The room had gone still after the introductions. The fire held a steady burn. John Major rolled the edge of a blotter and let it go.
"Well," he began, a small smile to break the air. "This may be the most interesting day of my career. To learn that magic exists. That you focus it with your wands. I find it rather fascinating."
Corvus let a half smile show. "The most interesting day of your career will be an election day when you hand the government to the reds. Interesting and sad. I hope it does not arrive."
Major's smile thinned. Rimington set a note card square with the edge of the desk. McColl watched Corvus as if sighting a target he could not name.
Arcturus folded his hands on the arm of the chair. "We are not in the habit of meeting Muggles, Sir John. It is unusual for our kind. I also find it largely pointless. Your people do not understand us. You do not grasp what we can do, what we want, and most of all what we do not want."
Rimington kept her face blank. McColl did not.
"What we do not want," Arcturus went on, "is contact. Wizardkind will not be mingled with the Muggle world. That road ends in ruin. We keep our own order. You keep yours."
Major looked to the fire as if it might offer a safer topic. It did not. He reached for a glass and did not drink.
Corvus leaned back a fraction. "Your world is busy breaking the planet, Prime Minister. You have no control over your numbers. You treat water and soil as if they will mend themselves by miracle. When the river goes black and the forest goes thin, you look away and hope. We repair what we can when it threatens us. We will not continue to do so forever." He let the words sit. "We need the planet as much as you do. The difference is we plan for it."
Major's knuckles whitened on the glass. "We are not blind to the environment," he said, tone careful.
"You are not blind," Corvus answered. "You are busy with greed."
The line landed and stayed.
Rimington cleared her throat. "Lord Rosier," she started, eyes on her notes. "Is there any present dark lord we should be aware of." She found the term and held it like a tool she had cleaned twice.
McColl added without looking down. "If not domestic, then foreign. Should we expect disruptive acts from your side."
Corvus let the fire pop once and die. "There was a dark wizard. He is convicted and under custody." He turned his head to Major. "We do hope you followed your end of the agreement from the late seventeenth century. We trust you have not recruited our people nor have you captured or experimented on them."
Rimington and McColl exchanged a quick look. Major set the glass down. "We have honored the agreement," he said.
Rimington followed a note with her finger and found her next question. "We have reports of certain criminals who vanished from streets and in a few cases from prisons. Do you hold any record of such cases, Lord Black."
Arcturus drew himself up a half inch as if the air had turned stale. "Disappearing criminals," he repeated, faintly scandalised. "Madam, we are a government, not an entertaintment show. What do we have use for criminals? If a man vanishes from one of your cells, I suggest you ask the man who filed the keys. We are far too busy not mingling with you to creep about your gaols."
Rimington blinked at the dry edge. McColl's mouth tugged before he caught it. Major hid a cough in his fist and found his voice again.
Corvus changed the angle. "Now that the purpose of this meeting is complete, I will ask a simple thing. Do you have any active groups near our settlements, warded sites, or government buildings that we should be aware of? We prefer to hear it from you. You have the numbers after all. If there will be a trouble it is more likely to come from your side."
Rimington sat forward. "The Provisionals remain active. London has risk. Belfast has more. We monitor splinters with odd funding lines. Some foreign actors shop for grievances here and there. We watch them."
McColl added without flourish. "You will keep your wards clear of embassies and bases. We will keep ours away from your doors. If an attack crosses, we will inform rather than improvise."
Arcturus inclined his head once. "Adequate."
Major let out the breath he had been holding. "You will inform us if a similar risk runs through your side."
"We will," Arcturus said. "If it touches you."
Silence found the room again. Papers settled. The clock moved a single minute.
Major stood first. He offered a hand to Arcturus, then to Corvus, then to Ignatia. "Thank you for the candor," he said. "We will have the... Owl your office has left here reach you in case of need for communication."
Arcturus rose with him. "We prefer results to letters. Send both."
Ignatia closed her case. and put it back in her pouch.
Prime Minister Major couldn't hold it anymore, he pointed to the small puch. "I would love to have one of those." He sighed with a faint smile. At least the ending should be on a good tone.
Corvus glanced at the mokeskin pouch. "Unfortunately Minister, it does not work for Muggles."
His gaze lingered once at the hearth and then away. There was no Floo powder to use the hearth to go back.
"We will see ourselves out."
The air bent with a soft crack. Arcturus vanished. Ignatia vanished a heartbeat after. Corvus looked at the trio and turned to swirl on the spot, he was gone the next moment.
The fire hissed in the empty grate. Major looked at the space the wizards stood some seconds ago. Rimington took the chair at his left again. McColl took the one at his right. The room learned how to breathe like an office once more.
Though Major decided it was better to keep this room unused. It sounded safer.
--
Skeeter did not pass the opportunity of reporting the changes at Hogwarts in a rather spectacular way. Owls brought the copies of the Prophet and it's headline as usual was eye catching.
NEW HEADMISTRESS, NEW STANDARDS AT HOGWARTS
by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Polish your shoes and your manners, my dears. Hogwarts has shaken off its moth eaten shawl at last. Minister Arcturus Black has invited the formidable Vinda Rosier and the Board of Governors, which this reporter must admit most of the useless ones have resigned, made the correct choice for once and appointed her as the head of the school. Yelena Morozova to tame Transfiguration and Horatio Greengrass to civilise Potions. One calls this a course correction. This reporter calls it the first truly sensible act in years.
Do not mistake firmness for fright. Certain sentimentalists will clutch pearls. Paris murmurs about old wars. Madrid follows suit. MACUSA frowns on schedule. Yet from Vienna to Vilnius the letters are warm. Standards, they write. At last.
Dear readers will notice another name among the new members of the faculty. Narcissa Black will instruct Wizarding Etiquette. Few can teach the art with such economy of motion. The right bow can save a house more than a vault can, and this reporter suspects even the proudest lion will learn to keep a napkin from wandering.
As for the former occupants of those venerable chairs, one must report that Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape remain in Ministry custody. Close confidants of the lately unmasked dark wizard Albus Dumbledore tend to find their calendars rather full. The Department of Mysteries keeps him busy, at least this time we can be sure it is really for the Greater Good. We will keep you posted.
At breakfast, Vinda tapped her knife to the rim of her goblet. Three clear rings. The hall quieted.
"Please welcome Senior Auror Marcus Aurelius Baier," she announced. "He will instruct Dark Arts for first through third years."
The man stepped from the side door in plain duty blacks. Early thirties. Brown hair and sharp blue eyes gazed on the student body. A graduate of Durmstrang, a face that had learned to wait. Most of the staff knew the file. German father. Italian mother. Mercenary years. A Knockturn ring taken apart in two months with corpses to prove, it was his ticket to the DMLE, invited by none other than Senior Auror Robards. The moniker had stuck in the mess before the papers caught it.
"Rival," someone at Slytherin breathed.
Baier stopped before the dais. "Discipline," he told the room. " And responsibility. You will put both to work in my class. If you do not, you will learn either the long way or the painful way. I prefer the short way."
Gryffindor found the memory of Corvus' first speech and the week that followed. Backs straightened. Forks went down.
Vinda gave a small nod and lifted the next parchment. "From St Mungo's, Healer Honoria Duskroot," she said. "She will instruct the Healing course for fourth years and above."
Duskroot took the steps with a matron's calm. Silver at the temples. Hands steady. "You will learn to keep a classmate breathing until a healer arrives," she told the room. "You will learn to bind, to cool, to clear an airway, and to stop blood. You will not faint. If you faint, you will do it in pairs so I can stack you and have my tea in peace." A ripple of nervous laughter broke and faded.
"The final appointment," Vinda said, "is Narcissa Black for Wizarding Etiquette."
Narcissa crossed the hall in a dark robe that made the light useful. She faced the students and let silence serve as the first lesson.
"Etiquette is not a bow," she told them. "It is the language of rank, of duty, and of respect. You will learn how to enter a room and how to leave it. You will learn how to address a lord, a lady, a healer, an auror, and a clerk who can ruin your day with a stamp. You will learn how to disagree without making an enemy. You will learn how to carry yourself. I do not care if you were born in a cottage or a manor. I care if you can stand in a room and not embarrass your House."
She paused just long enough for the words to land. "I expect dedication at the very least."
Applause started in pockets and then found the walls. Vinda let it live a moment and then lifted a hand. "You may continue to your breakfasts. The room remembered how to eat.
--
Corvus did his best not to scowl at his schedule. Defense for all seven years sat on it like a dare. He ran the morning hard, broke at noon to write three memos, and took the afternoon in a stack of drills that left fifth year with legs like water. Evening finally came. He sent Rival a note about combining some of the classes for defense and attack and walked the corridor to his chambers and vanished in a burst of flames.
Fire took him from the Hogwarts to the cold air of the Nest. Tibby had left lamps at half and a tray of phials at Rookwood's door. The ex Unspeakable slept dreamless under the effect of a potion. The house felt clean and awake.
Corvus crossed to his chambers and set a hand to the glass of the terrarium. A green head lifted with slow offense.
"Viridith," Corvus hissed.
The viper uncoiled with ceremony. "Sso. The faithless returns." The tongue tasted the air like a critic. "Hurt and abandoned, yess. Wounded in heart and in scale. He who leaves poor Viridith to the cold box, then he come back smelling of fire bird and shadow bird. Enemy upon enemy. Feathered traitor. Red spark eater. Winged thief of my scaled hopess."
Corvus kept his face still with a herculean effort. He wondered just how much more his scaled friend can dramatize this moment.
"Both formss," Viridith went on, gathering steam. "One that sscreams at the sun and one that caws to the night. No ressspect for serpent ssensibilitiess. He flaps. He preens. He sheds without effort. Viridith sheds with work. Where is the fairness." The tail flicked with wounded dignity. "And the elf fed me the small pink things again. Insult on injury."
"Truly a tragedy," Corvus hissed back. His tone did not move. "I have a surprise for you."
The head froze mid complaint. "A proper warm rock. Or a bowl that fillss itself. Or a ssnake with good mannerss for company."
"Near the lake," Corvus said, nearly reaching his limits.
Viridith tried to hold the sulk and failed. A surprise, he repeated, interest burning through grievance.
"So are you interested my heartbroken friend?"
"Yess. But!"He snapped to attention. "If there iss a bird, I will bite it," Viridith announced, magnanimous. "Only once. Maybe twice."
Corvus unlatched the top and lifted the coil with care. The scales were cool and smooth against his palm. The serpent settled around his wrist like a bracelet that had opinions.
Corvus let it slide to the floor. "I'll be near the lake." He hissed and apparated.
Finally, Viridith sniffed. "Try to stop me."