The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the villa, bathing the walls in shades of amber. Aurelian sat by the window of his room, his chin resting on one hand, watching the other competitors come and go in the central courtyard.
With one day to go before the tournament began, he had had the opportunity to watch several training sessions. And honestly, he was disappointed.
He had expected to face prodigies his age, young wizards with precise control of magic and creativity worthy of study. But most were mediocre. Quick with their wands, yes, but slow of mind. Too many relied on standard spells used in formal duels, without variations or clever combinations. Just predictable movements, spells that seemed to come straight out of a basic manual.
Is this the best the rest of the world can muster? he thought, watching a German boy repeat the same combination of spells for the third time, so far in advance that anyone with decent reflexes could counter it.
There were exceptions, of course. A young French witch with braided black hair moved with calculated fluidity, casting short, precise spells as if they were blades. A Japanese boy who, though still imprecise, had admirable reaction speed. But they were the minority.
Aurelian let out an almost imperceptible sigh. It wasn't that he was underestimating them... well, maybe a little. But he couldn't help feeling that Flitwick hadn't brought him here just to win a youth cup.
He looked up at the sky, which was beginning to darken. The wind carried the murmurs of coaches talking to their pupils, the rustling of wands, and the crackling of spells dispersing in the air. But he was silent, watching like a predator who had not yet decided whether the hunt was worth it.
"I hope something interesting happens," he muttered to himself, a bored expression on his face.
Aurelian was about to take a bath when someone knocked on his door.
"Come in," he said without looking away from the courtyard.
Flitwick entered, this time without his usual scroll of strategies or his coaching tone. He carried a cup of tea in one hand and wore a more serious expression than usual.
"You have been an observer today, Mr. Gaunt."
Aurelian turned slowly, resting his elbow on the back of a chair.
"I was just assessing my potential rivals. Most of them don't impress me."
Flitwick smiled knowingly.
"I figured as much. But remember... a tournament like this isn't always just about who's the strongest."
"Then what is it about?" asked Aurelian, although he already sensed the answer.
"Who is watching you fight." Flitwick settled into a nearby chair. "It won't just be the judges and spectators here. There will be representatives from magic ministries around the world, talent scouts from dueling leagues, and a few other influential people who prefer to work behind the scenes."
Aurelian raised an eyebrow.
"And you brought me here so those people could see me?"
"Let's just say it would be a shame for your talent to go unnoticed," replied the professor, taking a sip of his tea. "Speaking of important contacts... tomorrow, before the opening ceremony, we will be meeting with the British Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge."
"Fudge?" Aurelian frowned, remembering what the man was like in the books. "The one who cares more about his image than reality."
Flitwick smiled broadly.
"The same. Officially, as you represent Great Britain in this tournament. He'll want to greet you, see you in person... and probably take some credit for your victory."
"Perfect," said Aurelian in a neutral tone, although inside he was already calculating how to use this meeting to his advantage.
"Don't underestimate the politics surrounding this event, Mr. Gaunt," added Flitwick, standing up. "Winning is important, but knowing who is watching you and how you present yourself to them is even more so."
When the professor left, Aurelian remained silent, contemplating the reflection of the lights he saw through the glass. If Fudge wanted to see him as a trophy for his image, that was fine... because in the end, he would be the one using the minister, not the other way around.
Aurelian was adjusting his official robe in the colors of Great Britain while Flitwick reviewed a small scroll with the day's schedule.
"We have the meeting with the minister in less than an hour," said the professor, putting the scroll in his pocket. "After that, a brief presentation to the French magical press, and finally, the opening ceremony."
Aurelian turned to the professor with a question he had been holding onto for a few days.
"Professor, there's something I've been wondering since you mentioned this tournament... why me? Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but wasn't there anyone else to represent Great Britain?"
Flitwick smiled with a mixture of pride and sincerity.
"To be honest, Aurelian, there wasn't much to choose from."
"Is the level that bad?" asked Aurelian, though deep down the answer didn't surprise him.
"In your category, yes." Flitwick walked over to stand in front of him, looking at him intently. "Youth duels require not only magical power, but control, quick thinking, and an ability to adapt that is rarely seen in someone your age. Some of the applicants we reviewed lacked at least one of those qualities, and most lacked all of them."
Aurelian adjusted his robe belt thoughtfully.
"So I'm the only one who met the requirements?"
"You didn't just meet them," Flitwick corrected firmly. "You exceeded them by a wide margin. Believe me, this is not empty flattery. I have trained champions and I know how to recognize talent that comes along only once every few generations."
That last sentence made Aurelian look away for a moment. He was not someone who let himself be inflated by flattery, but the recognition of a duelist of Flitwick's stature carried weight.
"I suppose if I lose, I'll make the whole country look ridiculous," he said ironically.
Flitwick laughed.
"I'm not going to let that happen, and I don't think you would either."
There was a brief silence before the professor looked at his pocket watch.
"It's time. The minister isn't exactly patient... he loves to be treated as if he were the star of the show."
"Of course," replied Aurelian, adjusting his cloak. "Let's see what the minister wants from me."
The French Ministry of Magic had arranged an elegant but unostentatious meeting room. The walls were covered with enchanted tapestries depicting historical scenes from France, and in the center was a polished mahogany table with several leather-upholstered chairs.
Cornelius Fudge was already there when Aurelian and Flitwick entered. He was dressed in a dark velvet robe with silver detailing and a black hat that seemed too large for his head. His smile was broad, though his eyes shone with a mixture of calculation and self-satisfaction.
"Ah, at last!" he exclaimed, rising to greet them. "Filius, old friend, and... this must be our young champion."
Flitwick gave a brief nod.
"Minister, may I introduce Aurelian Gaunt."
Fudge approached with an outstretched hand and an exaggeratedly friendly gesture.
"Gaunt... a name with a lot of history, no doubt." His tone seemed to weigh each word. "And from what I've been told, you have a bright future ahead of you."
Aurelian shook his hand firmly, gauging the pressure to convey confidence without appearing aggressive.
"A pleasure, Minister Fudge."
The minister looked him up and down, as if evaluating a rare jewel.
"I must say, it is an honor to have someone like you representing Great Britain in this tournament. It is no small thing, young Gaunt, to carry the flag of an entire country."
Aurelian sensed the subtext: "If you win, your victory will be my achievement." He decided to play the same game.
"I know, Minister. It's a great responsibility, and not just for me. It's also an opportunity to show that under your leadership, British talent can excel on any stage."
Fudge's eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
"Exactly," he said, nodding slightly. "I'm glad you understand. The magical press here is very active and has already taken an interest in your story. A young prodigy, trained by one of the best duellists of our time, sounds like something any nation would be proud to showcase."
"I hope to live up to expectations," Aurelian replied calmly. "I would like everyone to remember not only my name at the end of the tournament, but also who supported me in getting here."
Fudge smiled from ear to ear, clearly delighted with the implication.
"With that attitude, Mr. Gaunt, we will undoubtedly go far."
Flitwick, who watched silently, seemed to know exactly what both of them were doing, but did not intervene.
For the rest of the meeting, Fudge talked mainly about politics and appearances: how the tournament would be covered, the importance of giving interviews, and how good it sounded for a promising young Briton to succeed in France. Aurelian listened attentively, responding with phrases that reinforced the image Fudge wanted to project, while mentally noting every gesture and word the minister used.
When they finally said goodbye, Fudge patted him on the shoulder.
"I am confident you will do an excellent job, Mr. Gaunt. I will do everything I can to ensure that your name is remembered at home and beyond."
"And I will make sure it is a name worth remembering," Aurelian replied with a slight bow.
On the way to the tournament, Flitwick glanced at him sideways.
"I see you didn't waste the opportunity to win his favor."
Aurelian smiled.
"It never hurts to have the minister on your side."
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