Corvus stood before Walburga's portrait, her once imposing figure now hollowed by sorrow. Since learning of Regulus' fate she become a shadow of her former self. Her eyes dulled, her voice softer, the venom in her words less frequent. He inclined his head respectfully.
"Good evening, My Lady," he said with an almost gentle tone. "I bring news you may find heartening. I've completed my masteries, two of them, in Potions and Charms."
For a moment, she said nothing. Then, a faint, almost wistful smile touched her lips. "Regulus could have been standing next you now," she murmured. "At least, the House of Black is reclaiming its honor. I only wish my son had lived to see it."
Corvus tilted his head slightly. "And what of Sirius?" he asked casually, though his eyes sharpened. "He still lives, last I heard, rotting in Azkaban."
Walburga's melancholy expression vanished, replaced by the familiar curl of disdain. "That failure is no Black," she spat. "A disgrace who betrayed our blood, our legacy!"
"Oh?" Corvus' tone remained calm, though there was a faint edge beneath it. "Do you know why he was imprisoned? As far as I can gather, he wasn't a Death Eater."
She scoffed. "As if they would accept him, that filthy Muggle lover! They say he betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord."
Corvus' eyes narrowed slightly. "So you don't actually know," he said softly. "Weren't there at his trial?"
Walburga's painted face faltered. "No," she admitted stiffly after a pause. "I wasn't summoned. Nor would I have gone."
"I see," said Corvus, nodding once. That was all he needed to hear, the opportunity he'd been waiting for. He already knew Sirius had never been given a trial, but he needed the right pretext to raise the matter with Arcturus. Now, he had it.
After leaving Walburga in the portrait, Corvus made his way back to his grandfather's study. Arcturus looked up from his ledgers as his heir entered.
"Grandfather," Corvus began, "Walburga Black received the news of my masteries."
The old man's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Good. I imagine she's wailing with frustration by now. Serves her right."
Corvus allowed himself a faint chuckle before continuing. "She mentioned something odd. She claims she never attended Sirius' trial. Tell me, Grandfather, did you? As head of the House, surely you were present?"
Arcturus leaned back, his brows knitting in thought. "A trial?" he repeated, as if tasting the word. "No… I don't recall any trial for that mutt." His eyes sharpened, the humor fading. "No, I certainly wasn't summoned. I would have asked for it. That's… unusual."
He was silent for a moment before adding grimly, "I'll check the records with Amelia Bones after the next Wizengamot session. Something's off."
Then, as if remembering something amusing, Arcturus' expression shifted. "Oh, and speaking of nuisances, Arthur Weasley requested a meeting. Persistently, I might add."
Corvus arched an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you ignored it. I highly doubt he could pen an official request."
Arcturus chuckled, the predatory gleam returning to his eyes. "Exactly so. It only took him thirteen attempts. And you'll enjoy hearing what he had to say."
Corvus smirked. "I'm certain I will."
Arcturus leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of irritation and amusement as he began recounting his meeting with Arthur Weasley;
Arcturus watched with cold eyes as the Waesley entered and nodded to him in the meeting room of the ministry. At the very least he was on time. "Arthur Weasley," he began, his tone dripping with disdain. "A blood traitor, just like your father, Septimus. I still remember the day Cedrella was disowned. One of the darker stains on my family's history. And now, look at you. Head of Office for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, the most pointless office in the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A pureblood who rejects his heritage to play with Muggle toys."
He paused, letting the venom settle. "Father of Fred and George Weasley, the culprits who dared to attempt a 'prank' on my heir. A prank, I might remind you, that could very well be interpreted as an assassination attempt. Tell me, Weasley, why shouldn't I have those two sent to Azkaban, where they belong?"
Arthur swallowed hard. This was not how he'd hoped the meeting would begin. His palms were damp, his throat dry. "Lord Black," he said carefully, "I'm deeply sorry for the twins' behavior. But I assure you, they meant no harm. It was a harmless prank. It was foolish, yes. A childish mischief. They're boys, the same age as your heir. It was.. well, it was a quarrel between peers." His voice faltered as Arcturus' expression darkened.
"Peers?" Arcturus repeated coldly, his voice dropping to a near whisper that carried more menace than a shout. "You seem to have missed something, Weasley. My heir is not a child. He is an Assistant Professor of Hogwarts. There is no comparison to be made." He stood, his height and presence overwhelming. "I want your sons expelled, their wands broken, and their names listed in Azkaban's records. Consider it a harmless prank."
Arthur's courage faltered, but he pushed on, rising as well. "Please, my lord.. wait," he said urgently. "The twins are already being punished. They've been in detention since.. since their misbehavior. Please, do not take legal action. It's my fault for not teaching them better. They're young and foolish, but they're not evil. I beg you, show mercy."
Arcturus' eyes remained sharp as flint, though the faintest twitch of his mouth betrayed reluctant amusement. "Mercy, is it? Very well. I'll leave it to Corvus to decide their fate."
When he finished his account, Corvus arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm surprised, Grandfather. I thought you'd enjoy crushing that family into dust. Are you going soft?"
The answer came in the form of a stinging hex that zipped past his ear. Corvus laughed, springing from his chair with feline reflexes that showed his compatibility with his tiger form. "I'll take that as a no," he quipped, still grinning as he sat back down. Arcturus holstered his wand with a grunt.
"Fine," Corvus continued. "I'll handle the Weasley matter myself." He leaned back casually, as though the topic had already lost its weight. "Oh, and one more thing. I want a cavern in the new estate. Something with space underground and a deep pool."
Arcturus frowned. "A cavern? What for?"
"You'll see, old man," Corvus said with a mischievous smirk, ducking another hex before darting toward the door evading harmless hexes. "I'll see you at dinner, Grandfather!" he called as he vanished down the corridor, laughter echoing behind him.
Arcturus lowered his wand and chuckled softly to himself. "Smug brat," he muttered. There was warmth in his voice for the first time since Melanie's passing, the old Lord of the House of Black felt something rare, contentment.
--
Corvus returned to Hogwarts the following evening, stepping out of the Floo in the professors' common room behind the staff dais. As he entered the Great Hall through the side door, a wave of applause broke out across two tables. Slytherin and Ravenclaw rose almost in unison, joined by most of Hufflepuff and several upper year Gryffindors. Corvus paused for a fraction of a second before inclining his head in acknowledgment.
From the staff table, it was Professor Flitwick who spoke first, his high voice bright with pride. "Master Black," he said warmly, standing atop his chair. "It is an honor to work alongside the youngest master of Potions and Charms in living memory."
Corvus bowed slightly. "Thank you, Professor Flitwick. The honor is mutual." His tone was respectful, but his poise remained deliberate and steady, a quiet assertion that he now stood as their equal.
As the applause settled, a figure rose from the opposite end of the staff dais, Severus Snape. Corvus' eyes narrowed slightly, expecting perhaps a curt nod or a cold acknowledgment. Instead, Snape descended the steps and walked into the center of the Great Hall. The murmur of students died instantly.
"I would like," Snape said, his deep voice echoing through the hall, "to extend my formal apologies to Master Black." His face was as expressionless as ever, his words clipped and exact. "I made certain errors in judgment on our first meeting."
The Great Hall fell utterly silent. Corvus met Snape's gaze and inclined his head once. "Apology accepted," he said simply. Snape nodded curtly, returned to the dais, and added quietly, "Congratulations, Master Black."
Flitwick smiled approvingly. Sprout and Sinistra followed with their own words of praise, each congratulating Corvus for his accomplishments. Lastly, Professor McGonagall stood, her usual stern expression softened with a glimmer of respect.
"Master Black," she began, her crisp Scottish accent cutting through the quiet, "it is a rare thing to witness such talent at so young an age. I am also pleased to hear you've begun your mastery in Transfiguration. I must admit, I'm rather curious how your approach will differ from mine with the first and second years." A small, polite smile curved her lips.
Corvus' answering smile was faint but held no warmth. "That curiosity will linger, Headmistress," he said evenly. "My appointment here covers only Potions and Charms. There's no mention of Transfiguration, nor am I inclined to teach it. So, your first years will continue to benefit from your… time and expertise."
A flicker of irritation crossed her features before she returned to her seat beside Dumbledore, her lips pressed thin. The Headmaster himself lifted his goblet with a genial smile, blue eyes twinkling faintly. "To your continued success, Master Black," he said. Corvus nodded politely and raised his own glass in response, the faintest edge of amusement playing at his mouth.
As dinner wound down, Corvus felt a presence approach from the Gryffindor table. A nervous boy, barely holding his composure, stopped beside him and bowed awkwardly. Through a casual brush of Legilimency, Corvus saw the image of a letter sealed with the crest of the Longbottom family and the unmistakable handwriting of Augusta Longbottom.
"Heir Black," the boy began, voice trembling slightly, "I.. I am Neville Longbottom, heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. My grandmother, Dowager Longbottom, wishes to request a private meeting with you at your earliest convenience."
Corvus' expression softened, just enough to maintain courtesy. He already knew the reason. The Aetherveil Serum had proven effective against magical catatonia. Just as Frank and Alice Longbottom's condition had long been described.
"Heir Longbottom," Corvus replied, his voice formal but kind, "please deliver my greetings to Dowager Longbottom. I will be available on Saturday before noon. She may choose the time and place."
Neville exhaled with visible relief, bowing once more. "Thank you, sir. I'll inform her at once." With that, he turned quickly and retreated to his table, clutching the hem of his robes like a lifeline.
Corvus watched him go, a quiet smile playing at his lips before he returned to his seat.
--
The following morning, Corvus carried on with his lessons as usual. After his Charms class with the first years, he dismissed the students but stopped one redheaded boy as he tried to leave.
"Mr. Weasley," Corvus called, his tone calm but sharp enough to still the room. Ron froze mid step, clearly uneasy. His family's reputation as staunch Dumbledore loyalists and their fanatical stance against anything deemed dark made the boy's discomfort predictable. Corvus, however, had no interest in easing it.
"Inform your father," Corvus said evenly, "that I will see him on Friday afternoon at five o'clock. This meeting will decide your and your brothers' future. Make sure to remind him to not to be late."
Weasley swallowed hard and nodded, muttering a soft, "Yes, sir," before hurrying out of the classroom as though chased by a specter.
When Corvus stepped into the corridor, he noticed a familiar face waiting patiently near the door. A third year who has the permission slip like many others from his Potions class. "Mr. Diggory," he said, inclining his head. Cedric straightened, the picture of polite confidence.
"Professor," Cedric said, bowing slightly, "forgive me for interrupting. I wished to ask if you might teach me how to duel or perhaps suggest a few books that could help me learn."
Corvus regarded him for a long moment. "Dueling is an art, Mr. Diggory," he said finally. "An art not welcomed nor tolerated within Hogwarts' walls. Therefore, I could not officially instruct you. However," he added, his voice lowering conspiratorially, "I can recommend some reading on the history of the subject. Purely for academic curiosity, of course."
He paused, then continued, "Seek out a volume titled Whispers of the Wand. Its author, a Russian wizard by the name of Antonin, was fond of travel and… unconventional insights. You may find his perspective enlightening."
Cedric's eyes lit up with understanding, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Thank you, Professor," he said, bowing again before departing down the corridor with a spring in his step.
When the boy had gone, Corvus withdrew the enchanted map from his robes, tapping it once to reveal the living lines of Hogwarts. His eyes narrowed. Professor Quirrell was absent from the castle again, two nights in a row. "So, the parasite has begun hunting in the forest," he muttered.
Folding the map neatly, Corvus slid it back into his pocket. He had his own matters to attend to. The vanishing cabinet was waiting for him to claim it and there was brewing to be done. Fresh batches of Aetherveil for his upcoming meeting with Augusta Longbottom.