--Horray for a thousand stones. Here is an extra chapter. Thank you for your support ladies and gentlemen.--
As June settled in with long hours of northern light, Corvus was summoned by Professor Vinda Rosier. He knocked twice, sharp and measured, and entered at her command. He gave a respectful nod. "Professor."
Vinda set aside the quill in her hand, her piercing eyes locking onto him. "You are registered to enter the Under Eighteen Continental Duelling Tournament which will be held in Spain this July," she said, her voice clipped but charged with certainty. "You will compete, and you will win. Not only this year, I'll register your name next year as well and you will dominate it. Are there any questions?"
Corvus shook his head. "No, Professor."
"Good," she continued, leaning back slightly, her lips curving in the faintest of smiles. "Oh and do not use your 'Veiled Casting' at the tournament. There will be many masters in the audience. They will notice, and we do not reveal our weapons so carelessly. Save it for when it is needed, not for show."
Corvus inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Understood."
"The other matter," Vinda said, folding her hands, "is your transfer to Hogwarts. You will serve there as a foreign assistant professor, officially under the banner of Durmstrang. You are not only the shining star of this institute, you are my pupil as well. Reflect the discipline and excellence this demands. You will return three times a year for demonstrations of you mastery in Dark Arts and your other mastery classes, under my authority as well as Professors Greengrass and Veyra. Horatio in particular insists you continue your research into existing and new potions. If you create something worthy of registration, you will contact him directly, no one else. Is that clear."
"Yes, Professor," Corvus replied, his tone calm but resolute.
Vinda studied him for a long moment, her sharp eyes softening just slightly. "You remind me of Arcturus in his youth. Stubborn, brilliant, infuriatingly sure of yourself. But see that you do not squander the gifts you have honed. The world will either bow to them or seek to break them. I will see you soon for the other topic."
In the days that followed, Corvus prepared carefully. He visited each of his professors, not only to give his farewells but also to observe them one final time. Seeking the glimmers of rare talents, the elusive orange or gold cards that could be replicated. With each visit he listened closely, spoke sparingly, and left with quiet nods of respect. Among the students, whispers followed him like shadows, awe and envy twined together in equal measure.
Headmaster Karkaroff made his own announcement during the final dinner in the main hall. Rising before the entire student body, he listed Corvus's accomplishments, fourteen subjects passed with top marks, three mastery classes entered, and service as assistant instructor to the youngest years. The hall rang with applause as Igor presented him with a marble plaque engraved with his achievements, a tangible testament to his place in Durmstrang's history. Corvus accepted with a calm expression, though inwardly a spark of pride flared. Few had ever achieved so much in so little time.
Igor asked Corvus to follow him to his office after the dinner. As he sat behind his desk and pointed to an armchair for Corvus, his smirk returned. "By the authority of the legislation passed through the ICW and local governments, you are now recognized as an assistant instructor of Durmstrang, Heir Black. At Hogwarts, you are not under their staff's direct authority. They may supervise, but if they wish to oppose you, they will write to us. They cannot dismiss you, only suspend you if you commit something truly unacceptable. Use this authority well."
Corvus inclined his head. "Thank you, Headmaster. I will ensure it is used wisely."
The words rippled through the hall. Students looked at him with widened eyes, whispers breaking out among the tables. Some gazes burned with admiration, others with jealousy, but all understood that Corvus Black was no ordinary student, he was already something more, a rising force who started to carve a name in the annals of wizarding world.
Later,when he was at the corridor leading to his chambers, he was met with an unexpected surprise. Two witches awaited him. The first was a seventh year, a petite Ugandan beauty named Naledi Okoro, with amber eyes that glowed under the torches and delicate, graceful features. The second he recognized from his mastery level Potions class. Yelena Markova from Belarus, striking and statuesque, a living example of her nation's famed elegance. Their presence was not coincidental. Word of his lechery and rising star had spread. That night, ambition and ritual intertwined. By dawn his magical reserves burned brighter, his body alive with increased potency.
When the sun finally crept above the horizon, Corvus washed, dressed, and walked with quiet determination to Professor Menkara's chambers. Today he would attempt the ritual again. Today he would see which animal spirit would answer his call and reveal itself as his next form. The thought made his pulse quicken with anticipation.
--
Corvus sat down across from the old ritualist, the memory of his last visit still sharp. The sudden sting when one of his tail feathers had been plucked without warning. Menkara's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement as he asked, "Here for the ritual, Black?"
Corvus inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, Professor, if it suits you."
Without another word, the ancient wizard rose and made his way to the ritual chamber. Corvus followed, his steps measured, and began to draw the runic circle. His hands moved quickly, the lines sure and precise; he had memorized every rune, every intersection of power. When he finally settled into place and glanced at Menkara, the professor gave a single approving nod. Corvus closed his eyes, steadying his breathing, and the ritual began.
He heard Menkara's deep voice intone the incantations, words that seemed to echo off the stone walls and reverberate through his chest. Then came the shift, his consciousness peeled away, slipping into the vision world. This time, it was not the clearing where he had met the Shadow Raven. No, now he stood in a dense jungle, darkness pressing in on all sides. The air was humid, the heat clinging to his skin. Night offered no comfort, the shadows here felt alive, full of hidden eyes.
Corvus stilled himself, focusing. He used Bloodsight, the gift from his first Animagus form, and the world shimmered. Threads of aura glowed faintly between the trees. There, a strong energy signature pulsed faintly in the undergrowth some twenty meters away. He fixed his attention on it until a pair of pale blue eyes emerged, the pupils wide and hungry for every scrap of moonlight.
The beast stepped forward, muscles rippling under its coat. It was a tiger. Larger than any Corvus had seen in zoos or documentaries, its height at the shoulder nearly equaled that of a man. Snow white fur stretched over a massive frame, marked with dark stripes like ancient runes etched by nature itself. Its massive head lowered slightly, jaws parting to reveal curved fangs gleaming in the night. The pale eyes locked on his, unblinking, challenging, demanding recognition.
Corvus did not back down. His gaze meeting the tiger's with unyielding determination. The clash was silent but heavy, a battle of dominance fought without claw or curse. Just raw presence. The tiger's mind ruled by instinct and desire to inhabit pressed against his mind, testing for weakness, probing for hesitation. For long minutes the world shrank to nothing but those eyes and his refusal to yield. At last, the predator relented and started to retreat. Corvus started his assault wave after wave of blunt impacts against the beast untill it lowered its head, the gesture regal and grudging. He stepped forward and laid his hand against the large forehead. In a breath, the tiger dissolved into shadowy smoke, flooding into his chest, binding itself to him.
When he exhaled again, he was no longer human. Power rippled through his limbs as his body shifted, reshaped. He stretched, feeling new muscles tighten and release. A heavy tail twitched behind him, unruly at first, obedient only when he concentrated on it, but prone to swaying like an impatient pendulum when his focus lapsed. He attempted his first steps and promptly stumbled, his body remembering bipedal instincts while the new form has four paws. He grunted, though what left his mouth was a low rumble and steadied himself.
Soon, movement came more naturally. Walking turned into prowling. Prowling into running. He crouched low, sprang forward, and felt the earth thunder beneath his paws. He leapt, landing with surprising grace, then tried again. Less graceful this time, nearly rolling over himself in the dirt. A growl that was half frustration, half laughter escaped him. He remembered scenes from documentaries in his former life, tigers climbing trees, stalking prey. He tried both. The climb was ungainly; branches bent alarmingly under his weight until one cracked, sending him tumbling down in a heap of fur. Shaking himself off, he moved to a nearby pond.
Moonlight spilled across its surface. He leaned close and saw the reflection of his new self. A massive white tiger stared back. The stripes were bold and jagged, his frame immense. Yet it was the eyes that caught him. Turquoise silver, the same as his human form, gleaming with sharp intelligence. He bared his fangs, moved his ears, and swayed his tail experimentally. For all its fearsome might, the sight carried a strange majesty. Terrifying, yes, but also wildly beautiful.
A chuckle slipped from him, though in this form it came as a deep growl that rumbled through the clearing. Even so, he could not help but think: if not terrifying, perhaps this form could even be considered… almost cuddly. The thought amused him, but behind it lay certainty. He had claimed a second form.
--
When Corvus opened his eyes again, he was back in the ritual chamber, his body still humming with the echo of the transformation. His skin prickled as if his veins still carried the roar of the jungle within them. The old ritualist was watching him intently, arms folded across his chest, gaze sharp and unblinking as though he had memorized every twitch, every shift of muscle during the ritual. Corvus stood slowly, stretching his limbs with deliberate care, testing the edges of his new strength. He bowed slightly to thank the Professor.
"It is done," he said, his voice steady, though beneath it ran the undertone of awe.
Menkara's lips curved into a rare smile, his expression both satisfied and curious. "So it is. Tell me boy, what did you claim this time?"
"A tiger," Corvus replied. "A white tiger. Strong, fast, and proud." His words hung heavy in the chamber, almost reverent.
The professor chuckled, low and knowing, the sound echoing like old stone. "A predator befitting you. The jungle itself trembles at its presence. Show me."
Corvus closed his eyes again, calling upon the bond now etched into his soul. He willed the shift, and his body melted seamlessly into the beast's form. The change was smoother than his first transformation, as though the spirit had already settled with him. In moments, the great white tiger stood where the he had been. His tail twitched, his paws pressed heavy against the stone floor, and his turquoise silver eyes gleamed with primal sharpness that belonged both to man and beast.
Menkara circled him slowly, each step deliberate and precise. He studied the rippling muscles beneath the striped pelt, the breadth of his shoulders, and the shimmer of raw magic that seemed to radiate from his fur. "Magnificent," the professor murmured. "The sheer size… it may be connected to the potency of your magic. And those eyes… the eyes of the Animagus are the most important sign of who holds the reins. You, boy, are firmly in control. Most Animagi stumble on their first transformations, especially with large predators, magical or mundane. The animal wrestling against the will of their host. But you…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "You bend it."
Corvus growled softly in approval, his body thrumming with pride at the words. He crouched low, then sprang upward at Menkara's gesture, landing cleanly. At another gesture, he prowled in a wide circle, his gait balanced and silent. Menkara flicked his wand, sending a wooden mannequın sliding across the chamber, and Corvus pounced upon it with frightening precision, claws tearing through it as though it were parchment. The professor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Then, without warning, Menkara stepped closer and plucked a single white whisker from Corvus's muzzle. Pain flared through the form, and the tiger recoiled with a furious snarl. He lunged instinctively, pinning the old man to the ground with a paw larger than a human head, growls reverberating off the walls like thunder.His claws standing ready. The ritualist did not flinch. After a tense moment, Corvus forced himself to release, shifting back into his human form in a blink. Breathing heavily, he rubbed his face with a scowl. "Professor," he said through clenched teeth, "you might at least warn me before assaulting my dignity."
The old man only smirked, tucking the whisker into a small pouch at his belt as though he had claimed a treasure. "Consider it my payment, boy. Remember this, forms are not toys. They are weapons, symbols, and the raw truths of your soul. Treat them with reverence, I do expect perfect control next time I see you."
Corvus exhaled, then inclined his head slowly. "Understood, Professor."
Menkara's eyes glinted with something between pride and caution. "Good. Then go, Heir Black. Practice until the beast is no longer something you wear but something that is you. Learn every strength and every flaw of this new skin. Return when you are ready to claim another."
Corvus smiled faintly and bowed once more. The respect he held for this ancient professor was genuine. "Farewell, Professor. You have my gratitude."
As he stepped out of the ritual chamber, the weight of his triumph pressed against his chest. He had claimed not one, but two forms. Shadows and stripes bound to his soul. And with each form came new possibilities, new weapons for the battles yet to come. He would rise and the House of Black would rise with him.