As Corvus entered his room, he sat upon the edge of his bed and closed his eyes. He steadied his breathing, his mind turning inward. With deliberate control, he allowed the knowledge he had copied from Albus to seep into his consciousness in slow waves. Every sliver of memory, every shard of experience was processed carefully, sorted, and filed neatly into his mental constellation. The familiar stars of his mind palace flared as they absorbed the foreign wisdom, aligning themselves into a new order. For two long hours, his consciousness labored, reshaping the fortress of his Occlumency to house this influx of mastery.
When at last he opened his eyes, the world seemed sharper. His grasp of Legilimency had reached an entirely new peak. He understood now that Occlumency and Legilimency were not separate arts, but twin halves of a singular discipline. They were two edges of the same dagger. One side cut outward, probing, piercing, slipping unseen into the minds of others. The other side cut inward, shielding, parrying, redirecting an enemy's strike back upon them. Without Occlumency, Legilimency was wild and clumsy, leaving the user open to retaliation. Without Legilimency, Occlumency was passive, a blind shield with no sense of when or where a strike would fall. To master both was not to balance two disciplines, but to wield a single sharpened weapon in harmony, its edges working together, fluid and precise. Corvus felt the truth settle in him like steel sliding into its sheath. Mind magic was not defense and offense, it was war itself, conducted in silence.
Satisfied with this revelation, he rose and dressed in his formal robes, every fold adjusted until immaculate. He summoned Kreacher with a soft command. "Inform Lord Black that I seek an audience," he said, his voice calm and posh. The elf bowed low and popped away, returning moments later with a croak of reverence. Informing Corvus that Lord Black is waiting.
Corvus hissed softly to the leaf viper, and the serpent slid gracefully up his arm to coil about his forearm, emerald scales glinting in the lamplight. The raven, solemn and black as midnight, fluttered down to his shoulder, feathers whispering like silk. Together, they formed an image that was at once unsettling and regal. With a faint smile, Corvus walked the corridors to Arcturus's study. He knocked once upon the carved oak door and waited. From within came the crisp, commanding voice: "Enter, Corvus."
The study smelled of parchment, ink, and the faint tang of smoldering firewood. Arcturus sat behind his vast desk, quill poised over parchment. His silver eyes widened slightly at the sight of the serpent coiled upon Corvus's arm, though his gaze softened at the raven perched proudly above. Corvus bowed his head with deliberate grace. "Grandfather," he said, his tone regal, "will you grant these loyal companions of mine the honor of names, bestowed by the Head of the House?"
Arcturus blinked, studying him closely. For an instant, he wondered if the infamous Black madness had come early to his heir. Then Corvus hissed, low and sharp, the viper hissed back in clear, articulate response. Corvus smiled. The realization struck like thunder.
"You are a Parselmouth," Arcturus said at last, his voice half awe, half delight.
"I am," Corvus answered smoothly. "And I thought it best you learn of it this way."
For the first time in many years, Arcturus laughed aloud, pushing himself up from his chair. The sound was deep, rich, and alive. "Merlin's beard, the faces of the Traditionalists when they hear of this! They will choke on their wine!" His eyes gleamed with youthful fire.
He turned back, still smiling broadly. "Umbra shall be the name of your raven." The bird tilted its head, studying Arcturus with those intelligent, unblinking black eyes, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. "And Viridith shall be the name of your serpent."
Corvus translated the name into Parseltongue. The viper hissed, tongue flicking. "Viridith. Yes. A strong name. Though perhaps I should coil about the elder instead of you, Speaker. He looks wealthier."
Corvus laughed, the sound rare and unguarded, and relayed the serpent's words. Arcturus threw his head back and roared with mirth, his laughter booming against the bookshelves. "Selfish practicality."
With mock sternness, Arcturus leaned forward. "Tell Viridith he must at least learn some words of English. I will not tolerate a serpent in my household without manners of understanding."
Corvus translated dutifully. The viper bobbed his head slowly and hissed with sly amusement. "Very well, Speaker. I shall try. Perhaps I will begin with insults. That seems most fitting."
The reply drew another chorus of laughter from both wizards. For a moment, the crushing weight of politics, legacy, and looming conflict was lifted, replaced with lightness and kinship. The raven Umbra cawed once, as though to join in the jest, and Arcturus shook his head, smiling wider than Corvus had ever seen.
They dined together that evening in rare good humor, Umbra perched like a shadowy sentinel in the corner, Viridith coiled with satisfaction around Corvus's arm. Arcturus's eyes gleamed with pride and satisfaction, for his heir was not only cunning and ruthless, but extraordinary, something beyond even his own designs. In that moment, both men of the House of Black felt the stirrings of a legacy reforged.
--
After dinner, Corvus leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he spoke with measured calm. He outlined his plan to advance swiftly through his education, how he intended to sit for examinations in all his core subjects, not merely for his own year but for each level up to seventh. At Durmstrang, unlike Hogwarts, advancement was not shackled to age or arbitrary progression. A student who demonstrated sufficient mastery in both written theory and practical application could bypass years entirely. The school was ruthless in its standards, but it rewarded brilliance. Those who passed early were permitted to attempt mastery courses while still enrolled, carving their own path forward without waiting for their peers. Corvus explained how such examinations were conducted: a written trial of theory, then a practical test judged by three professors, each pushing the student to their limits. Only those who displayed perfect control and creativity were allowed to move forward.
"I aim," Corvus explained, "to reach those mastery classes as soon as possible. The sooner I begin, the sooner I may stand as more than merely competent. Potions, Rituals, Transfiguration, Charms, and Battle Transfiguration must all be at the forefront of my studies. And if Mother Magic allows, I intend to pursue mastery in multiple disciplines before my twenty first year. That will require focus, discipline, and no small amount of sacrifice." He paused, eyes gleaming with conviction. "I know Durmstrang rewards ambition, and I intend to take full advantage of that freedom."
Arcturus regarded him with silver eyes sharp and intent, his expression unreadable for a long while. When at last he spoke, his tone carried approval and a faint note of pride. "Do so. Pursue it with the hunger you speak of now. If you need anything, books, contacts, resources you will not hesitate to ask. I am here, for whatever need you have. I will make certain the Wizengamot does not forget my face in the meantime. Let them remember I am alive, and let them remember I have an heir worthy of the House. The world must see that the Black name does not wither, but thrives."
Corvus inclined his head, rising gracefully from the table with practiced poise. "With your permission, Grandfather, I shall take my leave. My mind and body require rest if I am to succeed in these ambitions."
Arcturus nodded once, solemn. "Go, Corvus. Rest well. Tomorrow, the work continues, and the path of greatness is not walked in leisure."
As Corvus departed, Arcturus remained seated, watching the retreating figure of his heir. For a long moment, silence lingered in the hall, broken only by the faint crackle of fire. Then, almost against his will, a smile tugged at the old man's lips. A smile born of satisfaction, of hope, of pride not easily earned and of the dawning realization that the House of Black might yet rise higher than ever before.
--
Albus Dumbledore was not a happy man. Since leaving the Ministry and poring over the documents of the newly registered Black heir, a sour weight had settled in his chest. The parchment confirmed what whispers had suggested. This boy was no ordinary scion. He was talented, dangerously so, already ahead of his year in multiple disciplines. A Black of intelligence, skill, and ambition was a threat the likes of which Albus had spent decades working to prevent. James, Sirius, Severus all of them were bright young people whom had the potential to disrupt his plans. All of them were dealt with meticulously laid plans. If this heir was to lead the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, then he must be under Albus's eye, preferably in Hogwarts, where he could be observed, molded, and controlled. To leave him under the hand of Igor Karkaroff at Durmstrang was intolerable, a strategic mistake too great to allow.
But Durmstrang was shrouded by ancient enchantments. Its location was hidden even from its own students and visitors, erased from memory the instant they departed. The only sanctioned means of communication with the school was through a small, heavily warded office buried within the German Ministry of Magic. A bureaucratic gatekeeper between nations. Albus had already called in long forgotten favors, pressed old debts, and strained the extensive network he had cultivated for decades, all to scrape together fragments of information about the boy. Even those fragments were unsettling. A youth ahead of his peers, diligent, and recognized formally as Heir Black. It was a combination that could tilt balances he had labored for half a century to set. This Corvus Black would rise and shine there.
This could not be allowed. He had worked too long, too carefully, to see his grand design imperiled by a single boy. His entire career.. nay, his entire life had been one of deliberate construction. Piece by piece, role by role, he had built his dominion. First the kindly professor with twinkling eyes, then the benevolent Headmaster of Hogwarts, then the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and finally Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Each mantle had been chosen, claimed, and wielded as part of a singular vision. A wizarding world pacified, guided, and reshaped under the steady hand of Albus Dumbledore. A world where the wizards stood as protector and patron of the Muggle, where bloodlines and traditions were nothing but relics buried in dusty tombs. And he, he alone would be the architect, the shepherd, and the judge.
His conviction had been forged in his youth with Gellert, tested in Grindelwald's war, and perfected in the shadow of Voldemort. Two Dark Lords had risen in his lifetime, and both had ultimately served his purposes. He had allowed one to flourish until the world begged him to end it, and the other to terrorize Britain until laws bent willingly under his hand. Such was the art of control, and no new heir of Black would undo it.
He would not risk it all now. He would not allow a cunning young Black, armed with intellect, charisma, and noble blood, to rally the Traditionalists, pull half the Grey families to his banner, and even tempt the Light with promises of order and stability. That would fracture everything. That would endanger his Greater Good.
So Albus reached for his quill. With a soft cough, he corrected his own thought: not underlings, nor pawns,comrades. Brothers in arms, men of loyalty and vision who believed in him. Tiberius Ogden, faithful and pliant. Elphias Doge, ever willing to do his bidding in the name of trust and brotherhood. They would labor as he instructed, searching for paths to draw the boy back into Britain, into Hogwarts, into reach. Letters formed quickly under his practiced hand, each word a carefully chosen seed planted in loyal soil.
Dumbledore's smile was thin, sharp as the edge of a blade, as the quill scratched across parchment. A strong Black was not an opportunity to him. It was a risk, a danger to decades of quiet conquest. And Albus Dumbledore did not tolerate risks, Not when the destiny of the wizarding world, was folding under his careful control.