Less than ten minutes had passed since Marianne Elsenburg disappeared from the hallway when the echo of hurried footsteps rang out behind them. Aurelian, still holding the trophy in his hand, turned to see a short man with round glasses, a green cloak adorned with the British Ministry of Magic crest, and his indispensable black hat.
Cornelius Fudge.
His round, slightly sweaty face wore a broad smile, his eyes exuding that calculating sparkle typical of any politician.
"Ah, there's our champion!" he exclaimed, extending his hand as if they were old friends. "Aurelian Gaunt, representative of Great Britain, the pride of our country. Magnificent performance!"
Aurelian accepted the handshake with a smile.
"Thank you, Minister."
Fudge wasted no time in turning to Dumbledore and Flitwick.
"Albus, Filius... I must say that your student has done us proud. I can't remember the last time we had such a clear victory in a dueling tournament."
Flitwick smiled modestly.
"He has exceptional talent, although I would say that what is most impressive is his control over magic."
The minister let out a brief laugh, although his eyes rested on Aurelian again with interest.
"I hope he continues to put that talent to use for his country. Wizards with his ability don't come along every day, young Gaunt."
Aurelian nodded, knowing that behind those kind words, there was always something more...
"I'm always willing to help."
Fudge smiled contentedly, although deep down Aurelian sensed that calculating gleam, assessing how he might use him in the future.
"Enjoy the victory, boy. Opportunities like this," he paused, lowering his voice, "can open many doors."
With a final pat on the shoulder, the minister took his leave, leaving behind the echo of his words.
Dumbledore, who watched him walk away, let out a sigh that only Flitwick and Aurelian could hear.
"Each minister is worse than the last."
The walk back to the villa was quiet, but in Aurelian's mind, Fudge's words kept echoing like an uncomfortable refrain: "They can open many doors."
Once in his room, he placed the trophy on the table and collapsed onto the bed, staring at it silently. The trophy's reflection showed him the image of a victorious young wizard, but he knew that the real battle was not fought in the dueling arena, but in the displays of power outside of it.
"Politics..." he muttered to himself, with a hint of annoyance.
At that moment, Flitwick knocked softly on the door and entered with his agile gait.
"Good job today, Aurelian, and I'm not just talking about your victory. You handled yourself well with the minister and... the unexpected situations of the day."
Aurelian smiled sidelong.
"I got the impression that the minister didn't come to congratulate me... but to gauge how much he could get out of me."
Flitwick chuckled, but his eyes showed the seriousness of the conversation.
"That's possible. But that means he sees you as someone important, which can be a weapon, as I'm sure you already know."
When Flitwick left, Aurelian lay back down on the bed, his hands behind his head. Outside, Paris was still lit up, alive, but in his mind the city was fading. He thought about the coming school year, the movements of the pieces on the political chessboard, and how to balance his own goals with the inevitable attention he now attracted.
The dry crack of the Apparition echoed through the air, and Aurelian and Flitwick found themselves in the middle of the spacious lobby of the British Ministry of Magic. The polished floor reflected the light from the chandeliers, and the constant murmur of employees and visitors filled the place.
But they had barely recovered from the Portkey journey when a swarm of cameras and voices surrounded them.
"Mr. Gaunt, over here!"
"How did it feel to lift the trophy in Paris?"
"Is it true that you defeated all your rivals without breaking a sweat?"
Amid the tumult of people, a perfectly recognizable figure emerged: curly blond hair, green-rimmed glasses, and a calculated smile. Rita Skeeter.
Aurelian recognized her instantly. No introduction was necessary. He knew perfectly well that this woman was a predator disguised as a journalist, capable of twisting any word to sell the juiciest and most appealing story to her readers.
"Rita Skeeter, from Daily Prophet," she said in a honeyed tone, approaching with a notebook and a sharp-tipped pen floating beside her shoulder. "The whole country wants to know: how does young Gaunt, the brand-new international champion, feel after making fools of so many promising duelists?"
Aurelian raised an eyebrow, weighing each of her words.
"I wouldn't say I made them look ridiculous. It was an honor to face them all, and I am satisfied that I represented our country well."
Rita tilted her head, flashing a smile that lacked even a hint of sincerity.
"Modest, even after such a crushing victory... that's not something you see every day, especially in someone so young."
Aurelian kept his expression neutral, giving nothing away. He wasn't going to give her any ammunition she could twist to her liking.
"Titles and trophies aren't everything," he added calmly. "The important thing is to learn from every experience."
Rita's pen scribbled frantically in the air, and Aurelian noted with subtle satisfaction that his answers were too vague for any scandalous headlines.
"Charming... truly charming," she said, her tone betraying a hint of frustration. "I'm sure we'll meet again, Mr. Gaunt."
"Surely," he replied with a cold smile.
Before she could insist, Flitwick intervened in a polite but firm tone.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Skeeter, but we have a meeting pending with the minister."
Aurelian and his professor made their way through the sea of reporters, leaving behind the echo of pens and camera flashes. Fame had its advantages, but it also brought parasites.
When they finally escaped the radar of the cameras and pens, Aurelian noticed that Flitwick was leading him quickly toward one of the fireplaces in the lobby.
"Weren't we going to the minister?" Aurelian asked, raising an eyebrow.
The tiny professor gave him a mocking smile.
"The perfect excuse to escape the clutches of the press. Believe me, Fudge will understand."
With a nimble gesture, Flitwick directed them to a specific fireplace:
"Leaky Cauldron!" he said aloud.
In a green swirl, they both disappeared and reappeared in the cozy dimness of the pub. The air was filled with the aroma of butterbeer and the crackling of a nearby fireplace.
Flitwick, still smiling, turned to him.
"I must say, beyond your magical abilities, I was surprised today by your ability to handle that pack of journalists."
"I've just learned not to give them what they want," Aurelian replied calmly.
"A skill as valuable as any spell," the professor commented, winking at him. "In any case, I wanted to congratulate you once again. Winning an international tournament is no small feat, and you did it flawlessly."
Aurelian bowed his head, accepting the praise.
"Thank you, professor."
Flitwick slung a bag over his shoulder.
"Enjoy your break, Aurelian. We'll see each other in September, and I'll make sure your skills continue to grow."
With one last smile, the professor disappeared among the tables at the Cauldron, leaving Aurelian in front of the fireplace. The young Gaunt took a seat, ordered something to drink, and allowed himself a few minutes of silence. Outside, London continued on its course.
The journey back to Gaunt Manor was silent. Only the echo of his own footsteps could be heard as he crossed the main hall.
The air in the place was comforting: that scent of old wood, books, and a slight hint of incense that Stinky used to light in the afternoons.
The elf appeared immediately, with his characteristic sparkle and broad smile.
"Master Aurelian! Stinky was waiting for you. He heard about your victory!"
Aurelian stood for a moment looking at his trophy and how the light from the nearby lamp reflected off the metal. It was a symbol of his effort, but it was also a reminder that the competition had been just one step on a much higher ladder.
"Put the trophy in the library, on the shelf by the window," he ordered, handing him the prize.
"As you wish, Master Aurelian," said Stinky, receiving it with great care, as if holding some sacred object.
As the elf walked away, Aurelian allowed himself to relax his posture. The walls of the mansion seemed to welcome him back, closing the door on the noise and intrigues of the outside world. Here there were no journalists, no ministers, no archmages ready to cast curses on him for old loves. Only his home... and the plans that still awaited execution.
He thought briefly of Hestia and Flora. He had grown accustomed to their constant company.
Aurelian went up to his room, letting the silence of the night envelop him. Outside, the wind gently rustled the trees in the garden. He smiled with a clear thought in his head: the holidays had finally begun.
The next morning, Aurelian was in the library looking through a book when he heard the flapping of wings approaching. An elegant owl landed on the windowsill, gently tapping the glass with its beak.
"Let's see what we have here," he murmured, putting the book aside and opening the window.
The owl handed him a letter perfumed with a subtle floral scent that he recognized instantly. He broke the wax seal and began to read.
"Aurelian,
Congratulations on your victory! We heard you were the champion, although honestly, we're not surprised... We always knew no one could defeat you. We want to see you soon. We wanted to ask if we could spend a few days with you at the Gaunt mansion. Our parents already agree, so all we need is your yes.
With love, Hestia and Flora"
Aurelian left the letter on the table, a slight smile forming on his face. The fact that his parents had agreed removed any possible obstacle.
"I guess the mansion will be noisy again," he said to himself.
He got up, looking for some parchment and ink to reply immediately.
"It will be a pleasure to have you here. Tell your father and mother that Stinky will come for you whenever you wish. I hope you haven't forgotten that you still owe me a game of magic chess.
Sincerely, Aurelian."
He sealed the letter and handed it to the same owl, which flew swiftly off to its destination. The thought of seeing them again soon brought a smile to his face.
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