The first floor of the Ministry of Magic reeked of polish and pretense. In a small office off the corridor, a box in pink wallpaper, pink furniture and walls crowded with portraits of simpering cats, Dolores Jane Umbridge sat with her hands folded. Her voice, saccharine laced, bubbled up in a private giggle.
"Oh, Cornelius," she cooed to no one in particular, eyes cutting toward the framed photograph of the Minister on her credenza. "If what you want is praise from the Black heir, it is what you will get."
She plucked a memo strip from the tray, dipped the quill, and wrote in neat, elegant loops:
Senior Auror John Dawlish
Official Summons for Foreign Professor Corvus Black
By Authority of Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, D. J. Umbridge
Proceed to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and escort Professor Black to Level One, Senior Undersercetary's Office for interview under official summons.
-Immediate compliance expected.
Her mouth tightened around the word official. "Official channels, the brat said," she murmured, the smile thinning. "Let us see if there is any channel more official than an Auror on his arm."
She sanded, sealed with a kitten shaped stamp and tapped the page into a folding paper airplane. The memo folded and twitched as if eager to please. "To Dawlish," she sang. The airplane zipped away into the corridor's stream of interdepartmental missives.
"If you will not come when called," Dolores told the empty room, "you will come when taken." Another small, venom sweet giggle. Then she arranged a plate of biscuits, being a good host was important and she need the pompous brat. At least for now...
--
On the other side of Britain, turquoise silver eyes watched an old lioness measure him.
Corvus waited through her silence, then, when it became performative, cut across it with a single word. "Please."
Her eyebrows ticked, insulted by the politeness. He kept his tone even.
"You did not answer," he said. "Let me make it simple, Dowager Longbottom. I will help your grandson, Heir Longbottom with the problem of his weak magic as well. In return, you will stop the defamation of House Black and begin to approach us in good faith. I will send you a copy of Bellatrix's marriage contract. You may examine the terms yourself. I am not asking you to embrace her. I am stating a fact. She is no different, in the eyes of Mother Magic, from any witch kept to a leash by the Imperius. Those chains will be cut. Soon."
He did not raise his voice.
"I want both our Most Noble and Ancient Houses neutral, as a start," he continued, "and allied, if we prove sensible to one another. I will brew the serum with the best materials in my vaults and administer it myself. I have not yet claimed a Healer's mastery, but I am competent enough to administer Aetherveil. Bring a Healer you trust to observe, if you like." He inclined his head by a degree. "Do we have an accord, or would you like to think?"
Augusta rose. The movement was slow.
"You are really a Black," she said, though it was not as praise. "My son and his wife are in need of help, not political negotiation."
"I see," Corvus said. He stood as well. "Then may Mother Magic help them return to health." He gave her the courtesy of a slight nod and turned for the door.
"Stop." she said sharply.
He did.
"I will see you help Neville now," Augusta said. Fire lit the irises and burned away the ice. "I want that contract as well. I do not have time to wait until Yule. As far as I know, you are free today and tomorrow." She set her chin like a wardstone. "I want those serums, Black."
Corvus looked back.
"Very well," he said. "Pimsy will call for your Heir."
"And a Healer," she snapped.
"Will Madam Pomfrey suffice?" He asked
The old lioness held his gaze a heartbeat longer, then exhaled through her nose and nodded.
"Dowager." He gestured for her to sit again and sent his corporeal Patronus for Poppy Pomfrey.
Back in London, a paper airplane curved into the Auror Office and landed on John Dawlish's desk. He broke the seal with a fingernail, read the neat loops, and smiled the smile of a man who liked work that came with a badge and an audience.
"Official channels," Dawlish said to the room at large, and reached for his cloak.
--
Corvus sat and lifted his cup for another sip.
Augusta sat as well. Her back was straight. Her hands were still. She looked ready to move at the first wrong word.
A knock came. "Enter," Augusta said. The word was flat and sharp.
Neville Longbottom stepped in. He kept his eyes down. Madam Pomfrey came one step behind him.
"Dowager Longbottom?" Pomfrey said. It sounded like a question. Then she looked to Corvus. "Professor. Why am I here, exactly?"
Corvus moved his wand. A chair slid from the wall and stopped beside her knee. "You are here, Madam Pomphrey," he said, "because Dowager Longbottom does not trust me or my skill. You may decide which, or both."
He turned to Neville. "Heir Longbottom. Your wand."
Neville reached to his back pocket and pulled a wand free without thought.
Corvus sighed. "First. I expect such foolish handling from a muggleborn, not from the heir of an old house. Get a wand holster. Second, never surrender your wand to anyone. Not unless an Auror presents a written warrant. Third, cast a Lumos for me and hold it."
Neville obeyed. A weak light formed at the tip and trembled there.
Corvus looked to Augusta. "I will cast diagnostics," he said.
Pomfrey stood at his shoulder without being asked. The old witch gave a single nod. That was enough.
Corvus raised his wand. The spells came in a clean line. Pulse, core flow, lattice, channel width, reflex, conductor match. His wand hand did not shake. Pomfrey's eyes widened at the speed. The light at wand's end flickered once but held.
"Drop it," Corvus said after nearly ten minutes. He turned back to Augusta. "Why is your Heir using a wand that does not suit him?"
He did not need the tests. He had known the answer all along. But Augusta needed to hear it with evidence on the table.
"He is strong," Corvus said. "The issue is the wand."
Augusta's shoulders stiffened. "It is his father's wand. It served Frank well. It will do so for him as well."
"Oh," Corvus said.
Pomfrey let out a breath she had been holding and shook her head.
"Please take the wand," Corvus said to Augusta. "Cast a few spells with it. Mr. Frank is your son. If your knowledge on wand lore is correct, it should serve you too."
Augusta did not take the wand. She held Corvus's eyes instead. "It will not." The edge in her voice was smaller now.
"Of course it will not," Corvus said. "It is not yours. It is not compatible with you. The same is true for him. Yes?"
No one spoke for a small span of breaths. Neville's hand closed over the wood as if it might run.
Corvus called softly, "Tibby."
The elf appeared with a quiet pop. Corvus bent his head and spoke in a whisper so Pomfrey would not hear. "Bring a certified copy of Bellatrix's marriage contract."
Tibby nodded hard and vanished. He was back in moments with a rolled parchment held in both hands. "Here, Master."
"Thank you," Corvus said. He passed the contract to Augusta. "Read it. I will start the brew today."
Another knock. The door opened before any word of permission.
Senior Auror John Dawlish stepped in. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall walked at his side. Her mouth was a tight line.
"This is Senior Auror John Dawlish," McGonagall said. "He is asking for you, Professor."
Corvus stood. He set his cup aside and faced the Auror. "How can I help you, Senior Auror?"
Dawlish lifted a folded paper and held it where all could see. The Ministry seal sat in red wax on the flap. The ink was neat and proud.
"By order of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," Dawlish said, "you are to come with me at once to Level One for interview under official summons."
Pomfrey drew in a breath. Augusta did not move.
Corvus did not look at the paper. "Please hand that to me," he said. "I will read it. Then I will decide."
Dawlish's jaw worked once. He took a step forward and gave over the memo. Corvus read the lines and fixed his gaze on Dawlish. he smiled.
--
Corvus cast Geminio on the parchment. He folded the original and put it in his pocket. He folded the copy and left it on the table.
He called, "Tibby." The elf appeared with a pop. He conjured two blank parchments and a quill. He wrote in small letters, folded the copy and his notes and gave them to the elf.
"To Lord Black," he motioned to the first parchment. "To Rita Skeeter." He pointed to the second. The elf nodded and popped away.
Minerva watched. Pomfrey watched. Neville watched. Most of all, Augusta watched. They were trying to understand.
Corvus stood. He faced the Auror. "Senior Auror Dawlish, what happens if I refuse this 'official summons'?" he asked.
Dawlish blinked. He had not planned for refusal. "The Senior Undersecretary wants immediate compliance, Professor." was all he could say.
"I see." Corvus then turned to Augusta. "If you will, Dowager Longbottom. With your experience as a member of the Wizengamot. Does the Senior Undersecretary have authority to send Aurors of the DMLE to summon citizens?"
Augusta scoffed. "Of course not. Senior, junior, under, or somewhere else. A secretary does not order the public."
Corvus looked back to Dawlish. "There we are," he said. "I will come to the Ministry and you will come with me. I believe you are under the Imperius. No sane Auror, let alone a senior one, would think a paper pusher could order him around."
"Professor Black…" Dawlish began.
The stunner hit before the third word. He was on the floor with a satisfying thud.
Corvus lifted him with a silent Leviosa. The Auror rose like a sack and rolled once in the air. Mouths opened around the room.
"I will take this poor Auror back to the DMLE," Corvus said.
He walked. Dawlish drifted a pace behind like a badly packed trunk. A chair met his nose. A table edge met his hip. A door frame did not get out of the way in time. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each thud drew new eyes.
They crossed the corridor. A Hufflepuff covered her mouth. Two Slytherins grinned. A Ravenclaw counted knocks under his breath. A Gryffindor muttered that this was a bit much. Minerva said nothing. Pomfrey said "honestly..." and then walked faster to keep up.
They entered the Great Hall. Conversations stopped. Dawlish's head met the end of the High Table with a solid thunk that echoed off the walls. Someone hissed. Someone laughed and then swallowed it.
Through the main gate and out to the lawns, Corvus did not hurry. He let the school see the Auror robes, the slack face and the poor choices that had brought them here. At the edge of the wards he stopped. He looked once at Neville, once at Augusta, once at Minerva and lastly to the gathered students and profesoors. Then he put his hand on the Auror and apparated.
He appeared at the Ministry's atrium with Dawlish hanging in the air beside him.
The atrium lights were bright as always. The floor was clean enough to reflect them both. Security looked up. Quills paused. Camera clicked. Arcturus Black was ten yards away, speaking at a Minister who was trying to look brave and not quite getting there. Rita Skeeter and her photographer were already feeding on the scene.
"Corvus," Arcturus said. "Are you well?"
"Yes, Grandfather," Corvus said. "Though this Auror is not."
Dawlish turned slowly in the air. A bruise was rising on his temple. Another sat on the ridge of his cheek. There was a neat red line on his scalp where the last door had made its point.
Footsteps sounded on tile. Amelia Bones came in from the line of lifts and took in the tableau at a glance. Her eyes went from Minister to Lord Black, From Dawlish to Corvus to the bruises and back again.
"Heir Black," Amelia said at last. "What happened to Senior Auror Dawlish?"