The moon filtered through the window of the Slytherin dormitory, painting the damp walls with silvery reflections. In his bed, Aurelian held an object in the palm of his hand that burned with a life of its own.
The Philosopher's Stone glowed a deep red, like a beating heart, radiating heat and a power so ancient that even he could feel it through his fingers.
He smiled calmly.
"Stinky," he whispered.
The air shuddered, and the little elf appeared with a slight snap, bowing his head respectfully.
"Young Master Aurelian, Stinky is listening."
Aurelian held out the Stone in his hand.
"Take it to Gaunt Manor and leave it in my room."
The elf's large eyes shone with solemnity.
"Yes, master. I will keep the red jewel safe, I swear."
Stinky took the Stone and disappeared in a flash.
Silence fell upon the room. Aurelian closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillow. Barely seconds later, the air crackled again.
Stinky reappeared, panting, his fingers clenched around the Stone. His ears trembled and his enormous eyes reflected fear.
"Master!" he exclaimed, his voice broken. "Stinky was almost caught... by an old man... a very powerful one!"
Aurelian slowly sat up, his expression losing its usual calm.
"An old man?"
The elf nodded, clutching the Stone even tighter, fearing it would be snatched away.
"Yes, master. He was there, near the Gaunt Manor. Stinky almost didn't make it back..."
The air grew thicker after Stinky's confession. Aurelian held the Stone silently, an alarm going off in his mind.
"If Flamel is approaching the Mansion... it's no coincidence."
He got out of bed, the moonlight outlining his figure. He hid the Stone under his robe, securing it with a sealing spell. He turned his gaze to the elf.
"Stinky," he said firmly, "take me to the outskirts of the Mansion. If that old man is there... it's better to talk to him face to face."
The elf's eyes widened in horror.
"But sir! That old man is very powerful... Stinky sensed it."
Aurelian did not look away.
"Just take me... Stinky."
The elf hesitated, but seeing the determination on his master's face, he bowed his head and held out his hand.
"As you wish, sir."
A moment later, the Hogwarts room disappeared. The cold of the early morning enveloped them, and before them stood the dark silhouette of Gaunt Manor, surrounded by the normally quiet forest.
The night breeze rustled the branches of the forest, the moon spilling its light on the clearing in front of the mansion. There, standing in absolute silence, was the figure of the intruder.
Aurelian watched him closely. At first glance, he looked like an old man on the verge of collapse. Tall and extremely thin, with skin as pale as paper, his bony fingers intertwined in front of him. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and his eyes, sunken into their sockets, were the eyes of someone who had seen too many centuries pass. He wore a loose-fitting, somewhat elegant robe that fluttered gently in the night wind.
Anyone would have mistaken him for a weak man. Aurelian was not fooled.
The air around Nicolas Flamel vibrated, as if the magic of the environment bowed before him. Every breath the alchemist took was charged with such vast power that it seemed to defy logic. He was not an Archmage, not officially... as far as he knew.
"So this is the man who cheated death," thought Aurelian, narrowing his eyes. "An alchemist who survived for centuries, hiding his strength behind the mask of a frail old man."
Flamel looked up and gazed directly into his eyes, watching him as if they could pierce through any veil or defense.
The old man spoke, his voice calm, but each word compelling him to listen.
"So... you are the one who has taken the stone."
Aurelian did not respond. The Philosopher's Stone, still hidden beneath his clothes, seemed to burn more intensely against his chest, as if recognizing the proximity of its creator.
The silence in the clearing was broken by a soft laugh, barely a murmur on the old man's lips.
"You are very young," said Flamel, in an almost paternal tone. "Too young to carry something so ancient."
Aurelian clenched his fingers against his tunic.
"I have the stone," he replied calmly, "but I do not intend to return it."
Flamel tilted his head, observing him with sunken eyes that, despite his tired appearance, shone with clarity.
"No, boy. The Stone never belongs to the one who holds it. It has always been mine and will always be mine, because I will always know where it is... and who wants it."
The words echoed in the air. Aurelian felt a chill run down his spine, his instincts kicking in as they rarely had before.
His eyes narrowed, tense.
"What do you want?" he asked in a firm voice.
Flamel smiled, a calm and kind expression that would have been comforting on any other old man, but which was terrifying on him.
"I want to see what you're made of."
There was no gesture, no movement of his wand, no word in any language. Only Flamel's gaze, deep as the ocean. Then the air exploded.
An invisible force struck Aurelian in the chest, throwing him several meters backward. The grass in the clearing bent under crushing pressure.
Aurelian rolled on the ground, immediately getting up with his wand in hand and his heart racing.
The old man hadn't moved an inch. He just stared at him, that faint smile on his face.
"Calm down," said Flamel, his voice soft. "I don't intend to kill you. I'm just going to test you for a while."
Flamel hadn't lifted a finger, but Aurelian already felt the weight of his power crushing his shoulders, forcing him to concentrate on every movement.
With a flick of his wand, he unleashed a crimson fire.
"Incendio Maxima."
The flame advanced like a snake, but before it reached the old man, it turned to ash, nullified by an invisible force. Flamel remained there, motionless, his robe fluttering gently in the night breeze.
Aurelian gritted his teeth. The Infinity that always surrounded him resonated with the environment, repelling the pressure waves that Flamel projected just by looking at him. Without it, he would have fallen at the first blow.
"Confringo!" he roared, the echo of Parseltongue slipping into his voice, distorting the spell.
The air shattered like glass, and the explosion that followed was devastating. A rain of black fire rained down on Flamel. The old man barely raised an eyebrow. The ground beneath his feet rippled like water, absorbing every fragment of the spell until it was extinguished without a trace.
"Interesting," he murmured in his gentle, almost complimentary tone. "You mix the language of snakes with magical structure. Truly ingenious."
Aurelian did not respond. He was already casting another string of curses, each reinforced by the hiss of Parseltongue.
The succession of spells lit up the night. The air whistled, tearing apart each time he cast his magic.
For the first time, Flamel raised a bony hand. He didn't need a wand. With the slightest of gestures, he deflected each attack, one after another, until the last flash exploded meters away from him, without even grazing him.
Aurelian was breathing heavily, his muscles tense, but his eyes never left the old man.
Flamel bowed his head, still smiling at him.
"You are much more than you appear, child. Even at your young age, you are walking paths that few dare even to look at."
Suddenly, the pressure in the air increased. It was as if the sky itself had descended upon the place, a brutal weight that bent the grass and rumbled in Aurelian's chest followed him.
"But that's not enough," added Flamel, his eyes becoming more intense. "Show me how much more you can withstand."
The ground cracked beneath his feet. The entire forest seemed to bow before the alchemist's power.
Aurelian raised his wand, the Infinity shining throughout his body. Parseltongue magic mingled with his own.
The duel had barely begun.
The magical pressure was strangling him, each step he took heralding his defeat. Flamel, standing tall, kept him cornered, as if the air itself were his weapon.
Aurelian knew he couldn't keep up the fight much longer. The Infinite trembled under the alchemist's colossal force, his magic already reaching its limit.
He raised his wand. The hiss of Parseltongue escaped his throat, magic began to concentrate at the tip, intertwining.
Blue and white sparks burst forth, lighting up the clearing with lightning bolts. The air filled with an electric buzz, as if the sky itself were about to break.
The spell he had created, inspired by memories from another life, vibrated in his hand.
At maximum speed, it cut through the air like lightning, the Parseltongue wrapping around the energy until it became a spear ready to tear everything in its path.
Flamel opened his eyes, surprised. He didn't have time to dodge.
The impact shook the clearing. The ground fractured, raising a cloud of dust; a roar echoed everywhere until it was lost in the trees.
Aurelian, panting, slowly rose from the ground. His technique had struck true.
But when the smoke cleared, he saw him.
Nicolas Flamel was still standing. His robe was in tatters, his face marked by burns and superficial wounds, but his eyes... his eyes still burned with that calm that seemed to never end.
The old man looked at him silently. To Aurelian's surprise, he let out a loud laugh, seeming amused.
"Impressive," he said, brushing the dust off his shoulder. "You've made the so-called immortal bleed. Not many can say the same."
He smiled, kindness and genuine joy on his face.
"Consider yourself approved, boy."
Aurelian tried to look up, but his body wouldn't respond. Exhaustion hit him. His knees buckled. The last thing he saw was Flamel's silhouette, standing in the dust, laughing softly as if he had just witnessed a fascinating spectacle. Then he collapsed unconscious onto the grass.
He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to feel the pain of his wounds and the exhaustion in his body. But there was nothing. His breathing was normal, his skin was intact. Even his clothes were spotless, with no trace of the fight.
He sat up abruptly, bewildered.
A few steps away from him, sitting on a moss-covered rock, was Nicolas Flamel. His robe, clean and tidy, contrasted with the old man who just moments ago had received a devastating attack. In his hand rested the Philosopher's Stone, glowing softly.
The alchemist looked at him with that smile he found impossible to decipher.
"Good. You're awake."
Aurelian narrowed his eyes, holding back the tension in his chest.
"The Stone..."
Flamel lifted the jewel, making it sparkle for a moment in the night light.
"It's mine, boy. It always has been, and even if you had wanted to use it... it wouldn't have worked. The Stone doesn't respond to just anyone."
A chill ran through the boy, but he didn't look away.
Flamel calmly put the artifact back in his robe and added.
"Don't worry, I only came to see who dared touch what belongs to me. And I must say, you have surprised me." The silence that followed became somewhat uncomfortable.
"You have impressed me, Aurelian Gaunt. You have a rare talent, a dangerous power... but more importantly, a brilliant mind. I can't remember the last time someone made me bleed."
Aurelian stared at him without blinking.
"What do you want from me?"
Flamel rested his interlaced fingers on his knees, as if he were about to tell him a secret.
"I want you to be my student. My disciple." His voice was soft, leaving no room for discussion. "My last pupil was Albus Dumbledore, you know? And look at him now. An Archmage who protects the world," he finished with a soft laugh.
Aurelian frowned silently.
The old man smiled more warmly, even though his words cut like knives.
"It's not a choice, Aurelian. I will take care of you. We will communicate soon, and when the time comes... you will come to me."
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could respond, Flamel's figure blurred like smoke in the night. The clearing was empty, except for the moon shining through the trees.
Aurelian stood motionless, speechless. He had sought the Stone as a means to increase his power... but instead, he had managed to become the next disciple of the immortal alchemist.
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