The cries of the crowd filtered constantly from the main arena. Aurelian waited with Flitwick in the room designated for the British representatives when the door opened and Cornelius Fudge himself, with his trademark black hat and calculating smile, entered accompanied by two assistants.
"Ah, Aurelian!" exclaimed the minister in a jovial tone, approaching him. "Before you go out there, I wanted to wish you luck in the final. You've done a great job representing Magical Britain."
Aurelian looked at him with his usual serenity.
"Thank you, Minister. Although, to be honest, I don't think it's going to be too difficult a final."
Fudge raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Confidence or arrogance, young Gaunt?"
"Observation," replied Aurelian, without looking away. "I've seen my Russian opponent during the tournament. He's strong, but careless. He relies too much on brute force and too little on strategy."
Fudge laughed.
"Well, that sounds promising." His gaze became more serious. "Remember that you're not just fighting for yourself; everyone knows that you represent our country. It would be ideal if... your victory left a favorable impression."
"I'll do what's necessary," Aurelian replied, choosing his words carefully. "To be frank, Minister... I think that impression is already well on its way."
Fudge seemed pleased by the comment, and for a moment, the conversation took on a more political tone.
"You know, boy, with your skill and your surname, some would say you have a bright future in politics." He leaned toward him slightly. "If you ever want to explore that avenue, don't hesitate to talk to me."
Aurelian smiled slightly.
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."
Flitwick, who had been watching, tapped his wand to interrupt the conversation.
"Minister, if you'll excuse me, it's time for my student to prepare for the duel."
"Of course, of course," said Fudge, adjusting his hat. "Good luck, Mr. Gaunt. Make Britain proud."
As the minister walked away, Aurelian turned to Flitwick.
"It won't last more than two minutes."
The little professor smiled, amused but resigned.
"I know. But I'm more concerned about what happens after that," he said, more to himself than to his student.
The roar of the crowd echoed like thunder as Aurelian stepped into the center of the arena. The stands were full, and the air vibrated with anticipation. The announcer, his voice amplified by magic, announced the names of the finalists:
"Representing Great Britain... Aurelian Gaunt! And representing Russia... Boris Porskoff!"
The Russian was a tall, stocky boy with broad shoulders and an aggressive gaze. He held his wand as if it were a knife and walked with the confidence of someone who blindly trusts in his strength. Aurelian, on the other hand, advanced calmly, measuring his steps, showing no emotion.
The referee, a stern-looking elderly French wizard, raised his hand.
"On my signal... Three... two... one. Go!"
Boris raised his wand and fired an explosive spell without further ado. A sphere of blue energy flew through the air toward Aurelian, who didn't even move. A simple flick of his wrist deflected the projectile as if he were brushing a dry leaf out of the way.
The Russian frowned and quickly cast three spells, each more powerful than the last. The audience applauded the intensity of the spells, but Aurelian barely blocked them with minimal movements; for him, this was simply a game.
"Is that all?" he asked, his tone laden with boredom.
Boris growled and changed tactics, conjuring a flurry of ice stalactites that descended like spears. Aurelian raised his free hand, and an invisible force field unfolded around him, disintegrating the projectiles before they hit the ground.
"Just as I predicted," he muttered, "you wouldn't last."
A flash of magic snaked out of Aurelian's wand. The shockwave hit Boris squarely, throwing him several meters backward. The Russian fell heavily, tried to get up, but Aurelian didn't give him the chance. A second spell, this time an Incarcerous, left him immobilized on the ground.
Silence. Then, a roar of applause.
The referee raised his hand toward Aurelian.
"Victory for Great Britain!"
Aurelian gave a slight nod to the audience. He knew many would see it as arrogance, but he didn't care. This had not been a challenge... just a formality.
As he left the arena, he noticed some foreign representatives watching him closely, murmuring among themselves. For the first time, he wondered if the real test that Flitwick or Dumbledore had in mind was just beginning.
Aurelian walked down the carpeted hallway of the main building, the champion's trophy tucked under his arm. It wasn't ostentatious, but the metal it was made of reflected the light with a deep, almost hypnotic shine. Flitwick followed him, taking little jumps of satisfaction with each step.
"Magnificent, Aurelian!" said the professor, smiling broadly. "Not only did you win, you did so without a single scratch. You also kept your cool... even with the whole audience watching you. That's harder than it looks."
"It was the obvious result, professor," Aurelian replied simply, though a spark of pride crept into his tone.
They were about to turn toward the exit when a low but sharp female voice rose behind them.
"So this is the new prodigy of the great Albus Dumbledore."
They both stopped and turned around. There stood Marianne Elsenburg. Tall and imposing, with chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders and dark eyes that sparkled with inquisitive intensity. Her deep gray robes with gold embroidery seemed to absorb the light from the hallway.
"Archmage Elsenburg..." said Flitwick, with forced courtesy, "I didn't expect..."
"Don't feign surprise, Filius," she interrupted him, without taking her eyes off Aurelian. "I knew that sooner or later, Dumbledore would send one of his puppies to bare its teeth."
Aurelian held his gaze without blinking.
"I'm nobody's cub."
A slight, crooked smile crossed Marianne's lips, but it was not friendly.
"Of course not. Everyone says that... until it's too late to say otherwise."
"I don't follow anyone," Aurelian replied coldly. "I came here to win a tournament, not to get caught up in your stupid disputes."
The Archmage took a step toward him, so close that the light reflected in her eyes like burning embers.
"You're arrogant... that's dangerous. If you're anything like your 'esteemed' director, then you'll be nothing more than another problem to solve."
The air changed. A wave of pure magic spread from Marianne like a pressure crushing his chest. Her power seeped into the atmosphere, oppressive, suffocating, as if the entire atmosphere had become solid.
For the first time since he had arrived in this world, Aurelian felt terror, a chill running down his spine. This was no ordinary threat; it was the presence of someone who could wipe cities off the map.
His fingers clenched tightly around the handle of his wand. Fear did not dampen his determination; his instincts screamed that he had to move, to attack before being attacked.
Marianne smiled with a fierce gleam in her eyes, slowly raising her wand.
"Let's see if the puppy knows how to bite."
Aurelian took a step forward, ready to go on the offensive...
"Enough."
The voice was calm, but it cut through the air like a blade. A figure appeared at the end of the hallway, walking slowly but steadily. The chestnut beard, piercing blue eyes, and robe left no room for doubt.
Albus Dumbledore.
The magical pressure dissipated in an instant, as if an invisible weight had been lifted. Marianne did not take her eyes off Aurelian, but she slowly lowered her wand.
"You always show up at the most opportune moment, Albus..." she said in a tone that mixed mockery and disdain.
Dumbledore smiled serenely.
"Or perhaps some moments simply require my presence."
The exchange of glances between the two Archmages promised that they had a whole untold story.
When Marianne walked away, still casting a final hostile glance, Aurelian exhaled, feeling his muscles finally relax. He turned his gaze to Dumbledore, who was still watching the hallway where she had disappeared, with an almost irritating calm.
"Headmaster..." Aurelian began, "Why does that woman seem so... determined to attack me?"
Dumbledore tilted his head, with a small, almost nostalgic smile.
"Ah, Marianne Elsenburg. I suppose it's only fair that you know, since you've already become the target of her bad mood."
Flitwick raised an eyebrow, curious.
"You see," Dumbledore continued in a calm voice, "when I was young, I had a group of three friends, Marianne was part of it, we were... good friends. Actually. We had endless discussions about advanced magic and spent whole nights working on spells and how we wanted to change the world and well... at some point, she... fell in love with me."
Aurelian blinked, his mind failing him for a moment.
"With you, Professor?"
Dumbledore shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I couldn't reciprocate that feeling."
"Why?" asked Aurelian, already thinking he knew the answer.
The Archmage looked at him with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
"Let's just say... I've never been interested in women that way."
There was a brief silence. Aurelian looked at him with an expression of disbelief that quickly turned to annoyance.
"Are you telling me that this whole situation, this whole conflict, was because... you broke her heart?" he said angrily.
Flitwick put a hand to his face, trying to hide his laughter.
Dumbledore just smiled serenely.
"Human emotions, Aurelian, are forces as dangerous and powerful as any spell, and some wounds... never heal completely."
Aurelian crossed his arms, muttering under his breath.
"I can't believe I was almost killed for something like that..."
The headmaster let out a slight laugh, as if the tension of a few minutes ago had been a mere game.
"Welcome to the real world, boy. Not all enemies are earned by your actions; some are simply inherited."
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