Dawn arrived the way it always did at Hogwarts, slow light creeping over stone and grass, indifferent to whatever humans had decided to do with the night.
The last emerald flames guttered and collapsed into ashless silence. The orbs had thinned to nothing, the final motes dissolving into the cold air as if they had never existed. Corvus stood at the centre line a moment longer and let his mind release the pressure of thousands of passages. His body felt fine. His head felt like he had held a door open for a crowd that did not stop arriving.
Isolde Nacht remained at the first altar to his right. Her shoulders stayed straight, but the set of her jaw had changed. It had lost its earlier certainty.
Corvus turned toward her and dipped his head.
"Thank you for the preparations, Master Nacht. May Mother Magic bless your kin."
He started to step away.
Isolde cleared her throat.
Corvus paused without turning fully.
Isolde stepped closer, boots crunching over frost-dampened grass. She did not fidget. Her eyes held the directness of someone who valued skill more than pride, even when pride bled.
"Allow me to extend my apologies, Master Black." Her voice stayed controlled. "I was among the voters who treated your mastery over rituals as a political move. I stand corrected. Also jealous."
Her gaze flicked toward the altars as if the stone could still argue for him.
"Menkara scored another big one by being recorded as your mentor in the history of the Association."
A chuckle escaped Corvus.
"He mentioned you would notice that detail in particular, Master Nacht."
Isolde's mouth tightened into a line that wanted to be a smirk and failed.
"I will convey your response when I meet him again."
Corvus gave her a second nod and turned toward the castle.
The officials who had held themselves rigid through the night started to move. Ministry representatives, family members, and civilians who had travelled for the rite formed a corridor without being asked. Some bowed their heads. Some lowered their gaze. Others held their eyes on him with the strained reverence of people who wanted to believe they had witnessed something holy.
Corvus accepted congratulations with brief nods and kept walking. He did not stop long enough for anyone to build a conversation.
Vinda approached with the other Heads of House. Her pace matched his without hurrying.
"You are, without question, among the best Masters of Rituals," she observed, voice low.
Corvus kept his eyes forward. "Thank you, Aunt Vinda."
Vinda's gaze slid toward the crowd and returned to him. "You look tired."
Corvus did not deny it. "Mentally, I am."
Vinda let that land and did not press.
They reached the gates.
Students streamed ahead like a tide released from discipline. They reached the Great Hall first, hungry and loud, and then forced themselves quiet again as the staff arrived.
When Corvus stepped through the entrance, the Bastion guards snapped into salute.
So did Slytherin.
So did Ravenclaw.
Durmstrang rose as one and saluted with their own hard precision, hands moving in a manner that looked less like school etiquette and more like a military honour.
Corvus gave them a single nod.
Pockets of Beauxbatons followed, less unified, more careful, copying the motion out of instinct rather than training. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor joined in scattered waves, some students late to understand what the gesture meant and too proud to be left out.
Corvus reached the dais with the faculty and took his place.
He did not sit. Every table was quiet.
Faces turned.
Rita Skeeter's quill hovered in the air like a hunting insect.
Corvus cleared his throat.
"We are the children of Mother Magic, blessed by her very nature."
Nods moved through the Hall in ripples. Some were reverent. Some were political. Some were simply relieved, because people liked belonging to something that felt winning.
"Despite traitors of the near and distant past, we managed to do many things." Corvus's gaze swept the hall without lingering on individual faces. "We separated our world from the mundane with clear and sharp lines."
He emphasised the sharp.
"We defeated the infection called the ICW, we defeated the terrorist organisations on the mundane side that waited for a chance to bring back old hunting methods with new slogans."
A hard murmur ran through Durmstrang.
Corvus continued, tone even. "We strengthened the unity of the Magicals without the segregation of labelling them."
His gaze moved across the gathered delegations and paused briefly where Countess Seraphine sat.
"From goblins to werewolves. From vampires to centaurs."
The Countess inclined her head once.
"The might of our dragon force is enough to darken the sky of anyone foolish to stand in our way."
The line earned a hush rather than cheers. People heard the promise behind it.
Rita's quill scratched so hard the tip squealed.
"As of this moment, we are cleansing this planet from the aftereffects of mundane avarice." Corvus's voice did not soften. "We clean oceans. We strengthen forests. We clear rivers."
His eyes stayed cold.
"Not because we care about the perpetrators. We do it because we will stand righteous when the mundane world wakes up and understands what greed has done to the only planet they could live on."
Angry murmurs rose at the tables, the kind that usually belonged to politics rather than school.
Corvus did not pause.
"We have taken control of nuclear weapons that the mundane world created and used on its own kind."
More murmurs, sharper now. They were aware of what a nuclear weapon was and what its effects are, not only on humans but on the planet as well.
"In Japan and Russia, the Unit cleans outcomes of disasters of neglect, defficincy and monstrosity of war."
He let a beat pass, then shifted.
"While all of this happens, we do not focus only on rot of the Muggles. Many among them are worthy."
The word worthy landed like a gate being opened by someone who enjoyed controlling the lock.
"Worthy of respect. Worthy of recognition." Corvus's eyes narrowed slightly. "Worthy of receiving my discovery. A discovery of a process that allows a mundane to understand magic and form a core."
The Hall held its breath.
Corvus lifted his hands.
"Enter Adam Mounts."
The doors opened.
A man stepped into the Great Hall in plain, clean clothes that looked more like a uniform without insignia than anything fashionable. He did not swagger or rush. He bowed with care toward the dais and then toward the wider Hall, a man offering respect to a world that had not been his until days ago.
His gaze snapped to the Ravenclaw table.
Michael Nacht stood up so fast his bench scraped. His face went pale, then flushed, and then he moved and stopped again in the same breath. His eyes flicked to Flitwick, then to Isolde.
Flitwick gave a small nod.
Isolde's nod was slower, more deliberate.
Michael ran.
He hit his father with enough force to knock the air out of both of them. His arms locked around his father's neck as if letting go would prove it was a dream.
Adam's hands closed around the boy's shoulders. He held him with the steadiness of someone who had learned to keep control in chaos.
They stayed like that for a long moment.
When Michael finally pulled back, his voice broke.
"How."
The word fell apart. He tried again, eyes bright with tears of relief. "How in Morgana's name?"
Adam did not answer in the Hall. He only touched his son's cheek with a thumb and exhaled as if the act of being present cost him.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Moira Carrow watched the embrace and felt something twist under her ribs.
Her face stayed composed. Her mind could not.
Corvus had claimed the discovery personally. Not a ministry programme. Not an Alliance policy. His own.
Her gaze tracked him, then slid away.
If this process could bless a mundane with a core, then it could be used for families, too. It could be used for loyalty. It could be used for leverage.
Her fingers tightened. She calculated approaches. She dismissed two. She considered asking Aunt Moira to speak on her behalf.
She considered speaking for herself, then remembered the last time she had watched someone brave the wrong question in the wrong way.
Corvus's voice cut back through her thoughts.
"A committee selected by me will decide who will be accepted. Every mundane accepted to this process will be monitored by this committee."
The control was absolute and stated openly. Corvus stepped back and sat.
For a beat, the Great Hall stayed frozen.
Then the student body rose.
Applause hit the stone like rain. It had noise and hunger in it. Some students clapped because they believed. Some clapped because they feared being seen not clapping. Some clapped because they already imagined headlines and influence.
Faculty joined after a delay, slower, more measured.
Corvus inclined his head once.
Vinda let the applause run until it began to turn into a chant in the back rows.
She cleared her throat.
Silence arrived immediately.
"I would like to personally congratulate Corvus for his mastery of Dark Arts." Vinda's voice carried cleanly. "He is not a pupil anymore."
She let that sentence stand on its own.
"In addition to his mastery of Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Alchemy, and Rituals, he has proven himself a Master of the Dark Arts as well."
This applause sounded different this time. It held fewer calculations.
Corvus nodded toward Vinda, then toward Horatio and Morozova.
They returned the nod with the quiet approval of people who did not hand out titles lightly.
Vinda continued.
"Yesterday was Samhain. The day we honour our dead. The day the veil is thinnest. The day master ritualists such as Corvus Black and Isolde Nacht serve as channels to guide souls."
Isolde's face remained controlled, but her eyes held a new respect.
"Yesterday was planned differently by the former Headmaster of this establishment." Vinda's mouth tightened with disdain; she did not bother hiding. "In his plan, there was no ritual. There were mundane celebrations, pumpkins and sweets. In his plan, there was a dark artefact to select three students from three schools."
A few students snorted.
Vinda continued, colder. "Headmistress Maxime, Headmaster Karkaroff, and I declined to use such an artefact on our students. We do not care that the Dark Wizard Dumbledore convinced departments to approve the Goblet of Fire to be used. An artefact that compels champions to compete."
Madame Maxime's expression remained calm, but her eyes sharpened.
"We created a simple cup that will choose the strongest magical core from the names thrown into it."
A side door opened.
A Bastion guard entered carrying a cup on a black velvet cushion.
The cup was not gold.
It was dark stone, polished until it held reflections like still water. A band of silver ran around the rim, engraved with runes. They pulsed faintly, the kind of pulse that suggested they were listening rather than shining. Three small inlays sat beneath the rim, sapphire, emerald, and garnet, not representing schools but representing thresholds.
The guard placed it at the front of the dais with careful precision and retreated without looking at the students.
Vinda, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff stepped toward it.
Their wands moved in slow arcs above the rim. The cup accepted their magic without flaring. The runes brightened by a fraction and settled.
Vinda turned back to the Hall.
"Students of fifth to seventh grade may enter their names." Her gaze swept the younger tables. "Fourth grade and below are not allowed. You are welcome to try."
A fourth-year Gryffindor grinned, then remembered who had said it and decided breathing was safer.
"There will be duelling, potion brewing, and Quidditch tournaments in addition to the competition of the Champions." Vinda's voice stayed practical. "Quidditch teams will be based on schools. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang may recruit from Hogwarts or bring more students as they see fit."
The Hall stirred with new hunger.
Corvus watched it with calm interest.
This would be a tournament to remember.