Arcturus had gone to the Ministry to meet with Albus, leaving Corvus behind at Grimmauld Place. The young Black already had his own plans for the day, plans that were both practical and ambitious. First, he intended to bind one of the new elves directly to himself. Once that matter was handled, he would head to Gringotts to meet Arcturus and gauge the goblins' stance on the Horcrux issue. His hope was to steer them toward retrieving Hufflepuff's cup from the Lestrange vault by their own hands, which would be far more secure than any raid or theft. He was well aware that only responsible goblins could enter the vault and take such objects.
Corvus rang for Kreacher, who appeared with a sharp crack, bowing low. "Master Corvus calls Kreacher?" the old elf croaked, his large eyes bright with loyalty.
"Bring me the new elves please," Corvus ordered. "All of them."
With another pop, Kreacher was gone, returning moments later with ten timid figures in pillowcases. They shuffled nervously, their wide eyes darting from their new master to the stone floor. Instead of wasting time on names, which he suspected elves gave themselves during moments of high consuption of illegal substances, Corvus cut straight to the point. "Which of you is the youngest?"
A small, hesitant hand rose from the back. Its owner was thin even by elf standards, and looked terrified of its own boldness. Corvus stepped closer, his voice calm but commanding. "Your name and gender?"
The elf swallowed hard before answering. "Tibby, master. Male."
"Good," Corvus said, his tone final. "You will bond with me."
The ritual was simple in form, though heavy in its weight. Tibby raised his palm, trembling, and Corvus mirrored the gesture. As their hands touched, a ripple of magic pulsed outward, shimmering faintly like heat over stone. Corvus felt a sliver from his magical core tether itself to the creature. At once Tibby gasped, his eyes widening, as though he had just drunk after a lifetime of thirst. House elves, after all, were parasitic yet symbiotic beings. Unable to generate their own raw magic, but remarkably gifted in channeling and shaping what was given. Now, Tibby's well of power came directly from Corvus himself.
"Tibby serves master Corvus," the elf whispered, his voice reverent with awe.
"And I accept the bond," Corvus replied firmly, sealing the ritual.
With Tibby bound, Corvus turned his gaze to the others. "Which of you can make uniforms? By sewing or transfiguring or stealing," he paused as several narrowed their eyes at the suggestion, "no stealing." he corrected.
An elf near the front lifted its hand proudly. "Dottle can sew, Master Corvus."
"Then you will make uniforms for all of you," Corvus said. "Base them on muggle butlers and maids, but adapt them to your own bodies. Each of you is to have at least two sets. Keeping them clean will be your responsibility. Do you understand?"
Ten heads bobbed eagerly in unison.
"And Dottle," Corvus added, his tone softer but still firm, "make a set for Kreacher as well, make his set a bit different. He has served longer than all of you combined, and deserves no less."
The elves squeaked their obedience, some even clapping their long hands together at the thought of proper attire. Corvus allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. With Tibby tethered to him and the others preparing for their new order, his household was beginning to take shape. Discipline, presentation, loyalty. All would be hallmarks of House Black once more.
Now came the next step. Corvus turned toward his wardrobe, his thoughts already on Gringotts and the goblins' inevitable haggling. He pulled on robes as sharp and dark as his intent for the day, the cloth falling neatly into place around him. As he adjusted the cuffs, he thought of Tornhook's fanged grin and how the goblin relished every drop of gold. 'That goblin is giving true meaning to his name,' Corvus mused. With that, he straightened, ready to face the day.
--
He apparated into Diagon Alley and, as was becoming his habit, stopped first at Florean Fortescue's for a cone of ice cream. It was a rare slice of normalcy in his otherwise hectic days. The shop was lively, the bell above the door jingling as witches and wizards bustled in and out, and more than a few pairs of eyes turned toward him the moment he stepped inside. Whispers rippled through the crowd. His name, his reputation, the tournament in Spain. Some pointed openly, others leaned in close to murmur. A few of the braver souls approached him directly, eager to greet him or confirm the rumor that he would soon be teaching at Hogwarts. Corvus remained polite and reserved, answering their questions with practiced ease. When asked if he truly thought Durmstrang was superior to Hogwarts, his reply was immediate and firm: "Of course." That single answer silenced the group and left no room for debate. The expression on their faces, some impressed, some offended only deepened the rift between Hogwarts' faltering prestige and Durmstrang's rising reputation.
Once he finished his ice cream, he made his way to Gringotts, where he was due to meet Arcturus. They arrived at the marble stairs almost at the same moment, and together they ascended, their presence turning heads as they went. Arcturus was in a good mood. Clearly he got most of what he wanted from Dumbledore. They reached the entrance, the towering doors opened to the familiar cool air and the faint metallic scent that clung to the bank. They were escorted through winding halls to Tornhook's office, where, the goblin stood to greet them. Instead of his usual razor edged grin, he clasped Arcturus' hand in a warrior's shake that spoke of old camaraderie. "Arcturus, you bloody bastard, you did it! My clan is being challenged to duels daily since the Black accounts began overflowing with gold ingots. My axe hasn't seen this much action in decades!" His jagged teeth gleamed as he laughed. Arcturus joined in, and the two old friends roared with laughter, trading tales of goblin duels and bloody disputes that had erupted over the Black fortune.
When the laughter faded, Tornhook leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Well then, what can I do for the Blacks today?"
Arcturus gestured to Corvus. "It is my heir who has business with you. I'll remain as negotiator if needed."
The goblin smirked. "Oh, young Black, you can trust me. I'd never swindle you as I do this old bastard."
Arcturus muttered a curse under his breath, which only made Tornhook bark another laugh.
Corvus kept his voice steady. "Master Tornhook, what is Gringotts' policy regarding the storage of cursed objects?"
The goblin shrugged, as though it mattered little. "Our clients could fill their vaults with their ancestors' corpses if they wished. As long as the contents are not alive and cannot crawl out, it is of no concern to us."
"I see," Corvus said calmly. "Allow me to be more specific. What is Gringotts' stance on Horcruxes?"
The atmosphere shifted immediately. Tornhook's expression darkened, his voice low and dangerous. "We do not tolerate insults to Mother Magic, boy. If you were anyone else, I would strip your vaults bare and toss you into the deepest cell for daring to speak such a word in my presence. Choose your next words with care."
Corvus did not waver. "You misunderstand me, Master Tornhook. I am no fool, nor do I seek to splinter my soul. But my information suggests that one of the vaults you guard may contain such a foul object. I wish to know the procedure in such cases."
Tornhook leaned back, tapping his clawed fingers against the desk. "If your intelligence proves correct, we would confiscate the object and provide a monetary reward. If you are wrong, you will be fined heavily for wasting our time."
Corvus inclined his head. "And what if I wished to claim the Horcrux myself, under an oath to destroy it within the day?"
The goblin studied him in silence before finally scratching something onto a parchment and barking a command. A runner darted in, collected the note, and vanished again. "We will know shortly," Tornhook said grimly.
Minutes later the runner returned with another slip of parchment. Tornhook scanned it, his eyes narrowing. "If such an object is indeed within our vaults, it must be destroyed here, within Gringotts' walls. Non negotiable."
"I'll need a ritual chamber," Corvus replied smoothly.
"Fiendfyre or basilisk venom would suffice. Why demand a ritual room?" Tornhook asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
Corvus allowed himself a faint smile. "That knowledge I'll keep to myself. But I assure you, the destruction will be absolute."
Tornhook's stare lingered, but at last he gave a sharp nod. "Very well. We are in accord."
"Put it to parchment," Corvus said. Arcturus smirked knowingly, and Tornhook's grin matched it.
"Wise, boy. Even when words are bond, never trust them fully." The goblin produced a parchment and carefully wrote out the terms. Once all three signed, the contract shimmered with binding magic.
Only then did Corvus reveal the true target. "The object lies in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. It is Hufflepuff's cup."
Tornhook's eyes bulged in outrage. "You sly, conniving thief! You didn't say it was one of the Founders' treasures!" His voice echoed like a growl, the sharp tip of his quill snapping under the pressure of his grip.
Corvus held up the freshly signed contract, calm and unbothered. "A pleasure doing business with you, Master Tornhook."
Arcturus threw his head back and laughed until he wheezed, while Tornhook muttered darkly about "bloody Blacks and their cursed heirs," though the spark of grudging admiration gleamed in his eyes.
--
Corvus, Arcturus, Tornhook, and three cursebreakers descended into the depths of Gringotts aboard the rattling carts, the wheels shrieking as they plunged deeper into the vault system. For Corvus, every sharp turn and sudden drop was another item checked off the silent list he had built from memory of the books and movies he once knew. The high speed carts, the labyrinthine tunnels, and finally the Thief's Downfall. As they passed through the torrent, the cold water poured over them, stripping away any enchantments or glamours. Corvus smirked faintly, it was all exactly as he remembered, another box ticked.
When at last the cart screeched to a halt before the Lestrange vault, the place was already bristling with activity. Lestrange's account manager stood there with four goblin guards clad in full armor, their axes gleaming in the torchlight. The account manager sneered as his eyes landed on Corvus. "If you are lying, wizard," he spat, "it will cost you. And it will cost you dearly."
Corvus gave nothing away, standing calmly with his hands loosely at his sides, confident. He knew this would play out as it must. The vault door creaked open, and the cursebreakers slipped inside with the account manager of Lestrange, while Tornhook and the Blacks remained outside. Minutes dragged by before one of the cursebreakers reemerged, holding up a black box sealed with heavy wards. Inside, through a faint shimmer, Corvus caught a glimpse of Hufflepuff's cup, glowing faintly with a malignant aura. It was exactly where it should be.
The guards moved swiftly, seizing the Lestrange account manager without ceremony. Before Corvus could blink, he was forced to his knees, one goblin's axe came down, severing the manager's head cleanly from his body. The thud of it hitting the stone echoed in the cavern. Tornhook grimaced, though his voice was hard. "Fool. Not knowing what is in the vaults under your care is a crime. Keeping an abomination such as this…" He cut himself short, shaking his head. "He did not deserve such an easy death."
The carts carried them further still, into a section of the mines lit only by dim torches, where a cavern yawned wide. At its center waited another goblin, cloaked and hooded, flanked by two guards. The cursebreakers and Tornhook bowed immediately, greeting him in harsh, guttural Gobbledegook. Arcturus and Corvus mirrored the gesture, bowing low.
"This," Tornhook said gravely, "is a venerated shaman of the Goblin Nation. Few wizards ever stand in his presence. It is a rare honor."
The shaman's eyes, faintly gleaming beneath the hood, shifted to Corvus. His voice was deep, ancient. "We will honor our word, wizard. You will have privacy. Perform your ritual here, and I will confirm the destruction of the abomination."
Corvus bowed once more. "I understand, venerated shaman."
The heavy stone doors closed behind him with a booming finality. The chamber was lit only by flickering torches. On a side table lay the chalks, salt, and other materials he had requested. Corvus set to work, his hand steady as he carved runes and sigils into the stone floor. With his comprehension talent, every line, every curve, every rune was not just a mark but a living connection to power. When the circle was complete, he levitated the black box into its center, opening it so the cup hovered in place.
His voice rose in chant, the ancient syllables reverberating through the chamber. The air thickened, heavy with dread. From the cup burst a plume of black smoke, shrieking and writhing, the splintered soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle clawing for escape. It flung itself at the edges of the circle, but the runes blazed red, holding it fast. Corvus pressed on, his will unyielding, drawing the smoke inward. Like the locket before, the shard of Voldemort's soul was dragged screaming into his chest, vanishing into his magical core.
The torches guttered, then flared. Silence fell.
Corvus exhaled sharply, sweat on his brow, and immediately focused inward. His Status appeared.
[Status]
Name: Corvus Black
Age: 16
Race: Wizard, Pureblood
Occupation: Assistant Instructor, Durmstrang
Physical: C
Magical: S-
Talents:
Comprehension Talent (Unique)
Replication Talent (Unique)
Parseltongue
His magical stat had risen, though not as sharply as before. Much of this new strength came from the accumulation of his power rituals, not merely the Horcrux itself. The higher his core climbed, the harder each step became. Even so, when he reached inward, he nearly staggered at the realization, his magical core was ten times larger than it had been at A+. It pulsed with raw energy, vast and deep and mostly empty..
With absorption of the soul piece came memories. Snippets of foul rituals, fragments of the Dark Lord's vile work. He saw flashes of infants sacrificed, their innocent lives extinguished to fuel obscene experiments in magical regeneration. He recoiled, bile rising in his throat. He would never, never stoop so low. Magic, in its essence, was a miracle, the binding force of life itself. To taint it with such atrocities was an insult, a desecration.
Corvus stood tall, though his jaw was tight. Voldemort had sacrificed innocence itself in his hunger for power, twisting the gift of life and magic into corruption. In that moment, Corvus swore to himself: he would wield power, yes, but never at the expense of the purest souls, he understood Professor Rosier point now. Tom Marvolo Riddle was not only a monster, he was an affront to Mother Magic herself.