understood him, even if only a little. I thought I knew what the boy wanted to achieve in the world or what his motivations were. But lately… with everything that's happened, I no longer know anything about his true goals."
Silence filled the office for a few moments. Then, Albus smiled again, this time with a gentle but firm conviction.
"But there's one thing I'm absolutely certain of, Horace. Aurelian is a good person." Dumbledore raised a hand when he saw Slughorn opening his mouth to protest. "Of course, he's no selfless saint. He's ambitious, calculating, and I don't think anyone who truly knows him would classify him as the typical 'good person' from fairy tales. "But deep down, deep down, without a doubt, I know he's a good person."
Horace nodded slowly, though he didn't quite understand Dumbledore's logic. A boy with the darkness of the Gaunts in his blood couldn't simply be "good," but he decided not to argue the point further. He cleared his throat and, remembering the real reason he'd come to the office that afternoon, changed the subject.
"Anyway, changing the subject…" Horace began, regaining some of his usual cheerfulness. "I wanted to ask you, Albus, would you have any problem if I started organizing my famous dinners again with the most promising and interesting students I've met? I think it's about time I revived my Slug Club."
Albus nodded immediately, pleased with the idea.
"You know there's no problem, Horace. You have my full permission. I'm sure those gatherings will help the students relax a bit amid this tense political climate."
Satisfied with the answer, Horace leaned on the armrests and rose from his chair with a slight groan. He turned to leave, but before he could cross the threshold, Dumbledore's voice stopped him.
"And Horace," Albus called out softly.
Slughorn turned halfway around.
"I'll give you some advice. Don't compare Aurelian to Tom. Stop looking for the ghosts of the father in the boy's eyes; look at him only as Aurelian. You'll be surprised by what you come to see."
Horace didn't reply. He simply nodded politely, closed the office door behind him, and began walking down the long, silent corridors of the castle, mulling over the headmaster's words.
"Don't compare him to Tom… how easy it is for you to say that, Albus," the Potions master thought bitterly.
As he walked down the second-floor corridor, the sound of laughter and exclamations of wonder caught his attention. Horace approached one of the large windows overlooking one of the inner courtyards and peered out curiously.
Below, on the courtyard lawn, a large group of children—probably second-years from various houses—sat in a circle.
In the center of the circle stood Aurelian Gaunt.
Horace froze in place, watching the scene with rapt attention.
Aurelian was effortlessly tracing his famous Arcane Patterns in the air with his fingertips. As the magical lines closed, various figures materialized. Tiny animals made of pure, glowing emerald-green energy—butterflies, little birds, snakes, badgers, and even a tiny dragon—came to life and fluttered around the children.
The young students laughed nonstop, reaching out to try to catch the little creatures of light, their eyes shining with wonder and fascination.
But what truly left Horace speechless was not the splendid display of magic. It was Aurelian's face.
The young Lord wasn't faking a smile, nor was he seeking favors, nor was he manipulating anyone. He was simply there, smiling genuinely, laughing along with the children when one of the light butterflies landed on the nose of a little Gryffindor girl, making her sneeze. There was a peace and a light in the boy's eyes that Horace had never, not for a single second, seen in Tom Riddle.
Horace Slughorn stepped away from the window. He smoothed out his clothes and resumed his walk toward the dungeons with a lighter step.
A small smile spread across his face. As he descended the stairs, the Potions master thought that, perhaps, just perhaps, Albus was right after all. The feared and powerful Aurelian Gaunt was, in fact, a good man.
The headmaster's office was enveloped in a serene, contemplative silence after the Potions master had left. Albus Dumbledore stared at the closed door for a few moments before letting out a soft sigh. He leaned back in his chair and opened one of the lower drawers.
He rummaged through scrolls, wax seals, and strange silver instruments until his fingers found what he was looking for: an old photograph, with yellowed edges and clear signs of wear from the relentless passage of time.
In the image, three young people no older than fifteen were smiling at the camera. On the right side of the photo, trying unsuccessfully to maintain a stiff posture and resisting the urge to smile, stood a young Gellert Grindelwald. On the left, beaming with a broad smile, stood Marianne Elsenburg, her hair blowing in the breeze captured on the paper. And between them, breaking the tension and wrapping his arms around both their shoulders, was himself.
Albus let out a deeply melancholic laugh as he remembered it. Those were the summer days in Godric's Hollow, when the whole world seemed like a blank canvas waiting to be conquered by their brilliant minds, long before tragedy, war, and ideological differences tore them apart completely.
He looked up from the photograph and turned toward his perch. Fawkes was watching him with his dark, intelligent eyes, tilting his head.
"It's time, my friend," Albus said softly, his voice a mix of determination and sadness. "It's time to reunite with an old friend."
The phoenix let out a soft chirp in agreement, as if giving him its blessing.
The next morning, the bustle of students filled the halls of Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall had just stepped out of her classroom after teaching a rigorous Transfiguration lesson. She was carrying a book under her arm and walking with a steady stride when suddenly, a figure crossed her path.
Albus grabbed her by both shoulders, stopping her in her tracks.
"Minerva, dear, you will be in charge of everything in the castle for the next five days," Dumbledore informed her, with a quick smile and an unusual urgency in his voice.
The deputy headmistress blinked repeatedly, completely thrown off balance by the abrupt news and the sudden invasion of her personal space.
"What do you mean? Albus, why…?" Minerva asked, frowning sternly. "The term has barely begun, the political climate is in chaos—you can't just…"
"I've been putting off a meeting with an old friend for far too long," Albus interrupted her, squeezing her shoulders lightly before letting go. "I must leave for the continent as soon as possible to see her. I have complete faith in you, Minerva."
And before the Transfiguration teacher could protest or demand further explanation, Albus took a step back and, using his privileges as headmaster, vanished into thin air with a silent flash.
Minerva McGonagall stood there in the middle of the hallway. She was confused, but above all, she was truly furious at Dumbledore's exasperating habit of vanishing, leaving all the heavy lifting to her.
Hundreds of miles away, Albus Dumbledore materialized in an alley in the city of Berlin.
She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, preparing for the task ahead. She had chosen Berlin because it was the place where she was most likely to find Marianne at the moment. As Archmage, Marianne Elsenburg wielded colossal political influence over most of Europe's magical governments. According to Albus's sources and spies on the continent, she had been spending a great deal of time at the German Ministry of Magic lately, working to organize defenses against Grindelwald's recent aggressive moves.
Albus stepped out of the alley onto the bustling streets of the German magical capital.
But before he began actively searching for her, the Headmaster of Hogwarts paused at a street corner. Despite all his power and wisdom, Albus Dumbledore felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, preventing him from moving forward.
He clenched his fists beneath his robes, gazing toward the imposing Ministry building in the distance, and silently pleaded with the universe that, please, Marianne wouldn't attack him the moment she saw him and that, by some miracle, they might manage to speak civilly for once.
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