A/N
There is a Poll on https://www.patreon.com/posts/140842348 for the relationship option of dear Corvus. Give it a shot please.
Days at Hogwarts settled into a quiet rhythm, and November drifted to a close with a crisp chill in the air. Yet beneath the surface, the cracks between houses widened in ways the school hadn't seen in years. It was no longer only about blood purity. After the Samhain rite, a shift had taken root. A number of Hufflepuffs and even Gryffindors began cautiously approaching Ravenclaws and Slytherins, asking for guidance on pure blood etiquette, wizarding customs, and the meaning of the sacred days. The ceremony had shaken their assumptions. Magic no longer appeared to them as a mere tool, but as something alive, an entity worthy of respect. The words "Mother Magic" were no longer dismissed as tradition bound nonsense, but spoken with newfound reverence.
Dumbledore, however, was uneasy. Several times he called Corvus to his office, speaking gently but firmly about the dangers of dabbling in the Dark Arts. "You could have subdued the troll, bound it, knock it, anything could be preferrable" the Headmaster argued, his voice carrying the weight of disappointment. "To use a Killing Curse.. it is a terrible choice, Heir Black. Magic should not be twisted in such a way." Each time, Corvus listened in silence, his expression polite but unreadable. And each time, while the Headmaster tried to guide him, Fawkes had been there. His flames bright, his feathers gleaming. The phoenix was generous in ways its master was not. From the majestic bird, Corvus had already drawn three priceless gifts: the ability to travel by fire, healing tears, and resistance to dark magic. Only when alone did Corvus allow himself the smallest smile at the irony that the creature bonded to Dumbledore gave him so much more than the man ever could. "Next time a crisis occur Headmaster," said Corvus as he was leaving Dumbledore's office, "send someone who have less intelligence from the now deceased Troll. That way you can save the next creature threatening the students."
His last replication of November came from Professor Vector. Her advanced grasp of spell crafting was subtle but deep, and when Corvus mirrored it, he felt his understanding of how spells were woven expand severalfold. It was yet another piece of the puzzle falling into place. Proof that all branches of magic, from the darkest curses to the most benign charms, were connected at their roots.
The date of his return to Durmstrang for mastery classes drew near. He would spend two weeks there under the direct tutelage of his professors in Potions, Charms, and the Dark Arts. To prepare, he doubled the hours of his lessons at Hogwarts, drilling his students harder than ever. By the time the week ended, his first years who had already finished the entire first year curriculum, were halfway through the second. His second years were in a similar position, nearly done with their third year work before the Yule break had even arrived. The progress was undeniable, and the whispers among the students grew. Professor Black's classes were brutal, yes, but no one left them without learning.
On his last evening before departure, Friday's dinner lingered with an air of expectation. After the plates were cleared, Dumbledore rose to his feet, his voice carrying over the hall. "Allow me to announce that Professor Black will be absent for the next fortnight. He will be traveling to Durmstrang to continue his mastery studies in Potions, in Charms, and.." here his tone grew solemn, almost regretful, "in the Dark Arts."
Murmurs ran down the tables, curious and uncertain. Corvus stood smoothly, his expression composed. "We are ahead of schedule in both Potions and Charms," he said, his voice steady and carrying clearly. "I will expect excellence from my classes on my return. There will be an exam waiting for both first and second years."
The students relaxed at first, knowing they were already far ahead. But then he added, his lips curling faintly, "The exam will cover everything we have studied so far." A ripple of shock ran through the younger years, their relief vanishing. Corvus allowed himself the smallest smirk before taking his seat again.
At his side, Flitwick chuckled warmly, his high pitched voice cheerful. "You do enjoy keeping them on their toes, Corvus."
"They will thank me later, Filius," Corvus replied evenly. Unlike with rest of the staff, there was a genuine respect in his tone. The Charms Master had insisted more than once that Corvus call him by his first name. "Discipline breeds strength. Comfort breeds complacency."
Flitwick's smile was genuine. In his heart, he believed Corvus to already be a master of the craft. Their private mock duels had proven it more than once; if anything, the boy could have swept the floor with him. Yet what impressed the half goblin most was not only Corvus' prodigious talent, but the way he demanded that his students rise to the challenge. It was, Flitwick thought privately, the closest Hogwarts had been similar to her glorius days in a long time.
--
Upon his return to Grimmauld Place, Corvus was greeted in the study by Arcturus, who rose from his chair with a rare smile and pulled him into a gruff embrace.
"You are missed, boy," the old man said, his voice thick with feeling that he seldom displayed.
"And you as well, Grandfather," Corvus replied, returning the gesture with warmth. For all his sharp edges, he had grown accustomed to the presence of the patriarch. Grimmauld Place felt less like a place to use and more like a home with Arcturus in it.
"I'll be travelling with you to Germany," Arcturus continued, lowering his tone. "We'll meet Vinda there. The oath, she has agreed to it. Said it was the safest way. You two will continue to Durmstrang from there, while I return here."
Corvus nodded, his expression firm. "Good. Time is of the essence, Grandfather. Before we depart, let us meet with our new employees. The Syndicates grow hungrier by the day."
Both men stood, cloaks swirling, and moved to the hearth. With a measured flick, Arcturus activated the Floo Network, they vanished in green flames shortly after.
They arrived in one of the manors Arcturus had purchased. Inside the wide hall and the small garden, squibs were waiting in tense silence. Some still have not arrived after the abrupt summons. Their faces drawn with hope and fear. Corvus led them to a smaller study one by one. The interviews were meticulous, his Legilimency slipping past weak defenses to pry into their loyalties and intentions. He tolerated nothing less than honesty.
Sixty five proved loyal or desperate enough to bind themselves to the Blacks. Five, however, caught his attention. Two were mere thieves, their minds littered with schemes and hunger for easy coin. The other three were worse. dark, empty blocks in their thoughts. Memories veiled off by contracts, too tightly wound to pierce without ripping apart their sanity.
Corvus' face betrayed nothing. No flicker of suspicion, no tightening of the eyes. He dismissed them with calm politeness, telling them gently they had already found what they were looking for. His heart, however, was cold steel. Someone was probing. ICW? One of the European ministries? Whoever it was, they were casting lines into his waters. He would not bite.
When the interviews concluded and the contracts were sealed in magic, the sixty five were dispatched to various syndicates. Piece by piece, his control deepened.
Arcturus entered the study after the last of them had gone. Corvus relayed everything in sharp detail, from the thieves to the empty spaces in three minds.
"Someone has taken notice," Arcturus muttered darkly.
"Precisely. We lay low. Use the new elves to watch those three from the shadows. Let them think we are unaware, and they may reveal their hand."
That evening, they returned to Grimmauld Place. Dinner was a silent affair, both men lost in calculations of threat and opportunity.
At dawn, cloaked in quiet determination, both Blacks travelled to the Ministry of Magic. Through official portkeys, they vanished again, this time reappearing inside the grand marble halls of the German Ministry in Berlin, ready for the next stage of their designs.
--
Arcturus and Corvus were greeted by a young clerk of the German Ministry, sharp eyed and polite, who led them through the echoing marble corridors into one of the smaller meeting chambers. As the door was held open, the young man inclined his head respectfully. "May we meet again, my lord. My father spoke fondly of your days in France," he said softly, before lowering his voice to add, "For the Greater Good, Lord Black."
Arcturus returned a slight nod, his expression unreadable, though in his mind he filed the words away. Either the boy was an overeager admirer, or kin to an Alliance member. He glanced at Corvus, who met his gaze with a knowing smirk. "You have fans, Grandfather," Corvus murmured, making it clear he had read the situation the same way, with a tiny bit of mind reading. Not a spy, but a sympathizer.
Inside the chamber, Vinda Rosier was already waiting. She rose smoothly, dark robes trailing, and embraced Arcturus with a warmth that clashed with the chill of her voice. "Black," she greeted, her eyes narrowing. "Tell me, was it your idea, or your heir's, to demand this oath?"
Arcturus inclined his head toward Corvus, yielding the question to him. Vinda's lips curved slightly. "Good. That kind of ruthlessness will serve you well, Corvus."
From within her robes she produced a carefully prepared parchment and unfurled it on the table. The language was sharp and formal, written in the flowing hand of someone well versed in magical contracts. She held her wand upright, and read clearly:
"I, Vinda Rosier, do hereby swear upon my life, my blood, and my magic, that under no circumstance shall I reveal or convey, whether by speech, quill, spell, or thought, any secret, knowledge, or dealing entrusted to me by Arcturus Black or Corvus Black. Nor shall I attempt, directly or indirectly, to use what I learn from them for my own gain or another's advantage. This oath will bind me until my death, irrevocable, and sealed before Mother Magic."
As the final words left her lips, the parchment flared briefly with white fire before vanishing into ash. A faint shimmer settled over her skin, the invisible mark of a binding oath accepted by magic itself. She lowered her wand and exhaled. "There. Done. Now speak plainly, Arcturus. What is it that you want of me?"
Arcturus met her gaze steadily. "Selene Rosier," he said, and Corvus, who had been silent, immediately focused on him. "A distant cousin of Evan Rosier. The family line is broken in Britain. I intend to reinstate it. The lordship will pass to my heir. Corvus is Selene's sole surviving son. There are no living Rosiers left in Britain. Last ones killed by the Aurors. On the continent though, you are the last. Which means the Ministry will likely turn to you for consent as the last living lady. What say you, Vinda? Will you recognize Corvus Black as rightful heir of the Rosier line in Britain?"
Vinda was silent for a long moment, her eyes narrowing in thought. Then she gave a sharp nod. "Yes. I will pen a letter to your Ministry, giving my consent and formally recognizing his claim and status. It will smooth the path from my side. The rest, Arcturus, is in your hands."
"That will suffice," the old Black said, satisfied.
She turned to Corvus once more. "I want my line to florish Corvus. Is it clear?" "Yes, professor" was his answer. Which Vinda corrected by allowing him to call her Aunt Vinda when in private. Arcturus could not help but frown. "How come I am a grandfather and you are an aunt?" He asked only to the silenced by the slightly glowing tip of Vinda's wand. "I dare you Black," she said. "Do continue in this line of thought. Let us see what will come to." Arcturus, was wise enough to close his mouth.
Vinda's expression softened fractionally as she turned to Corvus again. "You will be occupied at Durmstrang for the next two weeks. Focus on your masteries. Leave the rest to your 'grandfather'." She emphasized the last word with a smile like a blooming rose on her face.
The three of them rose together. Vinda and Corvus prepared to continue on to Durmstrang, while Arcturus would return to Britain to set matters in motion. As he departed, the old wolf chuckled under his breath. Another ring was coming for his heir's hand soon enough. And with it, the avalanche of proposals, contracts, and scheming families eager to tie their daughters, mistress or wife to the rising star of House Black.