Durmstrang, unlike other magical institutes, was hidden even from its own. Students, once graduated or gone for holidays, forgot its exact location. Parents could not visit, and no owl, falcon, or other winged courier ever found its towers. All correspondence flowed instead through the Durmstrang office at the German Ministry of Magic, where once a week a faculty member brought the letters.
It was over breakfast in the castle's main hall where both professors and students gathered that Corvus received his. He slit the envelope neatly, eyes scanning quickly, and one brow arched. Professor Rosier had indeed contacted Lord Black, asking how he had regained his youth. Arcturus's tone was not commanding, but the weight of his words was clear, he was requesting Corvus's help for a dear friend. Corvus wasn't sure which unsettled him more, the thought of guiding Vinda Rosier through such a ritual, or the notion of calling her Aunt. Even the idea sent an involuntary shiver through him.
The day unfolded as usual, a morning lecture to the first and second years on Dark Arts, followed by his own Mastery seminar in the afternoon under Professor Rosier herself. The thought of Arcturus's request lingered all day, until finally, when the last of the students slipped out, Corvus approached Professor's seat. He paused politely as she scratched notes on a parchment, waiting until she set her quill down and lifted her gaze.
"Yes, Black?" she said crisply.
"Professor," Corvus began carefully, "I have a few matters I would like to raise, if you have time."
She tilted her head slightly and gave a single nod. "Go on."
"First," he said, "I would like to enter the Under 18 Duelling Tournament."
Her lips quirked, almost amused. "Ambitious, noted. What else?"
"Second, I've been developing a new approach to spellcasting. I'm calling it Veiled Casting. The idea is to mask one spell with the incantation and indicators of another, the colour, even the sound. Imagine hearing Stupify but being struck by Blood Boiling Curse (Ferventi Sanguine). I've already begun practicing. In searching the registries, I've found nothing of the kind formally recognized. My question is this, should I register it under my own name as an innovation, perhaps even use it as my Final Thesis for Dark Arts and Charms mastery… or keep it as family magic, private to the House of Black?"
Rosier leaned back in her chair, studying him. Silence stretched, heavy but not unfriendly. "Keep it in the family," she said at last. "Masters of especially magical theory know tricks like this already, though few call it by a name. To reveal it to the world gains you nothing but enemies. Let it be your secret and your weapon."
Corvus inclined his head. "Understood."
"And lastly?" she prompted.
He met her gaze directly, his voice calm. "Lord Black wrote to me. He asked me to be… more cooperative, regarding the request you made of him."
Her eyes glinted, sharp as a blade. For a long moment, she only watched him. Then, slowly, her mouth curved into something between a smile and a sneer. "I thought so. Arcturus was never even and adept on the subject of Rituals, which I assume it is a ritual of course."
Her tone turned flat, serious. "You will explain to me every detail of it, Corvus. I will not splinter my soul, nor stoop to the murder of infants. Youth regained at such a cost is not worth having."
Corvus gave a single, deliberate nod. "You will have your answer, Professor. But only under a vow. I will not risk the knowledge spreading, not to the likes of Dumbledore, nor to any other pest who would seize it for themselves. Sometimes knowledge is too dangerous to be made available to the unworthy."
Rosier's eyes narrowed again, but this time with something almost like respect. "Very well, Black. We shall visit this topic again, under an oath."
--
The weeks slipped past in a blur of study, teaching, and quiet ambition. Corvus kept to his rhythm: mornings teaching the younger years with crisp discipline, afternoons spent under the exacting eyes of his three mastery professors, and evenings devoted to practice and experimentation of his new talents from the Raven. Days became weeks, and another month was behind him before he realized it. He replicated Wandless Casting, Enchanting, Alchemy and Magical Theory through the month from different Professors. His reputation among students and staff grew steadily with every replication's addition to his general understanding of Magic. Whispers followed him through the halls, and even older students treated him with a respect usually reserved for seasoned professors.
The exams came next. For Corvus, this was not just another test, but an opportunity, a chance to push himself beyond even the impossible standards he had already set. He sat for Healing, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes, each up to the full seventh year curriculum. No student in living memory had attempted so much so early, but Corvus approached each with his usual cold precision and armory of all the knowledge he replicated and afterwards streghtened with his comprehension.
In Healing, he was asked on theory to explain the specific differences of various effects between spell healing and potion based remedies for bone fractures for fifth year and injuries and sicknesses for sixth and seventh. On practical, he was required to regrow a shattered arm bone of a student with Episkey Maxima and then stabilize the patient with an infusion of Skele Gro. Different animals in multiple levels of injury was given from fifth to seventh year to examine, and heal. Many patients were in their stretchs waiting to be examined. He was asked identify the sicknes and injuries. In Arithmancy, his written exam demanded calculations of probability matrices for spell casting outcomes under lunar eclipses, while the practical had him calculate a predictive formula for faulty spell on different levels of complexity for fifth to seventh years. The symbols shone brightly under his hand, the spell fizzled before reaching the uncontrollable levels. In Ancient Runes, he was asked to make an educated guess on an unidentified inscriptions pulled from a Viking burial site, and then demonstrated his understanding by weaving a protective rune circle with four different ancient runic alphabets. CoMC was no less taxing, he identified different magical anilas of various danger levels based on the exams year for theory. On the Practicals he was asked to handle Matagots, a Thunderbird and for seventh year a Kelpie. With some difficulties and using mind magic and some calming charms he passed them all.
By the end of his exams, he had done what no one thought possible. He was written into Durmstrang's history. A third year who had taken fourteen subjects to the seventh year level and passed them all with marks so high even the sternest examiners could only nod in approval. Added to this, he was already enrolled in three mastery classes and serving as an assistant instructor to the youngest students. His fame spread like wildfire through the school's stone halls, his name spoken in awe and envy alike, and even faculty whispered to each other that they had never seen the like.
Getting his name known served him in other ways. Seventeen times he performed the ritual of power, aided by the willing company of seventh year ladies drawn to his fame. Each ritual left him stronger, his magical reserves swelling until he felt his very blood hum with energy. His stat had climbed from B+ to A+, and he felt every lick of it. Even the simplest spells, the ones he had cast since boyhood, now carried weight and force that startled those who watched. His charms cut sharper, his curses landed heavier, his shields shimmered thicker. Even his magical regeneration, once too slow for his liking, now ran steady and sure. No longer a weakness, but a strength. He noticed professors eyeing him with a new caution, their lectures subtly sharper when he was present, as though measuring themselves against him.
In quiet moments, he could feel it in his bones. He was ready. Ready not just to stand as a powerhouse in his own right, but to return to Britain and begin shaping Wizarding society, step by step. The House of Black would not fade. Under his hand, it would rise again.
--
While Corvus continued his relentless cycle of growth, study and instruction at Durmstrang, the year wound toward its close across the educational institutions. Hogwarts, too, prepared for endings and beginnings. Albus Dumbledore, for all his calm and grandfatherly twinkle, could not quite hide his excitement. The coming year promised much. Harry James Potter was due to arrive, and alongside the Black heir. Corvus would not be coming as a student, as Dumbledore had once schemed, but as a foreign assistant professor. The boy had passed fourteen subjects to seventh year level in only three years. Fudge nearly begged him daily to find some way to contain or work with the rising star. The Daily Prophet, irritatingly persistent, published more glowing reports of Corvus's accomplishments especially his latest exams and importance of it. At least, Albus thought bitterly, the paper's attention meant the Ministry's headaches were shared. Still, beneath his outward calm, he wondered constantly about he can make Harry and Corvus's to cross paths.
The staff room on the ground floor was warm with firelight and the murmurs of gathered professors. A long table sat at its center, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Some tall, some low, each as peculiar as its occupant. Today was the final staff meeting of the year, and every professor was in attendance. Minerva McGonagall, stern and precise, Severus Snape, robed in black and scowling already, Filius Flitwick, cheerful and perched on a stack of cushions, Pomona Sprout, earthy and smiling despite the late hour, Rolanda Hooch, sharp eyed and others who filled the benches, including Poppy Pomfrey and Cuthbert Binns drifting at the far end.
Albus greeted them with a genial smile and took the head seat. "My friends, another year draws to a close. Let us begin with reports from each House."
McGonagall rose first, her voice crisp. "Gryffindor has had a respectable year. Young Charlie Weasley has again excelled in Care of Magical Creatures. He will be sorely missed when he graduates. The younger Weasleys, however, are proving to be quite the handful."
Snape's lips curled. "As for Slytherin, our marks remain high same as our house points, as expected. However…" His eyes narrowed. "The Weasley twins are a menace, regardless of House. Their antics have disrupted my lessons on more than one occasion. It is beneath my dignity to spend time vanishing dungbomb fumes, and I expect some form of discipline beyond detentions."
A ripple of chuckles went round the table, though Sprout shook her head reproachfully. "Hufflepuff has had a strong showing. Cedric Diggory in particular demonstrates admirable diligence. He has the makings of a leader. Miss Tonks continues to show promise, though her metamorphmagus talent often distracts her from discipline. Several of our fifth years have also been experimenting successfully with advanced Herbology projects."
Flitwick clapped his small hands. "And Ravenclaw has, of course, upheld its reputation. Several of my seventh years have published essays already under my guidance. I expect to see their names in academic circles soon enough."
When the last of the reports ended, Albus folded his hands. "Thank you, all. One final matter before we adjourn. As you may have heard, Corvus Black will be joining us next year. Not as a student, but as a foreign assistant professor. He is to take over the first and second year classes in Charms and Potions. Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, do you find this arrangement agreeable?"
Flitwick brightened immediately. "Oh, yes! I have corresponded with Professor Veyra at Durmstrang. She praises his discipline and creativity without reservation. It will be a delight to see him work."
Snape's jaw tightened. "I, too, have received letters from Master Horatio. His skills are undeniable. But let us not forget the name he bears. I cannot pretend delight at entrusting my classroom to a Black, however 'exceptional' he may be. I will tolerate him, but do not expect me to welcome him."
Albus gave a placating smile, Minerva's sigh cut through the tension. "I only wish he had chosen Transfiguration instead of Dark Arts. He might have taken my first and second years as well, and I could have enjoyed a quieter timetable. Still, if his reputation holds true, he will be an asset."
There was a ripple of laughter, soft and genuine, before the meeting drifted to a close. Still, beneath the pleasantries, the thought hung heavy. Next year, Hogwarts would not only welcome Harry Potter, but also the prodigy of the House Black and that combination promised challenges none of them could yet predict.