HP: The Son of Tom

(Dumbledore's point of view)

The corridors of Hogwarts were quieter during the summer, but no less guarded. The stones knew how to keep secrets and the castle, though old, never quite slept.

Albus Dumbledore walked with the calm of one who has known every corner for decades, but with the attention of a sentinel. His robes, embroidered with constellations that slowly changed with the seasons, trailed silently on the marble floor.

The headmaster's office, located at the top of an enchanted tower, was their refuge, their center of operations... and their prison.

The office of Archmagus brought neither glory nor rest.

It brought weight.

A weight that grew with each year.

Every morning started the same way: he went through three types of correspondence.

Hogwarts business: exams, teachers, curriculum adjustments, magical protection, selection of students not registered by the Ministry.

International Council of High Magic: discussions of magical zones in crisis, tensions between imperial wizards in Asia, attempts to regulate the African runic trade.

Global magical balance reports: fluctuations in ancient magic flows, spontaneous relic appearances, or events that suggested a disturbance of order.

Today, one such report caught his attention. It came from Solomon Graye, Archmage of North America.

"Albus, Gringotts has recently mobilized resources linked to ancient lineages. The transactions are protected by goblin seals, but certain signatures match blood magic that has not been used for decades.

Any movement on your turf?

-S.G."

Dumbledore read the message with a barely frown.

"Gaunt?"

It was a surname he hadn't heard aloud in years.

Since Tom Riddle's supposed death, the line had been dormant. Not extinct, but... on hold. No known heirs. No sign of restoration.

Until now.

He rose from his chair and walked to the black stone fireplace. He held out his hand and a sky-blue flame ignited with a single word. He threw down a handful of runic dust and uttered in a low voice:

"Nurmengard."

The face that appeared in the fire was no longer so young. Gellert Grindelwald, confined deep within his own fortress, still retained a shrewd and alert look, even after decades of confinement.

"Albus" he said in a gruff but serene voice "Is today a day of watching...or talking?"

"Both, I'm afraid" Dumbledore replied "Something ancient is beginning to stir again. Something... linked to the Gaunt blood."

Grindelwald cocked his head to one side. He did not laugh, but his lips curved in irony.

"The bloodline of the so-called Dark Lord... awakening again?"

"I have no proof. Yet. Just... presences. Financial movements. Auras. Subtleties."

"And you fear it has not yet been the end of Voldemort?"

"I fear not" said Dumbledore "I prepare."

Grindelwald sighed. He looked away, as if he could see beyond the enchanted walls of his prison.

"I always thought chaos would return, not by those who caused it before... but by those who inherit its purpose without its hatred. Those are the truly dangerous ones."

Dumbledore did not reply. But he made a mental note of every word.

Later, returning to his desk, he opened an ancient book bound in kelpie leather.

It was a genealogical compendium of pure magical lineages, magically updated every generation.

He turned the pages carefully until he came to the letter "G".

And there it was. Under the broken branch of the last descendant of House Gaunt…

A new line, no name.

Just a date.

A goblin signature.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.

"So you're there...

Still hidden.

Still silent.

But not for long."

Dumbledore let the magical genealogy close on its own. The tome rustled softly as the pages returned to their place with delighted obedience. The newly seen mark "the branch sprouting as if the Gaunt blood had circulated again, was important...but still vague."

Too clean. Too fresh. Too protected by elf magic.

"Not yet" he muttered "First the other thing."

He spun on his heels and walked to a hidden section of his personal library. After muttering three words in an ancient dialect only Archmages used, an entire shelf spun on itself, revealing the black leather tome named:

"Sigillum Obscura: Global Registry of Latent Inheritances."

It was part of a hidden system maintained in collaboration between Gringotts and the International Confederation of Wizards, overseen solely by Archmages and lineage custodians. The book did not show all the inheritances in the world, only those that, because of their magical nature or deliberate omission, had not been officially reported.

He opened the volume corresponding to the 1987 records. He went through it slowly.

Lesser witches, extinct houses, disputed or sealed inheritances....

Until a name stopped his hand.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Status: Presumed dead.

Recent notification: Residual magical activation detected. Location: undetermined. Nature: fragmentary, not stable.

Dumbledore's stomach tightened. Not out of surprise... but out of confirmation.

He had expected something like this. Sooner or later.

He extended his palm over the name and whispered:

"Reveal magical origin."

A floating rune lit upon the parchment. The magical aura was ancient, warped. The coordinates were veiled by some kind of dark interference. It was not a physical place. It was as if a disembodied intention had pulsed against the fabric of magical reality.

"It wasn't a comeback" muttered Dumbledore "It was an... echo."

He closed the volume slowly.

Tom Riddle had sought immortality, not just as survival, but as permanence of his will. And some of that will...was still present.

Dumbledore walked over to the window of his office and looked north.

The clouds seemed thicker that day. Cooler.

"First Voldemort...

Then the Gaunts...

And then... what?"

He couldn't put out all the fires.

But he could anticipate where the major fire would start.

Night had fallen completely over the headmaster's tower.

The bluish flame of the fireplace glowed quietly as Dumbledore pulled out a parchment sealed with his personal crest, not that of Hogwarts, but of his status as Archmage of the United Kingdom.

He picked up an enchanted quill and began to write in ancient, curved script:

Newt,

Something has changed in the flows of the magical bloodline. I'm not certain yet, but there are traces that carry over from the Gaunt blood... and others that belong to someone who should never leave a trace again.

I need you to be on the lookout for any disturbance in the echoes of creatures linked to dark magic or cursed relics. Especially those that react to soul fragments or ancient artifacts.

As always, do not mention this to anyone.

With affection and respect,

Albus.

He rolled up the parchment, sealed it with black wax and handed it to Fawkes, his phoenix, who was sleeping peacefully on his iron pole. A glance was all it took for the bird to awaken, look at him and nod.

In a second, Fawkes disappeared in a golden blaze heading south.

He was alone.

And in that silence, Dumbledore finally allowed himself to think about that night.

The night that still hung heavy over the magical world.

October 31, 1981.

Tom Riddle had burst into Godric's Valley like a god ready to claim his place. Terrifying, unstoppable, convinced of his supremacy, and armed with a common wand... but charged with the will of a man who believed he could not die.

And yet... he fell.

He fell to the oldest, purest magic, most misunderstood by modern wizards:

Sacrifice.

Lily Potter, in laying down her life for her son, wove an ancient enchantment that no book ever recorded. A living protection, rooted in love.

Then, in that perfect instant of light and chaos, the baby survived, and the Dark Lord was reduced to dust, to echo, to a disembodied shadow.

"Harry Potter..."

Dumbledore repeated the name like a prayer, not for the boy himself, but for what it represented. The symbol that even in times of darkness, an unexpected light could emerge from where no one was looking.

The night was advancing.

Dumbledore walked slowly through the invisible gardens of the astral tower, a hidden extension of his office, protected by enchantments so ancient that only he remembered how to invoke them. The sky up there was clearer, as if the castle itself filtered the stars for the eyes of the wise.

It was there that she allowed the memories to come back, one after another.

The decision to leave Harry Potter with his aunt.

Many had questioned it. Even Minerva, her voice trembling and her face full of indignation, had asked him how he could leave a child in a house where he would be shunned.

But Dumbledore knew.

"As long as he lives under Petunia Dursley's roof..." he whispered into the void "his mother's blood will protect him."

Ancient magic, more powerful than any modern incantation, lived in blood ties. And that sacrifice-Lily's-was to be anchored to something tangible. A home. A family. Imperfect as it was.

She knew Harry would suffer there. That he would grow up a stranger in his own blood.

But he also knew he would survive. And that would be the first step.

From that night in 1981 until now, much had changed:

1982

- The Ministry of Magic initiated Operation Clean Sweep, eliminating the last active followers of Voldemort.

- Some Death Eaters hid under false names. Others were cleared with influence.

- The weakened Wizengamot began to rely more on the International Wizarding Council and the judgment of the Archmages.

1983

- Ancient magical relics were discovered in Eastern Europe.

- In Albania, at least three incidents of creatures reacting to the trace of residual dark magic were recorded.

- Dumbledore began to suspect that Tom Riddle's soul had not entirely disappeared.

1984

- In Asia, Archmage Ren Yao detected anomalous migrations of celestial dragons and displacements of spirit guardians.

- The Japanese Ministry requested international assistance after finding an active magical obelisk of unknown origin.

- An arcane communication network was established among the Archmages, focused on monitoring the global magical balance.

1985

- In Africa, Archmage Nahla M'Tekai reported the reopening of magical rifts sealed since the pre-colonial era.

- An artifact found in Egypt triggered a spontaneous magical storm in the Upper Nile.

- Archmage Anayan of the Flame reported magical earthquakes in the Southern Enchanted Mountain Range, a harbinger of an ancient awakening.

1986

- In North America, Solomon Graye reported the spontaneous reactivation of tribal magic pacts.

- A runic shrine disappeared without trace near the Great Lakes after an energy burst.

- In Eastern Europe, a lineage claim caused magical unrest around the defunct House Zmijak.

1987 to late August

- Several claims of dormant magical inheritances occurred in continental Europe, generating movement in the vaults of Gringotts.

- Archmage Kazimir Volyov, from Russia, warned of the partial collapse of an ancestral blood containment seal.

- In the UK, the magical balance shows signs of fracturing... although it is not yet known in which direction it will break.

All in less than six years.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.

"We have had no peace...only a pause."

He knew the child of prophecy was growing up, sheltered, ignorant of his legacy.

But something else was growing as well.

And when they were ready...

History would reignite.