In the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, the Lord and Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black sat together, planning their next move. Arcturus held up a letter, his silver eyes narrowing. "Rita Skeeter requests an interview. The bug wishes to taste more scandal."
Corvus gave a small smile. "Then let her. We shall give her far more than scandal, we will give her truth. Umbra can use the trip to stretch his wings."
Moments later, the great raven spread its dark wings, the sealed note fastened to its leg. It flew into the London night, until it tapped against the window of Skeeter's office. She looked up from her desk, startled at first, then hurried forward to open the latch. The black bird stepped inside with regal calm, extending its leg. The note read simply: You are invited to Grimmauld Place, tomorrow morning at ten sharp. Lord Black and his heir will receive you. Skeeter's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Already she imagined the headlines and the chaos she could ignite.
Back in Grimmauld, Arcturus and Corvus discussed what must be said in detail. First would come the matter of Dumbledore's stolen fame. The war against Grindelwald. Arcturus explained to his heir how it was the ICW who carried the burden, how the fighting raged across continental Europe for years, and how Dumbledore only involved himself at the very end, when the outcome was already sealed. "The man basks in glory bought with others' blood," Arcturus muttered darkly, "while I till this day oppose ICW, alongside Vinda Rosier and others, we were fighting and leading campaigns across nations. We will strip that mask from him and remind the world whose shoulders bore the true cost."
The second subject was the war against Voldemort and how Dumbledore crippled Britain's Auror Office. Corvus leaned forward, his turquoise silver eyes gleaming coldly. "He forced them to use non lethal spells only, as if Death Eaters were schoolyard bullies. They faced killers and torturers, yet he chained the force with rules that made them lambs for the slaughter. Families across Britain suffered." Arcturus continued grimly. "A handful of Death Eaters terrorized the nation not because they were unstoppable, but because Dumbledore deliberately weakened its defenders." This, they agreed, would strike deep and Arcturus's voice would carry weight when he said it.
The third topic would belong to Corvus, his accomplishments at Durmstrang. Together they planned how to contrast the harsh brilliance of his education with the mediocrity of Hogwarts. "Competition strengthens," Corvus said firmly. "But Dumbledore shackles the gifted for the sake of the weak. In doing so, he kills the future of wizarding Britain." Arcturus opened a leather folder, showing records and figures, the percentage of Hogwarts graduates rejected by the Auror Office and other departments of the ministry. The number denied entry to St. Mungo's healing program, and others who were forced to retake studies abroad simply to qualify for work. The numbers were damning, and Rita would seize on them like a hyena on a carcass. "These," Arcturus said, tapping the parchment, "will be our spear. Delivered with precision, it cannot be ignored."
The next morning, at ten o'clock sharp, Skeeter arrived with her photographer in tow. The gloomy grandeur of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place shimmered into view. She knocked, and the door creaked open to reveal Kreacher bowing stiffly. "Follow Kreacher. Lord Black is waiting."
They followed the elf, eyes darting to every ancient tapestry and portrait as they moved through the corridors, until they reached the drawing room. Rita gasped softly, her sharp eyes falling on Arcturus first. "Lord Black," she said, her voice a mix of awe and flattery, "you look positively healthier than the last time I saw you at Wizengamot."
Arcturus's lips twitched into a smirk, his gaze flicking to Corvus. "The result of having my heir close by, Miss Skeeter," he said smoothly. Inwardly he recalled the ritual, and his eyes gleamed as they lingered on Corvus.
The interview began in earnest. Arcturus spoke first, his voice sharp as steel. He recounted how the ICW bore the true cost of Grindelwald's war, naming the campaigns and the lives lost, pointing out that Dumbledore only arrived to take credit at the very end. His voice carried the weight of a man who had lived and lead it, not one who had read about it in books. Skeeter's quill raced furiously, her eyes glittering with hunger at every phrase.
He moved smoothly to Voldemort's rise, describing how Aurors and Hit Wizards were forced into weakness under Dumbledore's orders. "Non lethal spells against butchers unforgivibles," he spat. "It cost dozens of Auror lives. A handful of dark wizards brought our nation to its knees. Voldemort's downfall was no masterstroke of Dumbledore's. It was a fluke. A curse rebounding upon the caster. The country was saved by chance, not by its so called protectors."
Skeeter could barely contain herself, her poisonous quill scratching in a frenzy. Even her photographer forgot his lens for a moment, staring as the elder Black spoke with cutting conviction.
Then Corvus took the floor. His voice was calm, deliberate, but carried the authority of someone who had achieved what others could only dream. He described his completion of Durmstrang's full curriculum in record time, his admission into mastery classes, and his appointment to assist in teaching Potions, Charms, and the Dark Arts to younger students. He contrasted this with Hogwarts' plummeting standards, driving the point home with exact numbers. "Nearly sixty percent of Hogwarts graduates are rejected by the departments of the Ministry. Auror Office included," he said coldly. "St. Mungo's turns away another third, citing inadequate training. These are not opinions. These are facts. Every citizen can check them through the records of the Ministry. Hogwarts is failing wizarding Britain. Those who do succeed do so only because their families can afford private tutors, or because they are blessed to be born to families with traditions of real magical education. All the rest, sacrificed for the sake of so called equality."
Skeeter's eyes widened at the raw figures. This was the kind of story that could shake the foundations of the Ministry itself. She licked her lips, excitement flashing across her face as her quill scratched faster than ever. This interview, she knew, would not only make headlines, it would make history.
--
The next morning, Wizarding Britain woke to shocking headlines plastered across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter's quill had flown across parchment for hours, and the final piece was nothing short of explosive. A story meant to rattle the Ministry, Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore himself.
The Blacks Speaks: Dumbledore's Stolen Glory, Auror Failures, and Hogwarts in Decline
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Yesterday, this reporter was granted a rare interview with Lord Arcturus Black and his heir, Corvus Black. What they revealed threatens to upend the carefully polished image of Albus Dumbledore and to spark urgent questions about the future of magical education in Britain.
First, Lord Black cast light on the war with Grindelwald, a tale long dominated by Dumbledore's legend. Contrary to the myth of "the Savior," it was the International Confederation of Wizards who fought and bled across Europe for years. Strike teams, not Hogwarts' headmaster, stormed Grindelwald's fortresses, defended cities, and endured the losses. Lord Black himself spoke with the weight of one who had seen it all: "Dumbledore stepped onto the battlefield only when victory was already in sight, and claimed glory bought with the blood of others." Other veterans interviewed by this reporter confirm that the ICW carried the burden, while Dumbledore simply arrived to claim the laurels.
Second, the war against You-Know-Who was discussed in chilling detail. This reporter was shocked to see both the Lord and Heir black was using the name of the dark lord without fear. According to Lord Black, Dumbledore's intervention directly crippled the Auror Office. Aurors were ordered to use non lethal spells against Death Eaters who unleashed Unforgivables without hesitation. "It was a slaughter," he revealed. "Our Aurors were forced to fight with one arm tied behind their backs. Dozens died needlessly. Entire families were destroyed. A handful of Death Eaters brought Britain to its knees not through invincibility, but through the weakness imposed on our defenders. And let us not forget. You-Know-Who's downfall was no masterstroke of Dumbledore's nor the Ministry's. It was chance, a curse rebounding on its caster as far as the Auror reports say. Britain was saved by accident, not by its so called guardians."
Finally, this reporter met and interviewed the famous Heir, Corvus Black. Allow me dear readers to say that if this handsome young man returned to our belowed nation, many families will que for betrothal contracts. Heir Black offered his own testimony. At only sixteen, he has completed Durmstrang's full curriculum, formally graduated, and already entered mastery courses in Potions, Charms, and Dark Arts. He also assists in teaching younger students, making him the youngest in Durmstrang's history to reach such heights. His assessment of Hogwarts was damning: "Nearly sixty percent of Hogwarts graduates are rejected by our own Ministry. Another third are denied by St. Mungo's healing program. Our young witches and wizards are failed by an education system that prioritizes failure and excuses over excellence. Britain bleeds talent because Hogwarts smothers it. Think of a future where Britain will ask ICW for Aurors, Enchanters and Healers because we let someone to destroy the very foundation of an institiue older than the Ministry itself."
The statistics provided by House Black are difficult to dismiss. This reporter went to the ministry and confirmed all the numbers are unfortunatly correct. Families with wealth may hire private tutors or send children abroad. Those without must watch their children falter. Corvus Black explained that Durmstrang thrives because it encourages competition and brilliance, not shackling its brightest minds for the sake of uniformity. "Competition strengthens," he concluded. "Hogwarts smothers the gifted and kills the future of our nation. Heir Black pointed out a misunderstanding as a natural result of this situation. Witches and Wizards of our nation is being misled by the effect of this situation. Our people belive that only the influental families are allowed positions in the ministry where in truth it is nothing but the consequence of allowing muggle influence to posion our culture. The headmaster as the defender of this occupation is reponsible alone for this silent devestation." Were the words of young heir Corvus Black. Which raised some questions about the supposed inequality in our society and its origins. Dear readers, we all know that the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft promotes equality in principle but is it possible that the school's approach to teaching, which may I point was born from that same principle, might be the reason for inequality itself?
The article spread like fire in dry grass. In Diagon Alley, readers gathered in clusters, voices raised in disbelief and anger. Traditionalist families passed the paper from hand to hand, nodding in satisfaction, while neutral families whispered about transferring their children to schools abroad. In Knockturn Alley, dark robed figures smirked openly, remarking that the Blacks had spoken truth others feared to say.
At Hogwarts, the impact was immediate. Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line as she defended the school and the it's headmaster in clipped tones. Flitwick, usually cheerful, looked shaken as he tried to reassure students that "every education has value," though his voice lacked conviction. Snape sneered at the insinuations but could not ignore the sting in Corvus's words, particularly as Slytherin's reputation was indirectly increased. In the staffroom, younger professors whispered anxiously about their future, while older ones grumbled.
And Dumbledore? He was seen at breakfast, spectacles flashing, his face set in uncharacteristic grimness as whispers trailed him through the Great Hall. Even the students, normally quick to defend their school, whispered about the numbers quoted in the Prophet. Doubt had been planted, and doubt was dangerous.
For Lord Arcturus, the interview brought immediate satisfaction. The House of Black had done what the traditional wing of the wizengamot could not in a decade within months without raising a wand. For Corvus, it was confirmation that his name now carried weight across Britain. He was no longer merely an heir within the halls of Durmstrang, he was a force that the wizarding world could not ignore. The Black heir had spoken, and all of Wizarding Britain was listening.
--
While the country was still churning with the effects of the interview and it's damning accuracy, Lord Black and his heir received invitations to several Equinox balls. The day held special meaning for magical society, for it was the time of the ancient ritual known as Ritus Vernalis. This was conducted at the precise moment when day and night stood equal, symbolizing the balance of nature between dark and light. A bowl of fresh spring water, three different seeds, and a sacrifice, most often a hare were central to the ceremony. At the crucial moment, the hare would be slain, its blood washing over the seeds before they were cleansed in spring water. This act marked rebirth and renewal. The first seed was for growth, physical or magical depending on intent; the second for healing, whether emotional or communal; and the third for connection to nature, and through it, to Mother Magic herself.
Arcturus chose to accept the invitation of the Greengrass family, a house known for wealth but lacking the entrenched political power of the older families. When the Blacks arrived at Greengrass Manor, they were met at the door by a young girl who introduced herself with graceful poise. "Daphne Greengrass," she said, curtsying. Her pale blonde hair was arranged neatly, her features sharp and refined, with clear blue eyes that carried the cool composure typical of her family. She bore herself with the dignity of someone trained since childhood in the formalities of Pureblood society.
Arcturus gave a small smile of satisfaction as he observed her. The Greengrass line, rich though it was, faced the constant danger of fading into irrelevance without the right alliances. Daphne and her younger sister, Astoria, were their best chance at ensuring the family's survival. What was needed now was a marriage arrangement, either to secure a husband willing to let their first or secondborns carry the Greengrass name, or to accept contracts where the daughters might serve as mistresses, ensuring that the line would not be wholly absorbed into other houses.
Daphne led them to the garden, where the ritual grounds had been prepared. Dozens of hares huddled anxiously in a cages. Several bowls sat upon a long table, some empty and gleaming, others filled with clear spring water. Another stand held boxes neatly labeled with the names of various seeds; oak, yew, hawthorn, and darker varieties like blackthorn and dark oak.
Guests mingled quietly among themselves. Corvus and Arcturus moved with practiced ease, exchanging polite greetings. From the Rosiers came a sharp nod, their representative remarking, "It is heartening to see the Blacks among us again. The old bonds between our families endure."
The Selwyn matriarch added softly, "In times such as these, unity among tradition is our shield."
A Nott patriarch, tall and severe, remarked, "Your words in the Prophet have stirred the halls of power, Lord Black. Many are whispering of shifts long overdue."
From the Burkes came a curt acknowledgment, their interest piqued by the mention of rituals and old magics. The Browns, aloof yet courteous, offered only the polite phrase, "Balance is strength." Meanwhile, a McMillan, progressive by reputation, said cautiously, "It is… reassuring to hear calls for excellence again. Even those of us counted neutral must admit the truth: Hogwarts is no longer what it once was."
Corvus listened, his responses precise and formal. "The House of Black has ever stood for strength and tradition. Words mean little unless matched by action." He allowed himself the faintest smile, adding, "And action is precisely what we intend."
As the moon was rising, Cyrus Greengrass, the head of the family, struck a silver spoon against his goblet, and the crowd turned to him. He raised his voice, clear and dignified. "Friends, kinsmen, allies, today we mark the Spring Equinox with Ritus Vernalis, a celebration of balance, renewal, and fertility held by our kin through history. It is the moment when day and night are equal in length, symbolizing harmony between light and dark, importance of balance and the turning of the Wheel of the Year toward growth and abundance. May Mother Magic blesses us all." His words hung in the evening air like a benediction.
When he finished, he turned toward Arcturus. "Lord Black, If you would lead the ritual as the elder among us." This was not only an invitation, it was a sign of where the Greengrass family stands in these uncertain times.
There was a murmur among the gathered families, for the gesture was both respect and political declaration. Arcturus inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Of course Lord Greengrass."
As the families approached the stands to gather their ritual items, Corvus stepped forward as well. He collected the bowls, the ritual knife, and a hare from the cage, its eyes wide with fear. He moved to the seed boxes and considered his options before selecting carefully: a dark oak seed for growth, a bloodwood seed for healing, and a yew seed for connection. Each choice was deliberate, and the symbolism was not lost on those who watched.