Over the next few days, Aurelian began to notice a pattern in the corridors, in the library, even during breaks in the Great Hall. The famous "golden trio" was meeting more often than usual, acting conspiratorial, speaking in hushed tones, and glancing around quickly as if afraid of being discovered.
One afternoon, as he was walking past one of the library shelves, he heard them clearly.
"There must be something else about Nicolas Flamel..." Granger murmured in that tone of hers.
"Who the hell is that?" Ron asked, sounding bored and somewhat annoyed.
Harry, on the other hand, seemed more serious. "He must be related to what Hagrid took out of Gringotts."
Aurelian pretended to look for a volume of ancient runes on the nearby shelf, although in reality he was paying close attention. "Nicolas Flamel," he repeated in his mind, recognizing the name immediately. The alchemist who created the Philosopher's Stone.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Hermione, frowning, took out a thick book and opened it anxiously.
"Here it is!" she said in a hushed voice. "Nicolas Flamel... he's the only one known to have created the Philosopher's Stone."
Aurelian narrowed his eyes, leaning his elbow against the shelf.
The trio, unaware of his presence, continued talking.
"So that's why what they took from Gringotts is so important," Potter whispered.
"And someone wants it," Ron added.
Hermione slammed the book shut.
"We have to find out who it is."
Aurelian quietly walked away, heading toward another section of the library. His expression was calm, but his mind was racing.
"Kids playing detective, but at least they're not wrong. The stone is at Hogwarts. Sooner or later, my father will come looking for it."
As he headed back toward the exit, he smiled calmly.
"Nicolas Flamel... let's see how different you are in this world."
The enchanted sky above the Great Hall was blue, streaked with flashes of light as if announcing a storm. The tables were laden with warm bread, bacon, and stuffed pumpkins, but Aurelian barely touched a piece of his bread as he watched the students come and go.
The Weasley twins laughed at some prank at Percy's expense, the Hufflepuffs discussed last week's Quidditch match, and at the Gryffindor table, the golden trio leaned over an open book again, talking urgently.
Aurelian calmly poured himself some tea. His gaze was distant, but in his mind the pieces were falling into place.
"The Philosopher's Stone... a unique artifact, capable of defying the most basic laws of physics and life itself. I could take it."
He slowly bit into his bread, letting the idea mature.
"But there's no need to get my hands dirty just yet. Potter and his friends are impulsive, and Dumbledore, even though he denies it, gives them plenty of leeway. They will open the doors, bypass the traps, and reveal the secrets. I just need to watch... and arrive when the dirty work is done."
Hestia poured him some juice without asking permission, while Flora watched him silently, waiting for him to speak. Aurelian barely nodded his head in thanks, his mind far from the table.
"When the time comes, I'll pick up what's left. If everything goes as I imagine... the Stone will end up in my hands without anyone suspecting."
A distant murmur from the teachers pulled him out of his thoughts. Dumbledore was talking to Professor McGonagall at the head table. The archmage seemed calm, but Aurelian sensed something else. A constant vigilance, as if he too were waiting for something.
The boy drank the last sip of his tea and smiled.
"Patience. This board is already in motion, I don't need to be the first to make a move."
Hestia was the one who broke the silence.
"What are you thinking about, Aurelian?" she asked softly, but with a concern that was difficult to hide.
Flora nodded immediately, her eyes reflecting the same concern.
"You've had that distant look on your face for a while now... is something wrong?"
Aurelian looked at them both. For a second, he thought about giving them an honest answer, but then a calm expression appeared on his face, one that the twins already knew well.
"Don't worry," he finally said in a calm voice. "It's nothing important."
His words were accompanied by a slight smile which, although brief, was enough to relax them both. Flora sighed with relief and returned her attention to her plate, while Hestia pursed her lips, not quite believing her but choosing not to press the issue.
Time passed with a deceptive normality. The exams were approaching. But for Aurelian, each day was an opportunity to advance on his own path.
Hestia had a natural inclination toward destructive spells. The spark in her eyes lit up every time she managed to incinerate a target. Flora, on the other hand, showed surgical precision in control spells, immobilizations, bindings, forced silences. Aurelian watched them closely and corrected their postures, their timing, even their breathing. More than once, he was surprised at how quickly they learned when he was the one teaching them.
But they weren't the only ones under his watchful eye. Neville Longbottom had become a separate project.
In the backyard of one of the greenhouses, Aurelian watched as the boy ran breathlessly, his face red and sweat sticking to his forehead.
"Another lap," he ordered calmly.
Neville, though exhausted, gritted his teeth and obeyed. His steps were clumsy, his breathing irregular, but he didn't stop.
"Magic is power, yes... but a weak body cannot sustain a strong spirit," thought Aurelian, his arms crossed. "If he really wants to improve, he must first strengthen his foundations. The rest will come later."
At the end of the run, Neville collapsed on the grass, breathing heavily.
"I-I didn't think training with you would be... so hard..." he managed to say between gasps for air.
Aurelian leaned over slightly, his gaze calm.
"This is the most basic thing, Neville. Power isn't just about raising your wand and casting a spell. Your body is also a weapon. If you don't take care of it, you'll never be ready to face any challenge."
Neville looked up at him from the ground, sweaty, but his gaze was different. It wasn't the gaze of someone defeated, but of someone determined.
"Amazing," thought Aurelian. "What he lacks in natural talent, he makes up for with discipline."
The routine was repeated for days. Neville jogged under Aurelian's watchful eye, did push-ups, bodyweight exercises, and even breathing exercises. Each session ended with the boy exhausted, but he always came back, without complaining.
Aurelian mentally noted each bit of progress.
"This is just the beginning. If he continues like this... Longbottom could become someone to be feared..."
The course was coming to an end, and conversations about final exams filled the air, but Aurelian knew that grades weren't what mattered.
The truth was hidden in the lower floors of the castle... and the Philosopher's Stone was still there, waiting.
Every time he raised his wand, the response was slower, weaker. Voldemort knew it. His magic was deteriorating, all because of that body. That pathetic professor's shell he could barely stand.
A Stupefy fizzled out in the air like a damp spark. The magical wave dissipated before hitting its target.
Voldemort growled, clenching his jaw. The trembling in his fingers was unbearable.
"This vessel is rotting... my power consumes it faster than it can regenerate."
His muscles burned after a few minutes of effort. His skin cracked, ashen, as if each day took weeks off his life. His veins seemed unable to withstand the pressure of his magic. And worst of all... he felt his control over Quirrell's internal circuits slipping through his fingers like sand.
"I need the Stone. Without it..."
The word pierced him like poison. He, who had triumphed over death, reduced to a parasite, condemned to crawl in borrowed skin.
He took a deep breath. The air entered with irregular whistles, until even the professor's lungs refused to serve him. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead.
He leaned against the wall, forcing himself to stand up straight. His eyes, sunken and reddened, flashed with the fury of someone who would never accept defeat.
"No..." he whispered, his voice hoarse but firm. "I will not fall here. Not while the Stone is so close."
The mirror in front of him reflected the image of an exhausted man, his face withered, his lips parched, and his gaze broken. Voldemort raised his hand and struck it with a spark of magic that was barely enough to crack the glass.
"I am not weak... I am the most powerful wizard of all," he said again, reciting an oath.
The crack spread like a scar across the reflection, reminding him that time was running out.
"The course will end soon. It's now or never."
The days were growing shorter and the course was inexorably drawing to a close.
Potter, Granger, and Weasley ran from one place to another with furrowed brows, speaking in whispers, as if every shadow could hear them. Dumbledore, although appearing serene in the Great Hall, had a keener gaze than ever, assessing every corner of the castle.
Aurelian watched everything from his seat at the Slytherin table, accompanied by Hestia and Flora, who never took their eyes off him for a second. Calmly, he cut off a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, as if he were in no hurry at all.
"The pieces move on their own."
He glanced sideways at Neville, who had been showing unexpected resilience in training over the last few days. The boy was no longer panting... as much during training, and although sweat was still pouring off him, he was getting up with more determination. Progress worthy of recognition.
"Even he is changing. They all are."
The murmur of the great hall enveloped him, laughter, complaints about exams, vacation plans. For the rest of Hogwarts, the end of the school year was a celebration. For Aurelian, however, it was the prelude to a crucial move.
He leaned back against the bench, calm, letting his gaze wander over the candles floating in the air.
"Very soon, the fate of the Stone will be decided. It will not fall into the hands of those children, nor of a withered body clinging to life."
A slight smile curved his lips.
"It will be mine... Only mine."
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