Corvus woke late, a quick tempus revealing it was nearly noon. He groaned and called for Tibby to prepare a quick bite. A hot shower and a sharp change of robes later, he strode to Professor Amelia Veyra's classroom. After knocking and hearing a soft "come in," he entered. Professor Veyra's face lit with a small smile.
"Black," she greeted, "I was expecting you yesterday."
"I had to change the spell I wanted to demonstrate, Professor," he replied evenly.
"Oh? And why was that?" she asked, curiosity in her tone.
"Allow me to show you," Corvus said. With a silent Accio he pulled a dummy before them. With a twist of his wand, he cast Sanguis Frigeo. A sheen of pale blue frost spread across the dummy, then began to melt. When the frost was gone, nothing remained but blackened, brittle wood. He flicked his wand again and sent a light Depulso at it, only for the dummy to crumble into ash and splinters, its core completely charred.
Professor Veyra's expression turned to sadness as she studied the result. Corvus pulled two bundles of parchment from his mokeskin pouch, laying them before her. "This," he said, pointing to the second, "is a shield charm I finalized early this morning."
She read the heading aloud. "Veruscut."
"Short for Verus Scutum, the True Shield," Corvus explained. Another dummy floated over with a lazy flick of his wand. Corvus planted it firmly, then cast a powerful Veruscut Sigillum, a stationary shield shimmering dark grey within and light blue on the outer layer. Veyra began to read through his calculations while Corvus stepped ten paces away.
"This shield is far more resilient than a standard Protego. Allow me to demonstrate." He said and his wand blurred. Jinxes, curses, and hexes poured forth in a storm. Stupefy, Reducto, Confringo, Piercing hexes, even Bone Shatterers and Bloodletting curses. The room thundered with spellfire. Amelia's eyes widened. She knew most duelists could not withstand half such a barrage. Yet the shield held firm. When he paused, his breathing steady, she realized his speed bordered on inhuman.
"The true test," Corvus said softly. He raised his wand and fired three Unforgivables in quick succession. Imperio, Crucio, and at last the Killing Curse. The first two dissipated on impact. The third shattered the stationary shield in a burst of violent towards it attacker. But even before the killing curse hit the shield, Corvus had cast Veruscut Maxima, covering the stationary shield's burst. The energy splintered outward towards him and was absorbed harmlessly.
Corvus holstered his wand with deliberate slowness, his expression calm. "Professor, this was Veruscut. I wish to register both this and Sanguis Frigeo under my name and hear your judgment."
Veyra shook herself free of shock and stood, parchment clutched tightly. "Sanguis Frigeo will be banned across every civilized nation. It is needlessly brutal, a devastating charm. Are you certain you want to put your name to such a spell, Corvus?"
"Yes," he answered. "It is a weapon.. and Veruscut its counterbalance. My first contrubutions to Charms."
Her gaze softened as she shifted to the parchment examining the aritmancy and function of the shield. "This, though… this is extraordinary." She raised her wand and whispered, "Veruscut." The shield shimmered before her, dark grey within, blue glowing from the out. She peered through it, realizing how difficult it would be for an opponent to even aim at the caster beyond. "Remarkable," she breathed. "A bit heavy on drain, yes, but worth the cost."
"What would you like to test?" Corvus asked, wand already in hand.
"Imperio." The spell hit her shield instantly, exploding into harmless sparks as a second shield snapped up around Corvus himself. She blinked, then laughed once. "I'm not sure I dare test your other spell. Corvus, I wish you would turn your genius toward creations like this more often."
She lowered her wand, eyes lingering on him, then inclined her head. "Master Black," she said formally, the title ringing with weight. "I will apply and vouch for your mastery. Expect summons from the Guild soon. They will want you to explain the formulas and demonstrate before a jury of masters. But make no mistake: your name is already etched in history of Charms."
Corvus bowed slightly, acknowledging her words, and left the classroom. Her final words followed him out: "I am proud of you."
--
Corvus made his way toward the main hall in good spirits, inclining his head politely to the students and mastery candidates who greeted him along the way. At the doors of the hall, a tall third year student with a broad frame stepped forward. Corvus recognized him immediately, Victor Krum, a third year student he remembered from the previous term. With his heavy Bulgarian accent, Krum inclined his head and said, "Heir Black. Professor Greengrass is looking for you."
Corvus nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Krum." He spared the hall a brief glance, then sighed and turned on his heel toward Greengrass' classroom instead.
He knocked once and entered at the sound of the professor's gruff "Come in." Horatio Greengrass looked up from a stack of parchments, and when his eyes landed on Corvus he rose immediately.
"Where have you been, Corvus? I have been looking for you all morning."
"I was with Professor Veyra, Professor." Corvus answered simply, waiting for Greengrass to continue.
The older wizard strode to his desk and picked up a bundle of sealed parchments. "These," he said with a spark of pride, "are the official confirmations of your Aetherveil Serum. It is now registered under your name. You are to demonstrate the brewing process before a jury at the next full moon. Four days from now. Afterwards, the Masters will deliberate whether to declare you a Potions Master outright, or insist you continue your studies."
He reached for another parchment. "The cost of ingredients has been set at one hundred and fifty Galleons per batch. You can have four to six vials from each batch. The selling price of each vial is for you to decide. As your instructor, I advise between one hundred and one hundred fifty Galleons. This potion addresses dire need, Corvus. I hope greed will not blind you to its importance."
Corvus smiled faintly. "One hundred Galleons, then." Making his name known as a benevolent Potioneer was more important sompared to some galleons. Which he was not lacking at all. Still nearly seventy galleons on each vial was considerable gain.
Greengrass gave a satisfied nod. "Sensible." He picked up the last parchment, his tone growing more serious. "This is your very first order. Direct from Eirheim, Heilhaus der Runenwacht. They have requested one hundred doses."
Corvus blinked. "Professor, I do not have the time to brew so many."
"Exactly," Greengrass replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That is why I suggest you allow other certified Masters to brew the serum as well. You will receive royalties, ten percent from every vial sold. Sign these parchments, and it will be arranged. All royalties will be directed to your vault at the Berlin branch of Gringotts. I strongly recommend opening a vault here if you wish to avoid the goblins siphoning their share with every transfer."
Corvus muttered under his breath, "Greedy little bastards," which drew a bark of laughter from Greengrass.
"Oh, I know exactly what you are thinking," the professor said with a grin. "Better to open a vault in Berlin and withdraw directly. From what I foresee, this potion will spread quickly across the magical world. Limit sales to countries and especially mention that the transfer of the coins whould be excluded from the fees. Let the traders deal with the rest."
Corvus inclined his head. "Very well. I will make the arrangements." He thanked the professor before leaving. Greengrass called after him, "Be ready for the demonstration in four days' time."
Once outside, Corvus allowed himself a slow breath. With his mind clear, he returned to his chambers for a late meal. After finishing, he sent Umbra off with a small parchment, inquiring if Professor Menkara was available. The raven returned an hour later with a reply. The old ritualist would see him in two hours. He smiled to himself. He was eager and curious to learn what spirit would appear before him this time.
--
Corvus opened his eyes from the relaxing bath to Viridith's string of hisses, full of inventive curses picked up from times Corvus left him at Arcturus' study. The serpent was clearly following Lord Black's instruction on learning English… in an extremely wrong way. Creative profanities, twisted by an animal mind, spilled from the viper's tongue. "Feathered traitors, may your wings be plucked mid flight! Corvus shook his head faintly, half amused, half resigned. At least the hissing rhythm anchored him. But he had other matters to attend to. He took a shower and put on new robes.
When the appointed time came, he walked to Professor Menkara's chambers. He knocked and waited, hearing mutters in ancient Coptic before the door creaked open. The ritualist's gaze was far away, it seems he was still caught in texts from centuries past. "Black," Menkara rasped, "come. Tell me what you need, boy."
"The same as always, Professor," Corvus answered, nodding his head with respect.
Without further words, Menkara led him to the ritual room. Corvus knelt on the stone floor and began carving runes with practiced precision, infusing each stroke with his magic. Soon the circle pulsed faintly. He settled into lotus position, nodded once, and Menkara's chant began, low and steady, guiding Corvus' consciousness away.
When he opened his eyes again, he was elsewhere. A ruined city stretched behind him. Crumbling pillars, shattered obelisks, outlines of walls that whispered of Egypt long forgotten. In front of him yawned a cave, its breath damp and cold. Instinct told him this was where he must go. He shifted into his white tiger form, vision sharpened for the dark, and padded silently inside.
The tunnel sloped downward. The air grew heavy, clammy. At last he reached a vast cavern where a pond lay still as black glass. He shifted back and started to examine the cavern. His eyes caught the pale glisten of shed skin draped across the rocks. Immense, easily eighty feet long. For the first time since he had begun these rituals, true unease crawled up his spine. He wondered if he could return.. then the surface rippled.
From the pond rose a head, then coils thick as tree trunks. Scales gleamed a mottled greenish black, dorsal spines ridging its back. Its body kept emerging, a colossal serpent. A basilisk. Corvus snapped his eyes shut the instant the head was coming out, unwilling to risk the beast's deadly gaze, nor get petrified from reflected view on the water's surface.
A hiss thundered through the chamber. "I feel you, Speaker…"
Corvus' lips curled faintly. In Parseltongue he replied, "Greetings, old one. Do you have a name?"
The basilisk shifted, scales grinding over stone like boulders dragged across a cavern floor. "Names are for the short lived. I am fang and venom and hunger. But if I must wear one, it will be yours when I take your body," it hissed.
"Will you not look into my eyes, Speaker?" the basilisk pressed, its voice deep, instinctual, sharp with ancient impatience.
"I think not, old one. I've no wish to die from your famous gaze."
A low chuckle rumbled through the cavern, dust sifting from the ceiling with its resonance. "You are Speaker. My gaze will not slay you. I have another eyelid, see? You will live. Open your eyes, so we may battle truly."
Corvus hesitated. He remembered Tom Riddle had once spoken with a basilisk. It was unclear whether survival came from being a Parselmouth or from mastery over the beast itself. But a membrane… reptiles often carried protective lids. And this creature wanted him alive for its challenge. A beast, yes.. more intelligent than most, but still ruled by instinct. Likely it spoke truth. A calculated risk, he murmured to himself, and opened his eyes slowly.
The serpent's vast body coiled like living architecture, muscles rippling beneath dark scales. Its head was broad, its jaw powerful enough to crush stone. But it was the eyes that seized him. Yellow-green orbs with slit pupils, shimmering faintly behind the promised membrane. A transparent film gleamed over them, and most importantly, he still lived.
"It is for the times we speak with the master," the basilisk explained to his unspoken question, its gaze unwavering.
"Shall we, Speaker?" it hissed, shortly after. Locking eyes with him.
And so the battle of wills began. The first wave came as a crashing wave from the great serpent with the force of a train.