HP: The Son of Tom

The tallest tower of Hogwarts was shrouded in mist that morning. The gargoyles didn't speak. The windows did little to keep out the cold, yet Albus Dumbledore remained there, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the enchanted surface of the Book of Admissions.

The dark leather cover breathed as if it were alive. It was, in a way, an ancient heart, beating with each generation.

On the floating lectern, the book slowly opened by itself, guided by the castle's oldest magic. Each page, written in its own time over the centuries, recorded the names of the magical children born in the United Kingdom. Some names faded with time, others shone like promises.

Dumbledore read in silence.

"1989..." he whispered, "thus, another generation begins."

Familiar names, mixed heritages, surprises born from unlikely unions. Pure magic, mixed magic, unexpected magic. Each with their own story to write, their virtues to discover... or their dangers to hide.

Then his eyes stopped.

Aurelian Gaunt.

The name hadn't been used before. Not in any previous review. Not in the Muggle records, not in the Ministry's records.

But there it was. Clear, written in golden magic ink on a new parchment. Recognized by Hogwarts. Accepted by the castle and its magic.

Dumbledore frowned slightly. Not by surprise... but by a confirmed intuition.

"So, you finally show yourself, young descendant."

He closed the book slowly. Not with fear. With respect.

Because he knew that the return of that lineage was no coincidence. Not even an administrative error.

It was part of the balance that the magical world, in its infinite wisdom, decided to restore. Deep in his heart, the Archmage Dumbledore knew that the course of the coming years… had just veered in a new direction.

The director's office was bathed in the soft morning light. An owl was spinning around in an enchanted cage, and the portrait of Brutus the Stammerer pretended to sleep in its frame above the fireplace.

Albus Dumbledore gently closed the cover of the Admissions Book. Beside her, a cup of tea was cooling down, untouched.

The door opened with a soft, enchanted whisper.

"Did you ask to see me, Albus?"

Minerva McGonagall entered with a firm stride, although her youthful and elegant bearing contrasted with the traditional image many had of her. Her dark hair was neatly pulled back, and she wore an emerald-green robe with the Hogwarts emblem subtly embroidered in silver thread.

"Thank you for coming, Minerva," Dumbledore said with a slight smile, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

She sat down without any preamble.

"Is there anything we should be concerned about in this year's lists?" I ask.

"Something has... caught my attention," he replied, running his fingertip along the edge of the closed lid. "A new name. One that wasn't listed until recently"

McGonagall tilted her head, listening intently.

"Anyone with a meaningful surname?"

"Aurelian Gaunt," he said softly.

Minerva raised her eyebrows slightly. Not with surprise... but with understanding.

"The House of Gaunt... I thought it had died out."

"We all believed it." Until now.

There was a moment of silence. They both knew what that surname implied.

"Is it ancient blood or just an inherited name?" Minerva asked in a low voice.

"Hogwarts recognizes more than blood, Minerva," Dumbledore reminded her. "It recognizes the deep connection with magic." The book doesn't lie. Aurelian has been accepted by the castle.

McGonagall clasped her hands together in her lap.

"Do you think it could be... a threat?"

"I don't know yet." But what I do know is that someone with that lineage couldn't go unnoticed."

She nodded slowly.

"Do you have any information about his whereabouts?"

"Little. Very little" Enough to know he wasn't raised by magicians. But it's not a lost cause either."

Dumbledore slowly rose, walking towards a window overlooking the lake. He watched the trees reflected in the still water, as if searching for answers there.

"Minerva… I want you to be attentive when she arrives." Beyond the classes. Beyond discipline. Observe his heart. Not his last name.

Professor McGonagall looked at him for a long time. Finally, he nodded.

"I will, Albus."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore, turning slightly. "Some threads of fate are more subtle than they appear, and are not always dark because of the color of the thread… but because of what they weave with it."

The meeting room for the heads of the household was lit by floating candles with a bluish light. The walls were covered in enchanted tapestries depicting scenes of the four houses working in harmony: snakes helping badgers, lions training with eagles. It was a place where Hogwarts' internal politics briefly took a back seat in favor of the common good.

Albus Dumbledore was standing beside an oval oak table. Her deep indigo tunic parted at the waist, revealing a finely hand-woven scarf. His face, younger than many would remember decades later, still held the vibrancy of the years before the Second Wizarding War. His eyes, however, retained that weighty wisdom, as if they had spent centuries observing the flow of history.

Seated across from him:

Minerva McGonagall, elegant and focused, with her hair pulled back in an impeccable bun. His youthful face did not betray the steadfastness of his spirit.

Filius Flitwick, vivacious and curious, with dark, tousled black hair and enchanted spectacles that changed hue according to his mood.

Pomona Sprout, fresh-faced, dressed in an earth-toned robe and a scarf of enchanted dried leaves that rustled in the breeze.

And Severus Snape, the only one who seemed not to have changed over the years. His pale face, his black robe like the abyss, and his dark, unfathomable eyes retained the same intensity as always.

Dumbledore placed a folder of parchment on the table, carefully tied with a red ribbon.

"Thank you for coming," he said calmly. "There's something we need to discuss before the course starts this September."

The four heads of the household exchanged glances.

"He's a new student," he continued. "His name is Aurelian Gaunt."

Snape frowned. Sprout swallowed. Flitwick tilted his head. McGonagall already knew this, but she still didn't let her guard down.

"Gaunt?" Snape repeated in his drawling voice. "I thought that family was extinct."

"We all believed it." But Hogwarts doesn't accept mistakes. The Book of Admissions has registered him. After a long investigation, I managed to recover some fragments of his past." Dumbledore opened the folder. "It's not much information, but it's enough to begin."

"He was left at a Muggle orphanage shortly after birth," she said in a neutral voice. "No one officially claimed custody. But its magic awoke very early. According to certain sealed records at Gringotts, his mother was a Muggle-born witch named Elaine Harper."

"Harper?" Minerva repeated. "The Ravenclaw who disappeared in the seventies?"

"The same one," Dumbledore confirmed. "A brilliant, sensitive witch, with a remarkable talent for charms and Arithmancy. According to confidential goblin records… she died in 1978 after giving birth."

There was a brief silence.

"And the father?" Snape asked, his voice as firm and cold as usual.

Dumbledore looked at him for a moment before answering.

"There is no official record." But there are clues… coincidences in dates and residual magic in certain artifacts associated with his birth. Everything points to the father having been Tom Riddle. Or as he came to be known, Lord Voldemort."

Those present became tense.

Snape looked away.

Pomona Sprout let out an involuntary sigh.

Filius Flitwick subtly adjusted himself in his seat.

"It's not a statement," Dumbledore continued serenely, "but the possibility is there." That's why I brought it up for discussion. Because if it's true... then this child is not only the last Gaunt. He is also the heir to one of the darkest magicians of our era.

"The Gaunt blood is volatile." Unstable. Formerly powerful... but with a history of madness.

"That will depend on the young man," Pomona said kindly. "We all have the opportunity to choose the kind of legacy we leave behind."

Dumbledore nodded, pleased by the comment.

"That's why I've called them together. When the boy arrives, I want us to observe him...but not condition him. He's brilliant, according to certain surveillance reports at Gringotts. Self-taught, precocious in wandless magic. But he's also young. He needs guidance."

"The important thing is not to let his origins define his destiny. It will be Hogwarts that shapes him. And we, who will guide him."

___________

The sky over London was overcast, with clouds moving as if in a hurry to leave the city. Rain was threatening, but unwilling to fall.

Aurelian Gaunt was sitting by his window in the orphanage. He held in his hands an old notebook where he had been perfecting, in magic ink, new spell schemes and arcane equations. Theory 59 no longer occupied his time so much: it was part of him now. Natural. Instinctive. A magical reflection between his body and the world.

That morning, however, he felt restless.

Not because of the magic. Not because of the orphanage.

But because of the time.

The calendar read July 5, 1989.

His eleventh birthday.

And if everything happened as he foresaw "as in the books of his former life" that letter was due to arrive today.

An owl flew across the gray sky. Then another.

Aurelian squinted, attentive. Every magical fiber in him was on alert.

It wasn't more than three minutes before a large owl, with dark, shiny plumage, swooped down to perch gracefully above him.

Her golden eyes watched him intelligently.

The boy calmly stretched out his hand.

The owl lifted one leg. Clutched in it was a thick parchment envelope, sealed with red wax.

The Hogwarts crest-with its four founding animals intertwined-glittered in the dim daylight.

He opened the envelope.

Written in emerald green ink, in a firm, ancient handwriting, it read:

To:

Aurelian Gaunt

Room 12, Top Floor

St. Emeric's Orphanage for Special Children

Kensington, London - UK.

Aurelian held it between his fingers for a few seconds, without opening it.

He felt it vibrate. Not physically, but through its magic.

That envelope contained much more than just a letter.

It was a key.

A stepping stone to a new challenge.

A reminder that her path, at last, advanced to the next rung.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (Archmagus, Supreme Head of the International Confederation of Wizards, Honorary Member of the Order of Merlin First Class)

Dear Mr. Gaunt,

We are honored to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The academic year will begin on September 1st. Enclosed with this letter is a detailed list of books and other items required for your first year of study.

A representative of the school will be at your residence to guide you through the admission process and to answer any questions you or your guardian may have.

If he or she is not available, you may send an owl to the Hogwarts Office and a new visit time will be arranged.

Please accept our most sincere congratulations.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Head of Gryffindor House

Aurelian lowered the parchment slowly. His heart was pounding... though his face barely showed a faint, thoughtful smile.

He put the letter away carefully. He couldn't show it to anyone at the orphanage. They wouldn't understand. They never did.

She stood up resolutely. Now she had to get ready for the next thing.

As he dressed, he thought with genuine curiosity "who would come looking for him".

Would it be Professor Minerva McGonagall?

Perhaps an eccentric professor, like Hagrid in the books of his old life?

Or would it be Dumbledore himself, who seemed to have noticed him long ago?

Whatever the case...he was ready.

___________

A week had passed since the arrival of the letter. Aurelian had read it dozens of times. He had memorized it. But he had not responded.

He hadn't needed to.

Because that day, the headmaster of Hogwarts himself knocked on the door of St. Emeric's Orphanage.

The orphanage director, a woman with a dry voice and a nervous pulse, did not know how to react to that man with an impeccable purple robe, a bright gaze and a presence as calm as it was overwhelming.

Aurelian, from the second floor, felt it before seeing him. An aura of ancient power... vast... but contained. It was different. Calm. Calm as a mountain that did not need to tremble to be feared.

When he came down, with a confident step, the first thing he noticed was that Dumbledore was not an old man. His beard was shorter, his hair silver but still thick, his youthful face, though marked by magical time, radiated a solemn vitality.

He was the same man he had imagined hundreds of times... but different.

He was an Archmage and Aurelian would know it even if no one had told him.

"Good morning, Mr. Gaunt" Dumbledore said with a slight bow "I am glad to finally meet you in person."

"You are... Dumbledore?" asked Aurelian, observing every detail of his figure. The voice, the body language, the eyes. He wasn't looking for an answer, but for a truth.

"That's right. Headmaster of Hogwarts. Though I suppose you already know that" he said giving him a smile.

"Yes" Aurelian looked down for a second, thoughtfully "But I didn't expect him to be so... young."

Dumbledore let out a soft laugh.

"Age is a very relative matter in our world. One that, in time, you will learn to see with different eyes."

They walked together down the corridor to the small inner garden. The conversation flowed without imposition. Dumbledore did not try to impress. Only to listen.

"And you tell me they teach magic at Hogwarts?" asked Aurelian, with a hint of well-measured irony.

"Not exactly. The magic already lives in you. We only help you to understand it, to control it... or not to be destroyed by it" I pointed out.

"I've already learned a few things on my own" Aurelian replied without pride, but with conviction.

"I imagine so. The castle chose you for a reason. But you still have much to discover."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Aurelian asked, as one who throws a stone into a pond:

"Is it wrong... if I can talk to snakes?"

Dumbledore's eyes flashed for an instant.

Not with alarm.

Nor with judgment.

But with deep interest.

"It's not wrong. It's... odd. But weird isn't always dangerous. In fact, it's often necessary."

"I can understand them for as long as I can remember" Aurelian said, this time lower "Sometimes I feel that they understand me better than people."

"Speaking in Parseltongue is a very ancient gift. Uncommon. We don't teach it at Hogwarts... because it can't be taught. But if that gift is in you, then it's part of your magic."

"And I won't be expelled for that...will I?"

"Of course not" Dumbledore stopped in front of him "Hogwarts does not fear what is different. It only fears... what power can do without guidance."

Their eyes met. A boy with the shadow of a dark lineage, and a man who had seen centuries of light and darkness.

"Ready for your first visit to Diagon Alley?"

Dumbledore's voice sounded kind, but with the veiled intention of watching the boy's reaction.

Aurelian looked at him with the same expression he had rehearsed in front of the mirror for weeks: a slight, carefully created awe.

"Diagon Alley? What's that?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with studied innocence.

Dumbledore smiled. He didn't quite believe him... but he didn't question it either.

"A place that, if you like magic, you'll end up loving," he replied.

They caught the Knight Bus on an empty corner of Kensington, after a couple of frantic jolts that made the windows squeak, they got off in front of a small, rickety pub wedged between two Muggle buildings: The Leaky Cauldron.

Aurelian feigned surprise, though he had been there on previous visits, always with the help of Stinky's veil, This time, however, it was different.

The place was brimming with visible and latent magic. A witch was drinking something steaming and changing color; in one corner, a wizard slept with an owl on his hat.

Dumbledore greeted him with a nod to Tom, the innkeeper, who opened a back door for them that led to the small brick courtyard.

There, with a graceful gesture of his wand, Dumbledore tapped the bricks with precision:

"Three up...two to the center."

The brick wall trembled, shrunk in on itself and opened like an ancient fan.

Then, before Aurelian's eyes, Diagon Alley unfolded.