Medusa's head hung over the pond like a fallen column, scales wet and dark under the garden lights. The last of the stunned animals lay on the stones, legs folded wrong, breath shallow under the charm.
Around Corvus, the guests stood in a tight knot with their eyes shut and their chins tucked. Wands stayed in hands, but no one dared raise them. Even Grindelwald kept his gaze angled down, fingers loose around his new wand like he was bored with the whole concept of dying.
He used his tail to hook the nearest cow and drag it closer. Stone scraped. The animal slid across the path and bumped Medusa's lower jaw.
"Eat," he hissed in Parseltongue, low and flat.
Medusa's forked tongue tasted the air. She did not lunge or rush. Her attention stayed on the humans first, measuring the shapes, the scents, the small noises of breath held too long.
Corvus waited. He let the silence stretch until it pinched.
"Learn them," he hissed. "Their scents. Their magic. Especially this one."
He shifted his huge body a fraction and angled his head toward Elizaveta.
She stood with her shoulders squared, eyes still shut, lips pressed into a line. Her hand trembled once, then steadied. Corvus felt it anyway. He had felt it before in soldiers who refused to flinch.
Medusa's tongue flicked again. She turned her head away from Elizaveta and lowered her mouth to the cow.
The swallow was brutal and efficient. Jaw unhinged. Teeth caught. Flesh disappeared into her throat in a slow, practised wave.
Corvus stayed beside her until her meal was finished and the last ripple of swallowing stopped. The pond water steamed faintly from the heating runes set into the rock plates. A warm place for a cold creature.
"Go," he hissed. "Return to the pond. Sleep."
Medusa shifted, heavy as a landslide. Her body slid toward the water, scales scraping stone in a steady rhythm. Before she dipped beneath, she paused and lifted her head once, as if to remind everyone present that she could end a room with one mistake.
Then she was gone. Water closed over her like a lid.
Corvus exhaled, shifted back, and the world snapped into human scale again. His robes clung damp at the hem. He pushed his hair back once and turned.
"You can open your eyes," he said.
Arcturus opened his first, careful like a man checking a trap. The others followed in a staggered wave. Wands lowered by degrees.
Corvus looked at his grandfather. "Grandfather, why did you try to brave a basilisk's gaze?"
Arcturus' mouth tightened. He did not look embarrassed. He looked annoyed, which in Arcturus Black's case meant embarrassed.
"I thought you were setting up another prank," he murmured.
Corvus held his gaze for a beat. He let the answer sit between them, ugly and simple.
"The magnificent creature you just met is Medusa," he said. "She is a thousand years old. Salazar Slytherin's basilisk. She slept in the Chamber of Secrets until I moved her here. She guards the Nest. Therefore, please do not wander, do not get curious and definitely do not test your luck."
Vinda's expression stayed calm, but her eyes had that hard sheen that meant she was filing the moment away for later. Grigori watched the pond like it might produce a third basilisk just to insult him.
Grindelwald's mouth curved.
Before anyone could fill the air with questions, something small and green shot through the grass like a thrown knife.
A leaf viper launched itself onto the path and reared, hissing with theatrical outrage.
"Oh, Majesty," came the hissing, fast and proud. "Viridith kept the royal pond safe. Viridith hunted every mouse and even birds. Viridith deserves praise."
Corvus crouched without thinking. He extended a hand.
The serpent rushed forward and pressed its head under his fingers like a cat. Corvus stroked under its chin.
"You did well," he hissed. "You always do."
Viridith slithered up his sleeve, cold scales against his forearm, then coiled around his arm like a bracelet that might kill someone if offended.
Corvus straightened and faced the group.
"I am listening," he said. "Ask what you came to ask."
Grindelwald moved first. He stepped toward the pond with his eyes still careful, then crouched to inspect the rune plates around the stones. His fingers hovered over the etching, not touching, like he was judging the craftsmanship.
"I did not know you spoke to snakes," he said. The words were mild. The look was not. "And these." He tapped the air above the plates. "Heating runes. For her comfort."
Corvus nodded once.
Grindelwald glanced up, his mismatched eyes focusing on Corvus. "Should I ignore your Animagus form?"
Arcturus scoffed at that.
Corvus chose to ignore it and let out a slow breath through his nose. "I would appreciate it, Uncle Gellert."
Grindelwald did not stop. He rose and dusted his hands. "You can take the Ministry in Paris in under an hour in that form," he said, voice smooth. "You can break a city with your might, and you choose to sit in a cellar with Muggle scholars."
Corvus felt his patience reaching its limit. Not the question. The tone. The way Grindelwald spoke was like he was his superior.
He kept his voice level. "Because what you take by force, you must keep by force."
Grindelwald's brow lifted. He accepted the correction like he had offered Corvus the line as bait.
Corvus continued, "I am not here to conquer the magical world. I am rebuilding it. That requires numbers, time and work that lasts when I am not in the room."
He looked past Grindelwald to the others. Arcturus stood with his hands clasped behind his back, posture formal, eyes sharp. Vinda watched like a judge. Grigori looked ready to throw someone into the pond just to see how that works. Elizaveta stood a half step behind him, listening, weighing her glacial blue eyes locked to his.
"And yes," Corvus said, letting the words harden. "I do work with the Muggle scholars instead of burning and pillaging. Within two months, nearly three hundred Witches and Wizards were born here."
He motioned toward the manor, the black stone and spires cutting into the sky beyond the wards. Beyond the gardens, beyond the safe paths.
"When I find the strongest among them, they will be cloned," Corvus said. "Again. And again. Until our numbers stop being an embarrassment."
A pause. Not for drama, but to see if there will be anymore resistance.
Grindelwald's gaze sharpened. The old wolf had heard worse. He had said worse. What he did not like was being told he was no longer the monster in the room he used to be. A Wizard does not stop being a Dark Lord just because his age reaches the retirement limit.
Corvus went on, voice clipped. "I did not bring you here to judge my methods or disturb the order. I need generals. Not questioners." His gaze went to Arcturus and Vinda. "If you do not want to fill that role, I'll have hundreds who will fight for it in a year.
He let his eyes settle on Grindelwald. "If you cannot handle that, Lord Grindelwald, you can return to the Black Mansion and stay there."
The air tightened.
Corvus added, quieter, "New witches and wizards are not the only things that I can produce. If needed, thousands of Basilisks and Dragons become reality."
Arcturus' shoulders shifted. He caught the meaning. Everyone did.
The threat was not a tantrum. It was simple logistics for his heir.
Corvus could build an army of creatures if he had to. Basilisks. Dragons. Worse things. He had the means now, and he was done pretending.
His eyes flicked to Vinda for half a second, then away.
Collins and Sulston's work sat in the back of his mind like a knife under a sleeve. A way to reunite Magic with Squibs without breaking their body or minds. A way to gain thousands of new magicals. And soon, to turn Muggle criminals into Magical slaves as well.
He spoke again. "I suggest you return to the Black Mansion. I will renew the wards here and recast the Fidelius."
He did not offer a smile. He did not soften it.
"It was a mistake to ask for your help," he said towards the group.
No one moved for a breath.
Elizaveta stepped forward.
"I would like to stay," she said.
She did not look at Corvus when she spoke. She looked at her grandfather, because that was how you made a decision in a room full of old wolves.
Grigori's jaw worked once. Then he nodded.
Arcturus turned his head slightly, gaze tracking from Corvus to Grindelwald to Vinda to the rest. He spoke to the room, not to one person.
"It seems," he said, "we need to redraw the lines in this structure."
Viridith hissed from Corvus' sleeve, the sound sharp with satisfaction. "Now that Viridith is defender of the royal pond, it is the old Master who needs to learn serpent tongue. Viridith cannot understand the human tongue."
Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "What did he say?"
Corvus looked down at his sleeve, then back up, and the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "He thinks you should learn Parseltongue."
A short laugh escaped Grigori. McDuff followed, then Nagel. Arcturus gave a dry sound that might have been amusement if anyone else made it.
Even Grindelwald laughed in the end, soft and brief, eyes still on Corvus. Carrow hid her smile behind her hand. Vinda's lips moved in a thin line that almost counted as warmth.
Elizaveta stepped closer. Her fingers brushed Corvus' hand, lightly, a deliberate action. A statement without words.
Grindelwald turned back to Corvus when the laughter died.
"I am used to commanding," he said. His voice carried that practised charm, the kind that could sell venom to a snake. "It did not win me what I wanted. It did not even win me half of what you have built."
He held Corvus' gaze, mismatched eyes steady.
"I was not interrogating you, young Black," he continued. "I was trying to understand. If you want generals, learn to endure questions without snapping. Generals are different from foot soldiers, Corvus. They tend to question orders." His mouth tilted into an amused half smile. "You are easy to rattle. Work on your mental discipline."
Behind him, Vinda gave a small nod.
--
The air changed once they crossed the second set of doors.
In here, it smelled like clean water, soap, parchment, and something sharp that did not belong to any potion cupboard Corvus had ever opened. Muggle chemicals. The lights were not torches. They were glass globes with a steady white glow, bound with runes that refused to flicker.
Rookwood walked ahead with a clipboard, A dicta quill scratching the update reports and instructions Corvus was giving.
Arcturus slowed at the first time array. The floor was carved with rings of runes and thin channels of silver. The air above it bent in a way that made the eyes ache if you stared too long.
Gellert leaned in, hands behind his back, expression too calm for someone standing next to something that could age a man into dust if it went wrong. The younger face did not soften his habits.
"Any chance you may share the runic arrays of these Time Chambers?" He asked. His answer was a carnivorous smile on Corvus' face. Geller shook his head and murmured while his gaze was still on the arrays. "As dangerous as your Medusa," The tone held praise and a warning at the same time.
Corvus nodded and kept walking. He did not have the patience to explain again why the array was not a toy.
The first nursery was behind a glass wall in another time array.
Dozens of cribs. Warmed by spells and mundane heat. Elves moved between them with practised hands and happy faces, the kind of competence that came from doing the same thing for ten hours straight. A few of the toddlers were awake. One stared at the group with a solemn frown, then grabbed the bars and tried to climb like it was a game.
Elizaveta's gaze held on that child. A small smile formed as she watched. She looked away, then looked back. Playing with the toddler, making the child, Corvus and the rest of the group smile at her. After a while, she was still playing with the kids, yet her eyes refused to accept the numbers.
Arcturus watched; his silence carried weight.
Rookwood stopped at the next door and knocked once, the motion crisp.
Inside, a man in a lab coat looked up from a bench full of glass dishes. His hair was a bit too wild for someone who had been sleeping. His face was tired in a clean way, the kind you get from work, not drink.
Ian Wilmut wiped his hands and stepped closer, gaze shifting over the roomful of robes and old power.
Keith Campbell stayed behind him, eyes sharp, posture guarded. The two of them had the same look Corvus had seen in duelling circles. They were not frightened. They were measuring.
Corvus stopped at the threshold and gave them the sort of smile that belonged on a Ministry poster.
"Doctors," he said. "This is Lord Grindelwald. He has opinions, a taste for speeches, and an impressive record of making people nervous. Try not to encourage him." He continued and introduced everyone in the group. When he was introducing Elizaveta, he used the term 'Intended' upon receiving strange looks from the Muggles, he corrected. She is my girlfriend. That settled her role for them.
Gellert's lips curved, slow and lazy. He offered Wilmut a hand.
"I am told you build life in jars," he said. His eyes flicked to the dishes. "That seems… intimate."
Wilmut's gaze did not blink away.
"We build embryos," he corrected. "You lot call them eggs, which is not wrong, but it is vague."
Campbell let out a short breath that could have been a laugh if she liked the room more.
Arcturus's brows rose. Vinda's mouth held a thin line, polite and unreadable.
Corvus stepped aside, letting the rest look.
On the bench, a dish held a cluster of cells under a lens. No bigger than a speck, yet the room treated it like a crown jewel.
Wilmut pointed with a gloved finger. "That is a fertilised egg. Sperm meets egg, the cells fuse, and you have a single cell with a full set of chromosomes. That single cell divides. Two, four, eight. It becomes a ball of cells. A zygote is the first stage, before it becomes an embryo."
Gellert tilted his head, as if deciding whether to be impressed or offended.
"So," he said, "your magicless method begins with breeding."
"It begins with biology," Campbell cut in. "Breeding is what farmers do when they want more sheep and less thinking."
Nagel's eyes narrowed at the tone. Abernathy watched Campbell as if he wanted to decide if a duel was appropriate in a laboratory.
Corvus leaned on the doorframe and let them stumble into each other.
Wilmut reached for a diagram pinned to the wall. It showed an egg, a nucleus, and arrows that looked like a child's drawing until you noticed the numbers and labels.
"Cloning," Wilmut continued, "is not fertilisation. Not in the usual sense. You take an egg cell and remove its nucleus, the part with the genetic instructions. Then you take the nucleus from another cell, a body cell, and you put it into the empty egg. You stimulate it, electrically or chemically, and it begins dividing as if it has been fertilised. The embryo has the same genetic instructions as the nucleus donor."
Carrow's eyes widened. "You make a copy."
"A genetic copy," Campbell answered. "Not a soul. Not a personality. Not the life lived between birth and death."
Vinda's gaze snapped to him at the word soul. Her polite mask cracked for a heartbeat.
Gellert watched that crack and smiled with quiet satisfaction.
Arcturus nodded once, slowly.
"And the wombs?" he asked.
Wilmut's mouth tightened. "That is your part," he admitted. "In our world, we cannot grow a foetus to term in a bottle. Not safely. Not yet. We can culture embryos for the early stages. Beyond that, we need a host mother. Here, your strange symbols do things I do not have names for. They hold conditions steady. Temperature, pressure, oxygen. They make the impossible behave."
Corvus did not correct him. Let the man keep his pride. It made him easier to manage.
Gellert walked closer to the glass wall where the artificial wombs sat in their cradles of runes and copper. His reflection slid over the curved surface, mismatched eyes studying the pulse of light.
"And you do this," he said, "to breed an army."
Corvus did not bother denying it. "I do it to stop us from being outnumbered."
"That is still an army," Gellert replied. His tone stayed mild. His gaze stayed sharp.
Corvus turned away before the old man could enjoy the point.
He led them down the corridor to the next lab.
This one smelled different. A faint tang of something that made the tongue feel dry.
Two men stood over a board covered in photographs of bands on gels and columns of numbers written in a neat hand.
John Sulston looked up first. He had the face of someone who did not waste anger on nonsense, but could hold it for years if needed. Beside him, Francis Collins straightened, pushing his glasses up with the back of his wrist. Both looked like they had not expected to meet a wizarding war council in the middle of their notes.
Corvus gave them no time to prepare.
"Doctors Collins and Sulston," he said. "Will you be kind enough to explain your work to people who still call electricity a Muggle trick. If you use too many long words, I will translate."
Sulston's mouth twitched. Collins looked over the group, then at the gel photos.
"We are mapping," Collins started. "The human genome. All the DNA."
McDuff frowned. "That is a lot of… what exactly?"
"Deoxyribonucleic acid," Sulston answered without any flourish. "The chemical that carries instructions in cells. It is made of sequences. Think of it as text written in a four letter alphabet. Your bodies read it and build you."
Gellert's fingers tapped the edge of the table; he did it softly, like a man counting time.
"And you can read this text?" he asked.
"We can read parts," Collins replied. "We are still building maps. Genetic maps and physical maps. We use markers, like microsatellites, to track inheritance in families. We build contigs, overlapping pieces of DNA, to cover regions. We use large inserts, yeast artificial chromosomes, cosmids, things that let us hold big fragments."
Arcturus watched Collins like he watched a goblin banker. Interested, suspicious, and slightly offended that the man sounded confident.
Corvus did not let the room drift into pure lecture.
"Tell them what you found," he prompted.
Sulston reached into a folder and pulled a parchment Corvus had given him months ago, covered in both ink and runes.
"We used your family lines," Sulston said, "and we treated magic like a trait. Present, absent. We built pedigrees. We compared markers across magical and non magical relatives. Your word for the non magical born to magical parents is Squid, strange but who am I to judge."
Corvus refused to correct the man for the thousandth time.
Elizaveta couldn't hold her giggle at the wrong name, though. Which made the situation acceptable for Corvus.
"We found a region that tracks with it," Sulston continued. "Not perfectly. Traits like this rarely do. But strong enough that I would bet my name on it."
Collins picked up the thread, voice a bit warmer. "Your magic is not a gene in the simple sense. It behaves like a system. But there is a switch somewhere, or a gate. When the gate does not work, you get a Squid. Our next step is to test the expression. We can look at RNA. We can see which genes are turned on. If we can block a gene product, we can see what fails. In our world, we do it with antisense, with vectors, with knockout experiments in mice. Here, your magic lets us do controlled tests we would never get past an ethics board for."
Nagel scoffed. "Ethics board."
Gellert's smile flashed. "How charming."
Corvus watched them try to explain science to the old guards. Then watched the doctors who thought they were speaking to sane people.
"And reversing it," Corvus finished.
While nodding, Sulston's gaze sharpened. "If the gate can be blocked, it can be reopened. If a gene is silenced, it can be activated. In principle. We would need controlled trials. We would need to know what your magic calls a core. You treat it like an organ. We treat it like a function. If we can create a molecular handle, we can try both directions."
Elizaveta watched the gel images, then glanced at Corvus as if seeing him for the first time.
"You can give magic back," she said, voice low.
Corvus smiled. "We are trying."
The room held that line for a moment.
Rookwood cleared his throat and moved them along before anyone started celebrating, cursing, or both.
They finished the tour in the main corridor, where the air was cooler. Behind the walls, toddlers cried. Elves soothed them. Somewhere deeper, the time arrays hummed.
Gellert lingered at the doorway, as if the Nest had become a theatre and he did not want to leave before the last act.
Corvus waited for the inevitable question.
It came anyway.
Gellert turned, the amusement in his face gone. His voice dropped, quiet enough that the scientists could not hear unless they leaned in.
"I have seen your nursery," he said. "I have seen your little factory. Now I want to see Albus."