The soft, distinctive "plop" that accompanied his arrival echoed through the elegant foyer of Gaunt Manor. Aurelian shook himself, adjusted the Muggle coat he was wearing, and took a deep breath. Being back on his own turf, where he made all the rules, always brought him a deep sense of peace and tranquility.
Almost immediately, a second plop announced Stinky's arrival. Wearing an impeccable and curious little tailored suit bearing the Gaunt family crest, he bowed deeply, his long nose nearly touching the floor.
"Welcome home, Master Aurelian!" Stinky greeted him with obvious joy, his large eyes sparkling at the sight of him.
Aurelian gave his loyal friend a big smile and handed him his coat.
"Thank you, Stinky. Tell me, how have things been at the mansion during my absence? Any setbacks?"
The elf shook his head vigorously, causing his ears to flutter.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, my master. Everything is running smoothly. The only thing worth noting is that your father... held three meetings in the great hall with several important guests," Stinky reported efficiently. "Mostly pureblood families."
Aurelian nodded, satisfied with the information. His father was already making his moves; the question was, to what end.
He said goodbye to the elf and began walking through the mansion's wide, well-lit hallways toward his office. However, as he turned a corner near the east wing, his footsteps came to an abrupt halt.
Leaning casually against a wall covered with some antique-looking tapestries stood Peter Pettigrew. The rat-man, believing himself to be completely alone, had a finger deep in his nose. Aurelian watched, with a mixture of disgust and revulsion, as Peter pulled out a booger and, without the slightest hint of shame, brought it to his mouth and ate it.
Aurelian blinked slowly at the absurdity and repugnance of the situation. He cleared his throat loudly to get his attention.
Peter jumped so violently that he nearly tripped over his own feet. Upon seeing the young lord of the house staring at him, he turned as red as a tomato and stammered a clumsy bow.
"M-my Lord!" Peter squealed, rubbing his hands nervously. "W-welcome! I didn't hear you come in."
Aurelian made an effort to keep a neutral expression and not comment on it. Instead, he shifted his gaze to Peter's right arm.
"How are things going, Peter?" Aurelian greeted him. "I see you've already received your reward. How does the new hand feel?"
Peter smiled faintly, still embarrassed, and raised his right arm. In place of the bloody stump, a perfect silver-metal hand now gleamed. He moved each of the fingers fluidly, as if they were made of flesh and bone.
"It's... it's perfect, my Lord. A masterpiece of your father's magic," Peter replied, flexing his silver fist.
"I'm glad. Though try to wash it before touching anything in my house," Aurelian replied dryly, resuming his walk without waiting for a reply and leaving Pettigrew behind.
As he walked through the glass gallery leading to the back garden, Aurelian paused for a moment upon noticing movement outside.
In the shade of a large tree, a scene was unfolding, worthy of starring in a romantic comedy. Nagini, wearing a pretty, light summer dress, was sitting on a red-and-white checkered blanket next to Barty Crouch Jr. They were sharing what appeared to be a peaceful picnic with tea and cookies.
Aurelian watched as Barty, gesturing animatedly, spoke with his usual intensity. Nagini burst out laughing and, as if embarrassed to show such emotion, covered her mouth with one hand.
Immediately, Barty reached out and gently took her hand, pulling it away from her face. Aurelian, though she couldn't hear them from a distance, sensed from the look on Barty's face that he was asking her never to hide her smile. A second later, Nagini's cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful red. She tried to look away shyly, but Barty didn't let go of her hand; instead, he smiled with a tenderness uncharacteristic of a notorious murderer and gently kissed her knuckles.
Aurelian watched for a moment longer, a warm smile playing on his lips. Despite the darkness surrounding them, he was truly happy for the two of them. They deserved some peace… well, Nagini more than Barty, if he was being completely honest.
He continued on his way and finally reached the doors leading to his private office.
When he opened them, he did not find the room empty. Behind his immense desk, comfortably seated in his expensive chair, was Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord, wearing an impeccable black robe, was intently reading a thick, ancient book, which, if he remembered correctly, he had obtained from the Black family library.
Aurelian closed the door behind him and smiled wryly.
"That's my chair, Father."
Voldemort didn't flinch. Slowly, he raised one of his dark eyebrows and looked up from the book, but made no move to stand or give up the seat.
"It's an extremely comfortable chair, I must admit," Voldemort remarked in a deep voice as he closed the book. "How did your school year end up going?"
Aurelian walked over to one of the small refrigerators he had set up in a corner of the office. He yawned loudly, finally feeling the weight of the trip and the accumulated stress, and pulled out a can of Coca-Cola.
The characteristic pssshhh of the can opening echoed through the silent room. He took a long swig of the drink, leaning against the wall.
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Aurelian replied indifferently. "Dumbledore ended the year with one of his little inspirational speeches as usual, Hestia and Flora nearly killed half the school with their glares, and Potter still thinks he's the center of the universe. Same old, same old—everything's fine."
Voldemort nodded, processing the information. His eyes remained fixed on his son for a few long seconds. The Dark Lord frowned slightly, as if his brain were working in a vague attempt to decipher a completely new enigma for him: how to maintain a normal father-son conversation.
An awkward silence fell as Voldemort searched his vast vocabulary for the right words for the situation.
Finally, the Dark Lord relaxed his expression. He gave his son a smile, which, though a bit stiff from lack of practice, was genuinely warm.
"That is… wonderful, son" said Voldemort, measuring each syllable.
Aurelian couldn't help himself. He shook his head, thoroughly amused by his father's clumsy but sincere attempt to sound like a normal family man, and gave him a bright smile. He took another sip of his drink, leaning his shoulder against the office wall. He was enjoying this strange new dynamic with his father.
Voldemort pressed the tips of his long fingers together on the desk, adopting a thoughtful posture. His gaze lost some of its usual coldness, replaced by the spark of the impeccable strategist he once was in his youth.
"I've been thinking a lot about our past conversations, Aurelian," Voldemort began, his voice echoing calmly through the room. "And I've decided that I will no longer take the country by force. As you rightly warned me, an open civil war would serve us no purpose. Destroying the magical infrastructure and decimating the population would lead nowhere."
Aurelian nodded slowly, a satisfied smile forming on his lips. Hearing his father speak with such wisdom and seeing that he had finally come to his senses by abandoning his plan to conquer the country was an immense relief. The blind monster was a thing of the past; now he stood before a new Voldemort.
"I'm really glad to hear that, Dad. It's the most logical and profitable decision for our interests," Aurelian conceded, preparing to take another sip of his Coke.
Voldemort shifted in his chair, the corners of his mouth curving upward into an ambitious smile.
"Therefore, I will seize power in a far more appropriate and realistic manner," the Dark Lord continued. "I will become the Minister for Magic."
Aurelian stopped short. He stopped nodding and slowly lowered the aluminum can, watching his father with a mix of bewilderment and curiosity at this drastic shift in perspective. There was a huge gap between wanting to burn the Ministry to the ground and wanting to sit in the main office.
"That's quite a change, to tell the truth," Aurelian remarked, narrowing his eyes as his mind processed the implications. "But how exactly do you plan to do it? The position of Minister is a completely public office. You'll be under daily scrutiny from the press, the Wizengamot, and surely the international community. You can't simply rule hidden in the shadows like you used to."
"And I won't," Voldemort replied calmly. "My supporters at the Ministry are already laying the groundwork for my eventual candidacy. Lucius and the others are isolating Fudge, undermining his image while creating the need for a strong, charismatic leader with a new vision. A savior for these dark times."
Aurelian crossed his arms over his chest and used the can to point at his father.
"All of that sounds perfect in theory. But people remember Tom Riddle's face—or at least the older ones still do. The great Lord Voldemort was terrifying, but this face... Tom Riddle's face has a past that can't be easily forgotten. How are you going to present yourself to the world without someone shouting from the rooftops who you really are? Probably, even if they know, they won't say a word, but there's always that possibility."
Voldemort's expression softened in a way Aurelian had rarely witnessed. The cold killer vanished for an instant, revealing the man who had fallen in love years ago.
"Once," Voldemort murmured, his voice tinged with an almost imperceptible tenderness, "your mother and I had a little argument. Elaine told me that, if I hated the surname I bore so much, I didn't have to cling to the anagram of Lord Voldemort for the rest of my life. She told me I could change it if I wished. That if I wanted to... I could use hers."
Aurelian felt a comforting warmth fill his chest. He smiled openly as he listened to that small but beautiful anecdote about his mother. It was so typical of Elaine to offer her own name to the most feared wizard in Britain with such natural ease.
Voldemort returned his smile, his eyes shining with a mixture of affection and nostalgia.
"To the wizarding world, from now on, the man who will rebuild this country and run for Minister of Magic will be known as Tom Gaunt," his father declared, savoring his new name.
Aurelian let out a hearty laugh and crossed the office until he stood in front of the desk. He rested a hand on the wood, still smiling at his father.
"It's a brilliant name, Tom Gaunt," Aurelian conceded with an amused wink. "But let one thing be clear: even though you now bear the surname, I won't let you be Lord of the House. I remain the Head of the Gaunt family. Today and until my last breath."
Voldemort burst out laughing, throwing his head back.
"Don't worry, my son. That doesn't interest me in the least," Voldemort replied, looking at him with obvious amusement. "Dealing with the finances, the contracts you surely have, and all the family's bureaucratic headaches are responsibilities that, frankly, are much better off in your hands. I'll be content with ruling the country."
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