Arcturus sat in his study as dawn broke over London, the pale light seeping through the curtains. He was still thinking about Corvus' words from the night before, his heir's sharp observations, his plans for power, and especially his critique of Gellert's old methods. It could have been a different world, Arcturus thought, if Gellert had taken such an approach. A much different world.
With that thought firm in his mind, he reached for a crystal vial. Pressing his wand to his temple, he drew out the shimmering strand of memory. His conversation with Corvus. He sealed it carefully, labeled it for Vinda, and then pulled a fresh parchment. His quill scratched across the page, outlining the ideas in general terms. She deserves to see this for herself, he thought. When he was done, he tied both vial and letter to the leg of his falcon, Mel. The bird screeched proudly and took flight. Arcturus paused for a moment, his eyes following the falcon with unusual softness. He had found Mel after the funeral of his wife, Melania. Since then, the bird had never left his side. Watching it disappear into the sky, Arcturus whispered, "Godspeed, old friend." He closed the window and turned toward the day's business.
First thing to do, Gringotts. He could already imagine Tornhook's fanged grin when hearing about the idea Corvus had brought forward. Arcturus doubted it would be as simple as an Imperius curse here and a suggestion there, as Corvus implied. The goblins were not fools nor the ICW. This would be complicated, much more complicated. And yet, for the first time in years, Arcturus felt excitement in his old heart. He dressed in fresh black robes, straightened his back, and went down to breakfast.
Corvus was already there, seated and waiting with his usual poise. He rose the moment Arcturus entered. "Grandfather, a pleasant morning, I hope," he said evenly.
"It is, Corvus," Arcturus replied, settling into his chair. "After breakfast, we shall visit Gringotts. Let us see how Tornhook regards your idea of channeling muggle wealth into wizarding coffers."
They ate in companionable silence, and once finished, the two Blacks apparated to the designated point in Diagon Alley. As Lord and Heir walked side by side through the busy cobbled street, heads turned. Witches and wizards alike nodded politely, whispering at the sight of them together. The Blacks, regal in their bearing, returned the greetings with the barest inclination of their heads before striding up the marble steps of the bank. They even paused to nod at the goblin guards before entering.
Inside, a goblin runner led them swiftly through the halls, up to Tornhook's office. A sharp knock, a curt command, and the runner opened the door. Arcturus clasped forearms with Tornhook as warriors of old. "It is good to see you, friend," the goblin said, his grin a mess of sharp teeth.
"And you," Arcturus replied warmly. Tornhook ordered some tea, when it arrived turned to Arcturus. What can I help you with he asked. Elder Black's tone hardened. "What we discuss today requires privacy. Absolute privacy, regardless of the outcome. I will have your word, Tornhook, that nothing leaves this room."
The goblin considered him for a long moment before nodding. With a few sharp gestures, he activated layers of enchantments. The hum of wards filled the air, sealing them in.
"Now then," Arcturus said, leaning forward, his eyes sharp. "We intend to move into the muggle markets. Take their money and funnel it through Gringotts into galleons." He summarized in simple terms. "Tell me plainly, how much can you convert, daily, weekly, monthly? Would you prefer their currincies in cash or gold bars?"
Tornhook leaned back, fingers steepled. "We at Gringotts care little for muggle currencies. We convert them only because of agreements with local governments and the ICW. Gold or silver bars, however, are welcome. But it all depends on the volume and the profit. What are we talking here, Arcturus? Hundreds? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?" He raised his cup of tea, sipping casually.
"Millions," Arcturus said flatly.
The goblin choked, tea spilling onto his desk. His eyes went wide, darting from Arcturus to Corvus. After a pause, he leaned in, voice low. "Twenty five percent. That is my price."
"Five," Arcturus shot back instantly. "Don't try to rob me in broad daylight, you greedy wretch."
"Twenty three," Tornhook snarled, baring his teeth. "Careful, Arcturus. Do not make me sharpen my axe. You are not the young general you once were."
"Seven," Arcturus countered with equal venom. "Push me further and I'll gut you myself and leave your corpse for the cart drivers."
"Twenty," Tornhook snapped, slamming his clawed hand on the desk hard enough to rattle the inkpot. "You think Gringotts risks its name for scraps? No. We risk war with muggles and their governments if this gets out."
"Ten," Arcturus shot back, his eyes flashing. "And if you think wizards fear goblins more than goblins fear wizards, you've forgotten who burned your forges during the last rebellion."
The goblin hissed, lips curling. "Fifteen, and not a sickle less. Try to wring me lower, Black, and I'll see you flayed and barred from every vault in this bank."
A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hum of wards. Then slowly, Arcturus leaned back, lips twisting into a thin smile. "Fifteen it is. You're still a bloodsucker, Tornhook."
"And you're still a stubborn bastard," the goblin said, baring his fangs in something that was half grin, half snarl.
They clasped forearms again, harder this time, like two duelists acknowledging each other's strike. A heartbeat later, both men chuckled, grinning like naughty children caught red handed.
Corvus, who had sat silently throughout the exchange, could not help but blink. Thank to all high and mighty powers made me decide to rejuvenate the old bastard, he thought. If I had come alone, Tornhook would have skinned me alive and sold my scraps for extra profit.
--
After the heated yet strangely cordial negotiations were settled, Arcturus sat comfortably in his chair and took a measured sip of his tea, as if the earlier threats had been nothing more than polite chatter. He fixed his silver eyes on Tornhook. "Now, old friend, let us turn to a different matter. I want land, large, discreet, and tied to ley lines. The family requires a new seat, one that reflects its dignity. A mansion worthy of the Blacks, with as much space hidden below the ground as rises above it."
Tornhook's sharp grin returned, all fangs and mischief. He pulled a thick list from his desk, unfurled it, and the two of them bent over the parchment. The goblin pointed out various parcels across Britain, detailing their qualities. "This one, close to the northern coasts, too exposed. That one, near London too many eyes. But here…" He tapped a long claw against a mark in Cornwall. "Tintagel. Thirty acres, with strong ley currents running beneath. Old magic clings to that soil like mist."
For over an hour they debated each site, weighing the value of privacy, magical density, and strategic positioning. Corvus sat quietly at first, listening as Arcturus pressed for defensibility and Tornhook countered with the financial and magical costs of securing each option. Finally, all three leaned back as the decision was struck. Thirty acres at west Tintagel, Cornwall, bought and registered to the House of Black. The agreements were signed, the contracts sealed.
Arcturus' voice was firm when he spoke again. "The mansion will be built in the Gothic style. Dark spires, grand halls, windows tall enough to let the storms in. A haunting beauty that will stand as a testament to the Black legacy." He intoned after Corvus expressed his desire for the specific style.
Corvus while noddin, "It will remind all who see it what name we carry."
"Underground," Arcturus added, his voice lowering, "I want a mirror to the house above. Hidden chambers, vaults, halls where few will ever tread."
Tornhook's quill scratched furiously across the parchment, his grin widening as he made note of every costly detail. "It shall be done. My builders will be bound under magical contracts that silence both their tongues and their memories. Loose lips, after all, are… very bad for business."
Arcturus gave a sharp nod, satisfied. "And elves. At least ten. Young ones, if possible. Both Male and Female."
Tornhook jotted another line, his grin sharper still. "They will arrive within three days. The expenses, of course, will be drawn directly from the main Black vault with the cost of my comission."
A low curse escaped Arcturus under his breath at that, making Tornhook's grin widen even further. "On each transaction." He added and Corvus hid a smirk of his own, noting how easily the goblin had scored his small victory. At that moment, Corvus silently resolved to ask Kreacher to prepare another batch of sacrifices. Whatever it took, he would keep Arcturus alive. If only to keep handling these charmingly cutthroat dealings with the goblins. Better his grandfather's iron will across the desk from Tornhook than his own.
--
Before returning to Grimmauld Place, Arcturus and Corvus stopped at the Apothecary. The shelves were stacked high with jars, powders, and vials, each labeled in curling script. Corvus handed over a list so long that the clerk had to glance at him twice in disbelief. Randomly scattered through the list sat the rare ingredients for an Invisibility Potion, but to keep the man guessing, Corvus had added a dozen other items with no connection at all. When the last bundle of ingredients was wrapped and paid for, the two Blacks stepped out, apparating back to Grimmauld Place from the apparition point of Diagon Alley.
The moment they arrived, Arcturus turned to his heir. "Why the ingredients?" he asked bluntly, his silver eyes narrowing.
"Come with me, Grandfather," Corvus said simply. He led him upstairs to his chamber, where he set four cauldrons. Arcturus settled into an armchair while Corvus laid out the tools of his craft. With practiced precision, he began brewing, measuring, chopping, stirring keeping each cauldron under perfect control.
At first Arcturus watched, mildly curious. Before long, however, boredom set in. He reached for a stack of parchment on the nearby desk, essays written in careful hands. His eyebrows rose steadily as he read. "These are first year assignments?" he asked after a long pause. "They're writing about safety protocols, proper handling of volatile reagents, prevention methods for cauldron accidents, detailed explanations of ingredient reactions."
Corvus smirked without looking up from his cauldrons. "My classes, yes. I am a strict teacher, Grandfather. I have no patience for what you might call 'happy little accidents.' My students learn discipline or they fail."
Arcturus cursed softly, shaking his head. "Fortune was kind that I graduated from Hogwarts instead. If Durmstrang demanded this of me at thirteen years old, I'd likely have blown myself up."
Two hours later, Corvus corked the last vial. Forty eight in total, each one holding a perfect dose of Invisibility Potion. He divided them into two neat racks and slid one across to his grandfather. "Half for you, half for me. Tonight we begin. London's underworld will not map itself."
Arcturus blinked once, twice, before nodding. No speeches, no protests, only silent agreement. He rose, leaving the chamber without another word.
Corvus took a quick shower with a silent Aguamenti charm, then transfigured his robes into ordinary muggle clothing. When he came down to dinner, Arcturus wrinkled his nose at the sight. "For the record, Corvus, those rags you call clothing are an offense to good taste. A Black should not look like a pauper."
Corvus only smiled. "You'll feel differently once you transfigure your robes, Grandfather. Practicality has its merits."
Arcturus harrumphed but said nothing more, focusing on his plate. When they finished, he gave in. Robes shifting under his wand into muggle style: black trousers, black shirt, black sweater. The result was impeccable but monotone. Corvus chuckled and, with a flick, turned the shirt a muted grey and the sweater a dark brown. "Better," he teased.
Finally, Corvus grew serious. "Before we start tonight, cast a very weak Appare Vestigium on me. I will do the same for you. That way, even with the potion, we won't lose each other in the shadows. and do not use your want or any spells. Only drink a vial of the potion every two hours, Grandfather. It is extremely important that we leave as low magical trace as we could. The traces of the weak tracking charm wil dissipate before dawn."
The two men laid out their plan, routes plotted across London's streets. They would start with the lowest dealers, tracing the lines of corruption upward. Legilimency would open minds like books, revealing ring leaders and contacts until the true architects of the trade were exposed. The night hunt was about to begin. The Blacks descending on London's criminal underworld, silent as ghosts and ruthless as executioners.