HP: The Son of Tom

Year 1986

Aurelian was no longer a little boy. At eight years old, he had changed more than time alone could explain. His face was still pale, his eyes as dark as silent wells... but his gaze was different.

It was the reflection of a soul awake, waiting, studying.

In the three years that had passed, she had not stopped training for a single day.

The early mornings found him still in the abandoned chapel, meditating on cold stone, channeling magic through body and soul, tracing mental patterns that only he understood. His notebook was no longer a single one, but several, bound by Stinky with magical thread and protected with simple spells of concealment.

His magic had evolved.

It was no longer accidental. Not even theoretical. It was instinctive.

Theory N°59 - Renamed: "Instinctive Infinite Defense".

He had started from an idea: if fear was capable of activating an unconscious defense, then why not train the body to respond automatically to any threat?

For years, Aurelian had thrown objects at himself, from stones, books, balls, glasses, to fire but controlled. While trying not to think. Not to formulate spells. Just to feel the danger and let the magic react before the mind.

The result was not a visible barrier, nor a classic shield.

It was an alteration of the magical space around her body.

An invisible, almost imperceptible second skin that deflected projectiles, cushioned impacts, slowed physical and magical forces. It was not constant. But when it was activated... it did it on its own.

He called it:

Saturation Instinct or Instinctive Infinite Defense: a micro zone of magical defense created by the body's memory and its own magical power, not by mental intention.

Theory N°59 "Instinctive Infinite Defense" successful: In moments of danger, my magic reacts like a second skin, expanding in 0.5 seconds from the skin. It seems to work with stimuli such as surprise, violent noise or rough contact. Similar to Satoru Gojo's "Infinity", but limited in duration and range. Next step: keep it active without external stimulus and in less time.

The development of this defense made him more confident. More ambitious.

And then, with the maturity that only an old soul could sustain, he began to look beyond magic.

____________

The afternoon was falling over the gray sky of London. From the bell tower of the orphanage, barely a glimmer of sunlight filtered through the clouds, and the city seemed asleep, suspended in a perpetual haze. Aurelian sat on the roof, his clothes flapping in the wind, his legs crossed, his notebook on his knees.

He looked at the world without speaking. The same world that had ignored or misunderstood him for eight years.

But he was no longer someone lost to his fate. Not for some time.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Eight years.

Eight years in which he had lived with his soul awake and his mind sharp. Since his mother brought him into the world and died with a smile, all he had done was prepare. Not out of fear. But out of conviction.

He had trained his magic every day, even when his body gave out. Every meditation. Every practice in the chapel. Every line written in his notebooks was a step towards a future only he could imagine.

And now, looking back, he knew: he had changed his destiny.

He was not just a Reflection of his father.

He was Aurelian. Building something no other wizard had ever attempted: a unique magic, the product of imagination.

He remembered his first attempt to channel energy into a spiral.

Inspired by the Rasengan, he had wanted to mold magic in his palm, without a wand, using only rotation, magical friction and internal control. At first, it was just a vibration. Then a warm spin. Eventually, a swirl of magic-laden air, though with no shape or destructive power yet.

Prototype: Rasengan - version 0.8: Unstable energy. No mass. Dispersion in 1.2 seconds. But the rotation was real. Very real.

Next, he had tried a cutting spell. Inspired by Chidori, it sought to channel elemental magic through the fingers, mimicking the versatility of lightning.

Once, he succeeded: a white spark that spread like a wind blade and cut a scroll from ten feet away. It was not lightning. It was not fire. It was pure energy with cutting intent.

Prototype: Directional Cut "Elemental Chidori" - version 1.1: Requires emotional rotation + mental pattern. Range: 2-3 meters. Noise: slight buzzing sound. Result: clean cut on sheet of paper, no combustion. Risk of overload if repeated without rest.

Another moment, I had visualized a more abstract technique: the Kamehameha. He knew that this concept required a massive accumulation of energy channeled into a single point. So he adapted it: instead of visible lightning, he created a spell that concentrated heat and air compression in his hands, generating an invisible burst of magical pressure. It had no noticeable physical impact... but it extinguished candles from ten feet away.

Prototype: Impulse Wave - version 0.3: Charge of magic between hands and linear direction. Effect: displacement of air and heat. Future potential: controlled shockwave.

They were not complete spells.

They didn't have a name yet.

But they were his.

"I don't need to understand the world" he said quietly to himself "I just need to remake it my way."

And then, he allowed himself a new thought: he would no longer hide.

For years he had practiced hiding. Controlling her emotions. Warming tea in secret. Opening doors with a whisper. Talking to snakes alone at night.

But now it was different.

He wouldn't expose himself yet. He wouldn't do magic in front of everyone. But he wouldn't disguise who he was either.

If he walked through the orphanage and a candle was lit as he passed... let it be so.

If his shadow moved a second later than his body... let them notice.

It would no longer live as a secret.

From that day on, her existence would be like her magic: contained, elegant, precise... but impossible to ignore.

It was then, at that point of calm and clarity, that she descended from the roof and found Stinky waiting by the chapel.

"We need to talk," Aurelian said to him.

And there began the plan to create a fortune with his past knowledge.

The elf leaned in, curious.

"I've been thinking...I can no longer rely only on what we randomly find or buy. I need real resources. A network. Influence. And for that... I need one thing: Money."

Stinky blinked.

"To have a fortune... like rich wizards?"

"Exactly. But much better. Something never before seen in the world, that only I can build."

The elf cocked his head.

"How... young aurelian?"

Aurelian smiled with that gesture he only used when an idea consumed him.

He stood up and walked over to his experiment corner.

"I've been developing a recipe for a self-healing magic ink. And another for an enchanted stone that glows when someone tells a lie. They're just prototypes... but if I perfect them, we could sell them. And not only that: we could start something. A store. A name. A legacy."

Stinky rubbed his hands together, excited.

"And where would we start?"

Aurelian spread his finger over the map, until he stopped at a specific point: Diagon Alley.

"First... we'll go to Gringotts" he declared excitedly.

"I want to perform an inheritance test since using the galleons my mother left is not quite right. Who knows maybe my father will have some gold... and start moving in that world. Going unnoticed...but moving forward."

Stinky nodded slowly.

"It may be dangerous...but necessary. I can help you lay low until you get to the bank. I'll go with you."

Aurelian looked down, thoughtfully.

"You know... it's ironic. I used to dream of walking down the Alley as a student excited about his first wand. Now I'll do it as someone who wants to build an empire, a legacy, be lake more."

And then, in a low voice so that only he would hear:

"But I don't care. I didn't come to this world to repeat history. I came to write a new one."

That night, he wrote a single line in his new notebook, one lined in black leather and sealed with a magic padlock:

"Blood is not the legacy. Vision is."

___________

The chosen day arrived with overcast skies. Clouds trailed over London like a veil of ash, and the air smelled of old rain and coal.

Aurelian combed her hair carefully. Not because she cared about aesthetics, but because everything had to look normal. Ordinary. Monotonous. Like any other orphanage child who went out on short leave.

"To the library again, Riddle?" said Mrs. Thorn, pursing her lips as she signed the sign-out sheet "You're going to wear your eyes out among so many books."

"Reading is cheaper than a new pair of glasses" he replied with a slight smile.

"That doesn't even make sense Riddle" 

"That's why I said it."

The woman rolled her eyes and handed him a patched scarf.

"Two hours, tops. And stay out of the way" she reminded.

"Of course not" he lied calmly.

Outside, Stinky was waiting for him in a narrow alley between two decrepit buildings. He wore a long hooded robe, which made him look more like a shadow than a creature. As soon as Aurelian crossed the rusty gate of the orphanage, the elf wiggled his fingers and a slight tingle covered the boy's body.

"Cloudy perception spell" he whispered "You're not invisible, but no one will remember seeing you."

"Perfect" He smiled in a slow, almost proud way.

They walked between gray streets and damp markets. They took a bus that creaked under braking, got off at a forgotten section of Cecil Court, and then turned down a passage between an instrument store and a bookstore that no longer sold books.

There, he stopped.

In front of him, a reddish brick wall with a slightly different row, almost as if it formed a pattern.

"Are you ready young aurelian?" asked Stinky, in a barely audible voice.

"I have been since before I was born."

Stinky nodded and tapped the bricks in a precise pattern: three vertical taps, two diagonal, one central.

The bricks shuddered.

Then, like an awakening organism, the wall opened.

Diagon Alley unfolded before him like an explosion of color and compressed magic.

Aurelian held his breath.

It was the first time he had seen it. Not in dreams, not in books, not in inherited memories. He was seeing it with his own eyes.

Shop windows glittered with floating artifacts, scrolls that wrote themselves, cauldrons that bubbled without fire. Wizards and witches crossed in robes of every color, some with tall hats, others with brooms hanging on their backs, children laughing as they chased after enchanted mice or chocolate frogs.

One store displayed spinning wands in glass cases. Another sold quills with crystal tips and ink that glowed like liquid fire. In the background, an ice cream shop smoked with magical mist, and next to it, a magical creature store let out squawks and squawks that were not of this world.

But Aurelian did not stop. He had a clear objective that day.

Stinky was leading him a few paces behind, watchful, silent.

And then, he saw the building.

Imposing, white, leaning as if it defied architecture itself, with carved pillars and gargoyles that moved when you didn't look directly at them.

Gringotts The Goblin Bank.

He stopped in front of the great bronze doors. There, engraved with runes and graceful lines, was the Classical warning from the books.

He read it in a low voice, with a smile that was not entirely innocent:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed,

of the sin of greed and its dark snare.

For those who seek foreign treasures in this place,

shall find more than they can bear."

The wind ruffled his scarf. His fingers brushed the bottomless bag that hung, invisible, inside his coat.

"I don't come to steal," he said "I come to reclaim what belongs to me. And to build the rest."

Thus he took the first step toward the entrance.