--- A/N: There is poll on patreon to vote for the next animagi form of Corvus.
https://www.patreon.com/posts/third-animagus-139782678 ---
Severus sat hunched at his desk, he returned to his study in the dungeons, one hand resting stiffly on an open book, the candlelight throwing long shadows across the stone walls. Pomfrey's healing had closed the wound as best she could, but the mark, a perfect circle punched through the flesh of his palm still ached with every small movement. She had told him to rest, to avoid brewing or overexerting himself, and for once he intended to listen. His fingers twitched with habit, itching for vials and cauldrons, but the memory of Pomfrey's sharp tone kept him still. What he regretted was not the attempt itself but his miscalculation. He had not thought the Black brat would have Occlumency strong enough to notice his probe, nor the audacity to retaliate so openly, reluctantly he muttered to himself so fast in front of the faculty. That mistake burned more than the scar itself, gnawing at his pride.
The dungeon door knocked loudly. "Enter," he called, his tone sharp, though the intruders were already stepping inside. Minerva McGonagall led the way, her lips thinned to a single line, eyes full of restrained fury. Behind her strode Kingsley Shacklebolt and two other Aurors, their wands visible at their sides, their steps precise and heavy. The air in the study seemed to drop a few degrees as their boots echoed across the stones.
"Severus Snape," Shacklebolt said, his voice calm but unyielding, the cadence of an Auror delivering judgment. "You are hereby taken into custody under suspicion of using Legilimency against a minor, a fellow faculty member, and the heir of a Most Noble and Ancient House. You will come and stay under custody with us and wait until your questioning and hearing."
Snape blinked, momentarily stunned, then sneered. "I did not even meet a minor today! I've done no such..."
"Corvus Black is sixteen years old, thus a minor. He is an assistant professor here, thus a fellow member of faculty, and lastly he is the heir to the House of Black. Ergo, all three are the same person. The law does not prevent a person from filing three complaints for the same crime." Shacklebolt cut in, his gaze steady, his words heavy with authority. The silence in the chamber deepened, pressing down on Snape's shoulders like a weight.
For a heartbeat, Snape stared as though he hadn't heard correctly. Then, realization struck, and he erupted into a string of curses, dark and guttural. The sound bounced off the stone walls, carrying down the corridor like a growl from a wounded beast. Minerva pressed her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes briefly, the noise itself was too much to bear. "Merlin help you, Severus," she whispered. "You've brought this on yourself."
The Aurors moved forward in perfect unison, binding Snape's wrists with enchanted manacles that glowed faintly as they locked. His struggles and protests echoed down the dungeon corridors, the sound a mixture of fury and desperation, but resistance was futile. Within minutes, the Potions Master was escorted out of the castle, past the portraits and torches that seemed to watch in judgment, toward the fate the Blacks had decreed for him.
At Grimmauld Place, Arcturus and Corvus had just settled in the study when the sharp rapping of wings announced an owl at the window. The bird swooped in, feathers scattering faint dust motes in the air, and dropped two letters onto the desk, one addressed to Lord Black, the other to Heir Black. Both sent by Albus Dumbledore.
They exchanged a glance and, almost in unison, smirked. Arcturus broke the silence first, leaning back in his high backed chair. "Let's see what the old fox thinks he can salvage now that we've lit the fire under him."
Corvus leaned back in the armchair opposite, turning the envelope in his hands before scanning it with half a dozen detection charms, his wand movements quick and deliberate. Only after he was satisfied did he slit it open. The letter was, as expected, conciliatory in tone. Dumbledore inviting both Blacks to a private meeting to 'correct misunderstandings' and 'find solutions' before the school year began.
Corvus' smile sharpened into something predatory. "Grandfather, this reeks of desperation. He's hoping to pull us into his web, to soothe bruised egos and make the House of Black seem compliant. But, this is an opportunity."
Arcturus' silver eyes gleamed, a spark of mischief lighting in the old man's face. "Indeed. If he wants peace, then let him pay for it in kind. Concessions, laws, favors owed. We will use this to bleed the Progressives dry and bind Neutral Houses closer to us. Hogwarts' Headmaster will learn not to cross Blacks, whether by himself or through his proxies."
Corvus inclined his head, voice steady and deliberate. "Then we play his game, while we continue our own. One meeting, one maneuver at a time, until he realizes the age of his influence is ending."
Arcturus chuckled low in his chest. He served himself a glass of firewhiskey, leaning back in his chair and swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Yes. The chessboard is changing, we'll make certain every piece falls in our favor. One move at a time, boy. One move at a time."
--
Snape's processing at the Ministry was swift and merciless. His wand had already been confiscated, his belongings stripped, and after a short interrogation he was shoved into one of the holding cells to await transfer. The stone chamber reeked of damp and iron, its bars humming faintly with wards. He sat hunched on the narrow bench, fingers twitching for the familiar comfort of a cauldron or quill, when the clank of boots echoed down the corridor.
"On your feet, Snape," an Auror barked, unlocking the door. "Visitor."
Snape rose with deliberate slowness, his sneer firmly in place. Shackles clamped around his wrists with a finality that made him flinch inwardly. He was marched down the corridor, each step echoing, until he was pushed into a small, dimly lit visiting room. Behind the table sat Albus Dumbledore.
Snape dropped into the chair opposite him with a huff, dark eyes burning. "Get me out of here, Headmaster," he hissed.
Dumbledore's gaze was steady, heavy with disappointment rather than anger. "I cannot, Severus," he said quietly. "I have spoken with Cornelius. The only way the Blacks agreed not to parade this incident before the Prophet and every noble house in Britain was if you were sent to Azkaban until your hearing. A hearing, I might add, that I doubt will come in a timely fashion."
Snape's lip curled. "You would let them dictate terms to you? To us?" His voice was thick with contempt. "I will not bend over like you all do with that brat. Assistant Professor? He's nothing but a spoiled child in robes."
Albus sighed, folding his hands. "He is an assistant professor, Severus. Your agreement or disagreement changes nothing. I warned you, again and again not to antagonize those you cannot afford to. Now the consequences are here. You must endure them." His eyes glimmered, cold behind the half moon spectacles. "And I suggest you keep a strong hold on your Occlumency. Dementors, I hear, are drawn to those who flail against their despair."
Snape blinked. "Dementors?" His voice was sharp, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"
"It seems in your anger your hearing is not to be trusted as well. The Blacks keeping the incident underwraps on the condition of you being sent to Azkaban. You will be sent to the high security wing, Severus." Albus rose, his robes whispering like silk as he turned to leave. "I trust you understand what that means."
Snape shot to his feet, rage and fear mingling in his pale face. "You can't..."
But the door opened and two Aurors stepped inside. "Severus Snape," Kingsley Shacklebolt intoned, "prepare for transfer." His tone brooked no argument. The shackles tightened, glowing faintly, and Snape felt the bite of runes against his skin. He realized then, consequence was a bitch with vengeance.
The journey to the island was bleak. As the boat drew closer, Snape's breath hitched. The fortress loomed out of the mist, a jagged silhouette of black stone against the grey sea. Above it, dark shapes wheeled slowly, the Dementors. Their presence seeped into him before he even set foot ashore, leeching warmth from his bones, prying open old memories he fought to bury. Lily's laughter twisted into her scream. He gritted his teeth, clasping his Occlumency walls tighter.
Inside Azkaban, the stench of rot and despair thickened with every floor they climbed. Prisoners pressed against their bars, pale faces lit with mad delight at fresh meat. A rasping laugh rang out. Bellatrix Lestrange, hair wild, eyes bright with insanity. "Ickle Snapey," she sang, voice husky from years of madness. "Come to join the party?" Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange snorted, jeering. Augustus Rookwood's eyes glinted in silence, appraising him like a puzzle piece.
The Aurors shoved him into the last cell on the right, the iron door slamming shut with a finality that rang through the corridor. The cell was a pit, stone slick with damp, a cot little more than rags on wood, a stench of salt and mold hanging in the air. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to shiver.
From across the corridor, another voice. Broken, mocking, yet sharp. "Snivellus," it croaked. A face appeared behind the iron bars of the opposite cell. Gaunt and hollow eyed, but unmistakable. Sirius Black grinned with feral malice. "Well, well. Ministry finally remembered some of you lot are still out there, eh? Death Eater scum."
Snape squeezed his eyes shut, loathing and weariness coiling in his gut. Not now. Not him.
But Sirius' tone shifted, dropping into something colder. "They're coming, Snivellus," he said, retreating into the shadows of his cell. His voice was flat, serious, stripped of mockery. "They love the new ones."
The temperature plummeted. Snape's breath misted before him. He forced his eyes open. Two Dementors glided down the corridor, their rotted hands outstretched, the air heavy with despair. The laughter of Bellatrix and Sirius echoed off the stone, a twisted symphony as the creatures closed in.
--
The night passed, though it felt very different depending on where you were. For Corvus Black, it was nothing unusual. Calm, steady and filled with plans for what came next. For Severus Snape, it was a nightmare. The icy cold of Azkaban sank into his bones, the walls echoed with the whispers of madness, and Dementors floated by his cell like dark shadows of despair. He endured the hours, but only just.
By the next morning, Arcturus Black had already agreed to meet with Albus Dumbledore. The night before, he and Corvus had discussed what they wanted out of the meeting. Their plan was clear, use the discussion to push for new laws in the Wizengamot. Some laws focused on House Black's financial interests. Trade, taxes, and making sure the family's ventures would keep growing. Others were far more political. The most controversial was aimed at limiting how high Muggleborns could rise in the Ministry. According to their draft, no Muggleborn could move past the position of clerk unless they were sponsored by a pureblood family. It was bold, even harsh, and it would definitely anger the Progressives. But that was exactly the point. If Dumbledore really controlled his side of the Wizengamot, this would reveal it. Votes, not speeches, would show how strong his influence really was.
Corvus was less focused on the politics than his grandfather. He respected the strategy but didn't crave to bleed favors from Dumbledore like Arcturus did. What mattered to him was something personal. Severus Snape. The Potions Master had already set himself against him, probing his mind, greeting him with contempt. Corvus demanded a price. He wanted Snape to stand before the entire Hogwarts staff and student body and deliver a real apology. Not a mumbled excuse, but a clear admission that he was wrong and that he was sorry. If Snape refused, he could rot in Azkaban, waiting for a hearing that might never come, and then spend even longer after the verdict. To Corvus, this was the perfect reminder that crossing a Black came with consequences. Additionally, he was pretty sure Dumbledore will find way to free his spy from the island.
As Arcturus sorted through parchments, drafting the proposed laws, Corvus' thoughts had already moved further ahead. He was back in Britain, Hogwarts now stood at the center of his plans. The first steps of the story everyone knew were beginning, but Corvus was ready to twist them in his own direction. There were Horcruxes to destroy and siphon, old magics to uncover, and wizards and magical creatures whose skills he intended to replicate. The Black vaults were filling with gold, and their power was spreading further with every passing week. Soon enough, Corvus' reach would extend beyond the wizarding world alone. The foundation was already set. It was time to build the empire, piece by piece.