"Are you telling me that the official entrance to this school is an earthen tunnel hidden beneath a cemetery—one that's clearly cursed?" Aurelian asked, raising an eyebrow as they walked through the strange, lush inner garden they'd reached from the stairs.
The old witch glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and let out a sharp snort, leaning her weight on her gnarled cane.
"Of course not, boy. That is clearly not the main entrance to our school. It's more like a very old emergency exit—a forgotten passageway buried in the earth. I deeply regret that chaotic and eventful welcome up there, but I assure you it was strictly necessary to save you and the young ladies."
Aurelian frowned, coming to a halt.
"Save us? From what, exactly?"
The witch also stopped in the middle of the garden, where night-blooming flowers were beginning to bloom. She turned toward him, looked up, and gazed intently into his eyes with an intensity that betrayed the decades of knowledge and wisdom she carried on her shoulders.
"I don't think I've properly introduced myself yet," said the elderly woman, straightening her stooped posture slightly. "My name is Margaret Sayre. Director of the Salem Institute of Witches."
Upon hearing the last name, Aurelian's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the revelation.
Sayre. His mind made the connection immediately. A very ancient surname that, like his own, was intrinsically linked to Salazar Slytherin himself and, of course, to Isolt Sayre, the founder of Ilvermorny. It was a distant branch of the very same family tree from which the Gaunt family descended. In a certain, curious way, they shared blood.
Margaret noticed his reaction, and a sly smile played on her wrinkled lips.
"I see you recognize the name. As you might imagine, I'm no stranger to the long and complex history shared by our families, Mr. Gaunt. But I'll explain what I meant by 'saving you' once we're in a much more private place. These stone walls tend to have very prying ears."
Aurelian nodded slowly. Intrigued and aware of the position and importance of the woman standing before him in this country, he asked no further questions and followed her in complete silence.
They crossed the garden and climbed another flight of very dark wooden stairs until they reached a set of double doors, which clearly led to the principal's office.
No sooner had Margaret pushed the door open—and it swung open with a faint creak—than two figures shot out from inside the room.
Two bodies collided with him at the same time, embracing him with an almost desperate force that made him take a step back. Aurelian let out a sigh, feeling a tension he hadn't known he had finally leave his body. He wrapped his arms around Hestia and Flora's waists and began to stroke their heads with affection and tenderness.
"I was so worried about you, my love," Hestia whispered against his neck, her voice slightly trembling from the anguish of the past few minutes.
Flora said nothing; she simply nodded frantically, burying her face against his chest and clinging to the fabric of his coat as if she feared the ground would swallow him up again.
Aurelian smiled sweetly at them, kissing both of their foreheads.
"I was very worried about you too, my loves. But I'm here now, and everything will be all right."
Margaret walked slowly and steadily to her desk, behind which she sank heavily into a large leather chair. She watched the emotional scene between the young couple and let out a hoarse laugh.
"I must admit, Mr. Gaunt, that your wives really are some extremely fierce and very dangerous witches—I truly wouldn't want them as enemies," remarked the headmistress, nodding toward the twins. "By the time I managed to reach your section of the tunnel to pick them up at the emergency exit, they had already defeated, disarmed, and tied up five of my older students who had tried to restrain them. And they were about to start cursing the school if I didn't take them to you immediately."
Upon hearing the principal's remark, the vulnerability vanished instantly from the girls' faces. Hestia and Flora stepped slightly away from Aurelian and smiled proudly. With synchronized movements, they smoothed out the folds of their dresses and walked toward the seats in front of the desk, resuming their seats with their characteristic elegance.
Aurelian took the remaining chair beside her. Now that her family was reunited and safe, the magical aura he had been unconsciously emitting faded, and he relaxed completely.
He crossed one leg over the other and fixed his intense gaze on the elderly woman sitting across from him.
"Well, Madame Sayre. We're in a private setting now," Aurelian began, in a polite tone that demanded immediate answers. "Will you tell me now what you meant? What happened up there at that monument, and what did you save us from?"
Margaret Sayre looked at him in silence for a few long seconds. Slowly, she rested her elbows on the wood of her desk, interlaced her wrinkled fingers, and gave him a slow, enigmatic smile.
That simple, inscrutable smile on the face of a witch with who knows how many decades of power and influence behind her… managed to do something even the Dark Lord himself couldn't: it made Aurelian Gaunt nervous. Margaret Sayre certainly looked like a witch in every sense of the word.
"You were a bunch of utter fools to go near that place," Margaret Sayre blurted out bluntly, wiping the smile from her face to look at them with a severity that made their blood run cold. "That cemetery isn't just a simple patch of land. It's deeply and twistedly cursed by the agony of every innocent wizard and witch who died there during the trials."
The old woman raised a finger—trembling with age but firm in its accusation—and pointed forcefully at Aurelian's chest.
"But you were the most foolish of them all, boy. Especially you, who are marked. You, who have been touched by Death."
Aurelian did not flinch at the accusing finger. He kept his posture relaxed, but his gaze sharpened.
"And assuming that's true… why exactly would my presence be a problem?"
Margaret lowered her hand, resting it once more on her cane, and let out a weary sigh.
"Silly boy…" the headmistress muttered under her breath. "That is precisely the problem. Because this place is so heavily cursed by terror and injustice, those trapped souls have never been able to cross over. They'll never be able to rest in peace. Did you really think that flock of crows was normal? Each and every one you saw on the branches… were the physical manifestations of those souls who still wander the earth, unable to leave behind all their hatred and resentment."
The old witch took a step toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"And you, with that unique aura of yours, upon entering her domain, were essentially like turning on a blinding beacon in the middle of the darkest night. You completely awakened those poor souls. They are looking for you, Aurelian Gaunt. Sensing someone who has walked through Limbo, they believe you are the key. They believe that, through you, they will finally be able to find eternal rest."
Aurelian narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the headmistress's wrinkled face. His mind was racing to make sense of those words. He had never revealed the nature of his encounter with Lady Death or the realm of the Relics to anyone outside his innermost circle—that is, his wives.
"Madame Sayre," Aurelian began, in a dangerously soft tone, "How do you know for certain that I am 'touched by death'?"
Margaret let out a dry laugh, a raspy sound that seemed to make the dust in the office vibrate.
"Oh, boy. A witch who has lived as long as I have never reveals her best secrets."
Aurelian clicked his tongue in obvious annoyance. At his side, Hestia and Flora mimicked their husband's gesture perfectly, clicking their tongues and crossing their arms at the same time, deeply irritated by the strange and evasive attitude of that old witch. They weren't used to anyone speaking to them in such riddles, much less their beloved.
However, beyond their annoyance at the secrecy, something in Margaret's words managed to stir something in Aurelian's heart. He recalled the pain and the pleas he sensed from the women and men condemned in that place.
"Tell me something," Aurelian asked, adopting a more serious tone. "Is there anything I can do to help those souls find rest once and for all and break the curse?"
Margaret Sayre blinked, momentarily losing her facade. Her expression softened considerably, and she smiled at him with a sweetness that contrasted with her appearance as a reclusive witch.
"You really are someone very special—did you know that?" Margaret said with genuine appreciation. "To be honest with you, I don't know exactly how you could do it. No one has managed it in three hundred years. But if anyone in this world has the power and the connection to make it happen… it's undoubtedly you."
Without saying another word on the subject, the principal turned around and walked toward the office door, motioning for them to follow her.
They left the office and began walking through the wide, dark, and silent hallways of the Institute. Despite the immense size of the place, there was hardly any movement to be seen.
Flora, who had been studying the school's architecture and layout, tilted her head.
"Principal," Flora said in a polite yet curious tone, "from what I've read about this academy's schedule, all the students should already be home for summer vacation. Why are there still girls—like the ones who attacked us—hanging around the school?"
Margaret didn't stop, but her step seemed to grow a little heavier.
"The girls who are at the school right now… my girls… have nowhere else to go," the elderly woman replied simply, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.
Aurelian, Hestia, and Flora exchanged silent glances. No further words were needed to understand the deep, sad meaning behind the headmistress's statement. They could only guess at many things, but most likely, these girls were orphans—young witches abandoned by terrified Muggle families or cast out by the wizarding world itself. The school wasn't just a place of learning for them; it was their only refuge in the world.
A few moments later, as they walked down a hallway lined with enormous windows, they heard footsteps approaching.
It was little Lys. The girl ran up, stopped abruptly in front of Aurelian, and, overcoming her fear, stretched out her little arms to hug him gently around the waist.
"Thank you for the candy, sir," Lys murmured shyly against his clothes.
Aurelian smiled and was about to stroke her hair when he felt two piercing gazes fixed on him.
Hestia and Flora, standing on either side of Aurelian, had fixed their eyes on the little girl. Their gazes made it clear what they were feeling—their darkest jealousy and their terrifying territoriality. No one hugged their husband without their permission.
Feeling the murderous instinct radiating from the two beautiful but terrifying women, Lys let go of Aurelian. She let out a stifled scream and ran at full speed down the opposite hallway to save her life.
Watching the girl's comical escape and the impassive possessiveness of those two women, Margaret Sayre burst out laughing again, shaking her head.
"Definitely," murmured the old witch, glancing at him over her shoulder, "you're someone very special, Aurelian Gaunt… one of a kind."
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