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Chapter 36 - Chapter 36

While a petty contest of house points was unfolding at Hogwarts, another, far more consequential battle was being prepared for the floor of the Wizengamot. Arcturus Black, true to his word, had maneuvered carefully. Lord Travers was ready to put forward the act granting broader privileges to the families of the Sacred Twenty Eight in matters of commerce. Lord Greengrass, steady and respected, had volunteered to present the act exempting certain families from large percent of taxation. The houses, whose ventures were deemed directly beneficial to the prosperity of magical Britain. To ensure an appearance of fairness, the selection of such families was to be entrusted to a jury. Two Lords from the Traditionalist wing, two from the Neutral, two from the Progressives, and finally two senior bureaucrats appointed by the Ministry. The third act, controversial even among neturals was to be carried by Lord Selwyn himself, that no Muggle born witch or wizard could hold a Ministry post higher than clerk unless they were sponsored by a recognized pure blood house.

As the date of the next session drew near, both Traditionalists and Neutrals waited with keen interest, their eyes on Arcturus Black to see if he could shepherd all three acts through the storm. The numbers in the chamber favored the Traditionalists, bolstered by recent defections from the Neutral bloc. But the real challenge lay not with the raw votes, but with the intricate legal snares and procedural traps embedded in Britain's tangled web of magical law. Generations of decrees, some dating back to the Wizard's Council, the predecessor of the Ministry remained technically valid. With such a labyrinth of statutes in play, power often rested less with the majority and more with those shrewd enough to wield precedent.

Here the authority of the Chief Warlock was paramount. Though the Chief Warlock possessed only a single vote like any other member, he held the ancient right of 'certiorari veto' the power to strike down any act or motion deemed "contrary to the laws, traditions, or essential values of wizardkind." It was a prerogative rooted in centuries of magical governance, originally designed to protect against hasty legislation that might imperil the very fabric of magical society. In practice, it allowed a skilled Chief Warlock to halt or delay any proposal, citing obscure precedents or lofty principles. Dumbledore, with his deep well of experience and his carefully cultivated reputation as guardian of moral law, could thus block measures even if the votes themselves were stacked against him.

On top of that, the Minister held two votes, and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wielded another. Arcturus, however, had long since learned that Cornelius Fudge's loyalty could be purchased as easily as floo powder. His vote, nothing more than another expense in the Black ledgers. The next Wizengamot session, therefore, promised not just to be a tally of ayes and nays, but a duel of cunning. A showcase of whether Arcturus Black could outmaneuver Albus Dumbledore's legal vetoes and moral posturing, and bring the Traditionalist wing's agenda to life.

--

Days after the clash with both the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress, Corvus quickly gained a reputation throughout Hogwarts as a stern, sharp, no nonsense professor. His reputation spread like wildfire. He was strict, uncompromising and unwilling to bend on matters of respect or discipline. Yet, despite the fear his cold gaze inspired, his classes stood leagues above the Hogwarts norm. The knowledge he imparted was advanced, the precision he demanded sharpened skills, and the standards he set made his second year students realize that they were being taught on a level far below what they had expected. Some of the older years whispered about asking permission to sit in on his lectures on Potions after seeing the first years were far more advanced even after a handful of lectures. Professor Black was harsh but he was fair and among the student body, that fairness was noted and respected.

Even the Gryffindors, whose tempers flared quickest under criticism, grudgingly admitted the truth. Professor Black was not Snape. He did not play favorites. He cut down Slytherins just as quickly as Gryffindors when they were careless. But the scars of his discipline lingered longest on Ronald Weasley. The boy had become the house's persona non grata, a pariah among lions, and each day his misery grew heavier.

Ron spent most of his time sulking in the corner of the common room, hunched over and glowering, while his housemates studied, laughed, and swapped stories without him. The upper years barely tolerated his presence. The only reason they hadn't hexed him outright was the protective shield of his older brothers. Even so, the whispers, the muttered insults, the glares, and the sheer silence around him made him accuse Black more. Everyone blamed him, according to them, he had dragged their points, their pride, and their reputation into the mud.

It was all Black's fault. That arrogant brat.. no, that arrogant 'professor' with his cold eyes and clipped tone. How could someone younger than Percy command such authority? How could simply being late and forgetting to knock on a door turn into such a nightmare? Starting the year with minus three hundred and thirty points was a disaster only a Weasley could have accomplished. But worse than that, there was more where the first came from.

Fred and George noticed his despair and, with their usual devilish grins, saw an opportunity. They flanked him one evening, voices low, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Don't worry, Ronniekins," George said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Retribution is coming."

"A prank worthy of every point you lost," Fred chimed in. Then, after a dramatic pause, he corrected himself, "Well, not all of them. Three hundred's a bit much. But at least fifty points' worth."

Ron's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really," Fred smirked. "We'll make him regret thinking he could knock a Weasley down."

The promise was intoxicating. The twins assured him that tonight would be the night. They had gone down to the kitchens and, with silver tongues, convinced the elves that the new professor enjoyed a few special additions to his meals. Whatever concoction they'd arranged to be slipped into Black's plate, they swore it would be glorious. For the first time in days, Ron felt hope stirring in his chest.

That evening, he strutted into the Great Hall with a spring in his steps, head held high. He slid into a seat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, his plate piled high with food shoveled in with all the grace of a troll. His gaze, though, was fixed on the staff dais. Every heartbeat made him more certain, this would be the night Black fell.

It wasn't long before Corvus Black entered the hall. His stride was measured, his robes immaculate. Whispers rippled through the students, but Corvus merely inclined his head slightly before taking his seat beside Professor Flitwick. A meal appeared before him as it always did, steaming and perfect. Ron leaned forward, anticipation humming in his veins. Any moment now…

But then Corvus's eyes narrowed. He studied the plate in front of him with the intensity of a predator. A low murmur slipped from his lips. A sharp crack followed, and a house elf appeared at his side. Another two elves followed moments later, conferring in hushed voices as their large eyes flicked toward the Gryffindor table.

Ron's grin faltered. His heart sank. The elves' gazes sharpened, and then their long, spindly fingers stretched out, pointing directly at the Weasley twins.

The color drained from Ron's face. His stomach dropped like a stone. Fred and George were not about to humiliate Corvus Black. They were about to face the wrath of both Hogwarts' elves and the Black heir himself. And somehow, Ron knew with absolute certainty, when the dust settled, it would would be his fault again.

--

Corvus had been in high spirits lately. Arcturus' last letter spoke of another seventy "personnel" ready to be settles upon him processing them. Which would bring the total number of Squibs embedded within the syndicates to over two hundred. The note ended with a hint of some surprise the old man wished to reveal during Corvus' next visit home. He paused when he realized he was thinking of Grimmauld Place as home. Even calling Arcturus "grandfather," as the man had asked, now felt natural. He had warmed to the old bastard, strangely enough. A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured Arcturus hunched over his ledgers, muttering smug insults about their ancestors while gleefully adding another line of gold bars.

When Corvus entered the Great Hall that evening, Professor Flitwick gave a cheerful wave, and Corvus joined him at the staff table. His plate filled with one if his favorite dishes appeared, courtesy of the house elves. He inclined his head politely and murmured his thanks, just as the smell of the food struck him as wrong. Something faint, but off. His instincts sharpened. Professor Greengrass' infamous skill in recognizing the faintest scents of tampered potions, and his Replication Talent had preserved that knowledge. A closer look with bloodsight revealed faint color changes in the broth and the goblet. The dish was poisoned or at the very least, altered.

Corvus summoned Pimsy, the elf responsible for cleaning his classrooms and kindly asked him to call for the elves who prepared his dinner. Two appeared with sharp cracks, ears twitching nervously. Under questioning, they explained that two red haired students had informed them Professor Black wanted certain potions mixed into his meal and drink. Corvus' expression did not shift, but the room seemed to chill as he spoke. "Show me who they are please." Even knowing full well the culprits, he need witnesses after all.

The elves pointed toward the Gryffindor table, at Fred and George Weasley, who were already beginning to rise, sensing trouble. Corvus stood smoothly, wand flashing to his hand. Three spells left the tip in a heartbeat. Two Petrificus Totalus, and a Levicorpus. The twins froze mid step, locked in place, then lifted helplessly into the air, dangling like marionettes. Murmurs rippled across the hall. Minerva McGonagall shot up from her seat, face tight, while Severus Snape's wand hand twitched as though itching for a duel that never came. Corvus raised his fork and tapped his goblet three times. The sharp, ringing sound silenced the hall.

"These two gentlemen," he began, voice cutting through the Great Hall, "decided it would be amusing to tamper with a professor's dinner. Two hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor." His pronouncement drew a variety of reactions. Slytherins smirked in satisfaction, Ravenclaws looked scandalized that anyone would dare prank a member of the faculty, Hufflepuffs exchanged uneasy glances, and Gryffindors groaned audibly. "Each." Added Corvus which made the groans from the Gryffindors louder.

Corvus' gaze swept the hall before settling firmly on McGonagall. "Deputy Headmistress," he said, each syllable deliberate, "will you oppose this disciplinary action as well?"

Minerva drew in a sharp breath, lips pressed tight. "Don't you think five hundred points is a touch excessive, Professor Black?" she asked, her voice carefully controlled.

"Not at all," Corvus replied coolly. "Loss of house points is the least of their worries. I want them expelled. Imagine, if you will, that I had chosen to dine in my chambers instead of here. Do these two have any knowledge if I had a condition that reacted violently to their concoction? Do you mean to tell me this behavior is tolerated?"

Minerva stiffened. "If they are expelled before their O.W.L.s, their wands will be confiscated permanently."

"Precisely," Corvus said without hesitation. "Those with such reckless disregard for conduct should not be trusted with wands."

Albus Dumbledore interjected then, his calm voice carrying across the room. "Expulsion is too great a punishment, Professor. As Headmaster, I cannot and will not agree to it."

Corvus' lips curved faintly. "Then it is fortunate, Headmaster, that Lord Black now sits on the Board of Governors. Until the matter is settled, these two will serve detention with me. And the points deduction stands. I trust, Professor McGonagall, that you will not attempt to reinstate them as you did before." His eyes glinted with warning.

He lowered the boys to the ground with a flick of his wand. Minerva, her jaw set, cast a curt Enervate on each twin. As they blinked awake, realizing every eye in the hall was on them, one stammered, "Professor, we.. we think there's been a misunderstanding. We never..."

"Enough," McGonagall snapped, her Scots accent sharpening with fury. "Follow me to my office. Now!"

The twins trudged after her, faces pale despite their usual bravado. They had no idea just how deep in trouble they truly were.

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