For the last two weeks, until he could apply to advance his fifth year subjects, Corvus devoted his replication talent to Healing and Silent Casting. What fascinated him most was how different masters could approach the same discipline in utterly distinct ways. One healer emphasized anatomy and magical diagnostics, treating every spell as if it were a precise surgical cut made of light and intent. Another focused on battlefield triage, believing healing to be a matter of speed and force. Stabilize the injured, push them back into the fight, and save refinement for later. A third, older professor treated healing almost like alchemy, mixing magical disciplines as one would mix potions, arguing that balance was more important than speed or precision. Though these philosophies clashed in method, they all filtered into Corvus's mind. His comprehension talent stitched them together into something greater, giving him the ability to heal with the precision of a scholar, the speed of a field medic, and the balance of a potions master, choosing whichever suited the situation before him.
Magical Combat lessons offered similar revelations. The gulf between combat and dueling was as wide as a chasm. Duels were structured encounters, governed by rules, pride, and the unspoken agreement of civility. Combat, however, was chaos given form. In a duel, one faced a known opponent under a set of conventions. In true battle, anything could kill you. The dust beneath your boots could be turned into a blinding storm with transfiguration; a boulder could be broken into dozens of razor shards with one well placed spell, even a conjured spark could ignite an inferno if timed correctly. Professor Halvard once demonstrated this by turning the condensation in the air into a sudden sheet of ice that toppled three students at once. Corvus quickly understood that where dueling sharpened a blade, combat tested whether that blade could cut in a storm. He began deliberately merging the two disciplines, blending dueling's precision with combat's unpredictability, crafting techniques that promised to make him a nightmare in either field.
His growing grasp of Magical Theory widened his arsenal further. He came to understand that spell color was not decorative but a reflection of the spell's resonance wavelength. With delicate adjustments to intent and magical pressure, he could alter that wavelength, thereby shifting the hue of his spells at will. This not only confused opponents but also allowed him to disguise one spell as another. From there, abandoning spoken incantations became inevitable. Traditional teaching locked a student's intent into a narrow channel by having them understand and speak the name of the spell and trace a specific wand movement. But at the deepest levels, the incantation and gesture were nothing but training wheels. Corvus had grown far beyond them by absorbing over ten masters experience, as if he had trained under their tutelage for decades. He could cast one spell while speaking the name of another, a sleight of tongue and intent that would deceive most duelists. More dangerously still, he could alter the color, shape, and even sound of the spell's effect, sowing confusion among those who relied on recognition. Against him, even the keenest eye could not trust what it saw.
His latest exercises showed how far this creativity could be pushed. He cast Petrificus Totalus, the full body bind, but instead of lacing it with pure stasis, he infused his intent with inner fire. The unfortunate victim will be frozen stiff, paralyzed, unable even to scream, while searing heat spread through their body. He tested the theory on some unlucky animals kept for this purpose alone, The result was horridly amazing. It was a weapon built from the simplest of charms, turned into torture by imagination. In another experiment, he disguised a cutting curse 'Diffindo' as a bright red stunner, leaving the practice dummy utterly unprepared. Professors warned repeatedly that power without creativity was a blunt tool. Corvus demonstrated the opposite, that imagination could make even the simplest magic terrifying.
As he walked the torchlit halls toward the Office of Student Affairs, he mulled over other combinations. His mind spun endlessly through possibilities. He formally applied to take examinations in Potions, Dark Arts, Rituals, Dueling, and Charms, stretching all the way up to the seventh year curriculum. The clerk, startled again but knowing his previous success, confirmed the request. She explained that his exams would begin in two days and last for three relentless days of theory and practical trials. Her eyes lingered on him with a mixture of awe and apprehension as she stamped the parchment.
On his way back to the dormitory wing, Corvus noticed Anya Petrova waiting in the corridor. The Bulgarian beauty stood with one shoulder resting against the stone wall, her posture casual yet deliberate, her eyes following him sharply. She had the air of someone who had been waiting with purpose. Corvus approached without hurry. Anya stepped forward, her voice direct and unflinching. "Are you taking the exams up to seventh year again?"
"Indeed," Corvus replied, his tone calm but edged with confidence. There was no boast in the word, only fact.
Anya's lips curved as she stepped closer, her eyes glittering. "I've heard," she said in a hushed, teasing voice, "that you have a rather effective way of blowing off steam. I think I'll pay you a visit, to see just how true the rumors are."
A smile tugged at the corner of Corvus's mouth. He leaned down slightly, his words smooth and controlled, carrying both promise and warning. "Then, my dear, I shall make certain you will steam constantly under my delicate care."
Her answering smirk was all the confirmation he needed. Corvus straightened and walked on toward his chambers, the glow of torchlight flickering over his sharp features, his mind was already plotting how he would spend the final two days before his next trial by fire. Every step was measured, every thought purposeful. All these preparations was for dominance. Not over the academic success but for bigger, much bigger plans.
--
The next two evenings passed with little rest for Corvus. Anya proved bold in both word and deed. She wanted excitement and intensity and she was not shy about pursuing them either. Their arrangement was straightforward, almost businesslike. Companionship for pleasure, nothing more. Corvus appreciated her candor. To him, she was not a partner in the sentimental sense, but an ally of convenience, one who kept her wits about her and knew not to pry into matters beyond what was offered. Still, she left his chambers more than once with a limp in her step and a smirk of satisfaction on her lips. Umbra cawed from his perch with dry amusement, while Viridith hissed sarcastically, "She will return. They always return." Corvus merely chuckled and returned to his studies.
By the time the examinations began, he was steady, sharp, and focused. The examination hall at Durmstrang was vast and unforgiving. Professors gathered at the dais like judges in a tribunal, their eyes hard and unyielding, parchments stacked high before them. The air carried the heavy silence of expectation, pressing upon the students like a weight. Each candidate knew that failure here meant not only humiliation but stagnation.
Potions came first. Master Greengrass laid before the candidates a collection of rare and volatile ingredients for the fifth, sixth, and seventh year tests. The fifth years were tasked with brewing an advanced restorative draught. The sixth years were handed cauldrons on the verge of eruption, expected to identify and prevent disaster. The seventh years were required to do both simultaneously, balancing creation and crisis at once. Corvus moved with calm precision, every chop exact, every stir purposeful. His control was so refined that he altered viscosity with only a faint cooling charm and neutralized the unstable cauldron by instantly diagnosing the error and correcting it with the proper stabilizer. By the end of the test, his potion gleamed with such clarity that Greengrass merely inclined his head in rare approval, his eyes lingering on Corvus longer than any other student.
Dark Arts followed under Vinda Rosier. The written exam tested the theory of chaining multiple hexes for the fifth and sixth year levels. For the seventh year, the question was more philosophical: Does Dark Magic alter the behavior of witches and wizards, and if so, why? Corvus's response was crisp and uncompromising. He explained the necessity of intent to cause pain and how weak or cruel personalities could be twisted by power they did not control. Dark Magic itself was not corrupting, he argued, but rather a mirror: it revealed the strength of will in the caster. It was not the discipline that failed, but the lack of it in the weak minded. The practical exam demanded demonstration, and Corvus did not hold back. He conjured a cascade of curses, each flowing seamlessly into the next, weaving them into a deadly tapestry. He even incorporated the three Unforgivable Curses with cold precision, earning more than a few gasps from onlookers. Rosier's cold smile widened, her eyes glittering as she declared, "Refined. Brave. Almost elegant."
Rituals tested him next. Menkara al-Zahur, ancient and severe, provided fragments of ancient scripts and demanded that they be reconstructed into functioning arrays. For the fifth year level, a simple protective barrier was required. For the sixth, a binding ward of multiple layers. For the seventh, a complex ritual circle combining both stability and offensive capability. The difficulty lay in balancing unstable sigils with stabilizing anchors, a task that had broken many students before. Corvus's comprehension and replication from the source guided him with flawless precision. His lines were sharp, his chanting steady, and when the circle blazed to life with a deep hum that shook the chamber, Menkara's eyes narrowed with interest. "Your will is strong," the old Egyptian intoned. "Remember, strength of will is the currency of true magic."
Dueling under Soren Halvard proved brutal. Candidates were not paired with peers but forced to face Halvard himself for a set period of time, each level of examination demanding longer endurance. The scarred professor attacked with merciless speed and unrelenting brutality, weaving hexes and conjurations with terrifying fluidity. Many students crumpled within moments. Corvus, however, bent, twisted, and countered with poise. His spells were sharp, his creativity endless. He turned Halvard's conjured chains into serpents that lashed at their master, shattered flaming projectiles into showers of harmless sparks, and countered curses with shields so dense they rang like steel. For a moment, the duel became spectacle, and whispers rose among the students watching. At last, Halvard barked a laugh, ending the exchange. "Better," he growled. "Much better."
Finally came Charms, overseen by Amelia Veyra. The written portion demanded innovative applications of standard charms for the fifth year level and complex theoretical problems for the sixth and seventh. The practical tested flexibility and invention. Corvus rose to the occasion by casting all spells silently, layering multiple charms onto different objects simultaneously. With smooth precision, he shifted them into elaborate formations, transfigured them into figures, and animated them into a small performance. A Flamenco concert, with two tiny guitars strummed by animated quills transfigured to humanoid shapes while three inkwells danced again transfigured to a look like street performers. The watching students broke into murmurs of astonishment. Amelia's warm smile betrayed her satisfaction. "Not just power and precision," she said softly. "Imagination. Do not lose it, Mr. Black."
By the end of the three days, Corvus was drained but unbroken. His quills were worn down, his wand hand ached, and his robes bore the marks of flame, ink, and dust. Yet his performance had been flawless from start to finish. Word spread quickly among the faculty and students alike: Corvus Black had not only matched the standards of the seventh year but surpassed them outright. In the cold, harsh halls of Durmstrang, whispers carried from classroom to corridor, from dormitory to refectory. The Black heir's name echoed like a storm on the horizon, promising a power that none could ignore.
--
Corvus, after passing his exams with top marks, had now finished all the core subjects and several electives from the first through seventh years. This success opened the way for him to enter the advanced mastery classes. He chose carefully, deciding to drop Healing, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes for now so he could focus fully on the harder courses. He told himself that in three months he could always return to take those exams if he wished, but his ambition demanded focus.
For his mastery studies, Corvus chose three subjects: Potions, Charms, and the Dark Arts. Each was challenging and dangerous in its own way, but he picked them with his long term goals in mind. He avoided Transfiguration because he did not want to be tied too closely to McGonagall, a strong supporter of Dumbledore. Flitwick and Snape on the other hand was a different story, he hoped to have an amicable realtion with the former and distant one with the latter. Even if the dungeon bat held power as head of Slytherin House. He was preparing his position as assistant professor in Hogwarts.
Back in Britain, news that the youngest student in Durmstrang's history had entered mastery classes and not in one, but three subjects, spread quickly. Families, politicians, and Professors all reacted with surprise. The Daily Prophet wasted no time in making a story of it. Rita Skeeter, always eager to stir drama, wrote her sharp take for all of Britain to see.
Durmstrang Prodigy: Black Heir Shatters Records While Hogwarts Slumbers
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Durmstrang Institute has announced that Corvus Black, heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, has been admitted to mastery classes in not one, but three disciplines: Potions, Charms, and Dark Arts. At an age when Hogwarts students struggle with fifth year work, the Black heir has already passed every seventh year exam. This makes him the youngest mastery student in Durmstrang's long and demanding history.
What does this mean for Britain? It means that while Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore smiles behind his half moon glasses, and while the Department of Magical Education drowns in mediocrity, true excellence is found abroad. Hogwarts' graduates need extra years of study overseas just to meet standards, while Durmstrang produces masters before adulthood. What message does this send to young witches and wizards? That if they want greatness, they must leave Britain behind.
Is it any wonder, readers, that faith in our schools crumbles? How many more heirs will be lost to foreign halls before our leaders finally wake up?
The article spread fast. Traditionalist families shared it with pride, Neutral families weighed Durmstrang's strength against Hogwarts' slipping reputation, and Progressives fumed in their meetings. Dumbledore himself was said to have read it with tight lips and burning eyes, though no one dared to ask him about it.
For Corvus, the noise from Britain was far away, though whispers reached even the cold halls of Durmstrang. His name was no longer just spoken. it was shouted, debated, feared, and admired. And so the question remained, in classrooms and in council chambers alike, what will happen next?