Days passed as Corvus practiced with his new ability. Each morning and evening he tested himself, fire travelling across the rooms of Grimmauld Place until the bursts of flame became little more than faint flickers. He tested the ward ignoring properities as well by warding spaces against apparition of many kinds including house elves. Flame Travel simply ignored them, which was a blessing in itself. Sometimes he pushed himself to move short distances in rapid succession, trying to train his body to anticipate the sensation before it arrived. Other times he focused on precision, landing just inches above the ground so he would not scorch carpets or leave marks on wooden floors. He was not yet quick enough to rely on the skill in a true battle, but the progress was undeniable. His movements were smoother, more deliberate, and he knew that in time the technique would feel as natural as drawing breath.
That afternoon, he entered the dining room where Tibby had already laid out a late lunch. The little elf was coming along brilliantly, Corvus had noticed that the more magic an elf siphoned from its master, the sharper and more articulate it became. Tibby's speech, once halting and broken, now carried a curious energy and even flashes of personality. The elf seemed almost proud of every improvement he made, as if polishing his words was a gift he could offer in service.
"Thank you, Tibby," said Corvus as the dishes appeared with a snap of the elf.
"You are welcome, Master," came the reply, his voice still high but much more fluent than before. His wide eyes gleamed with satisfaction at hearing himself speak so cleanly.
The meal was a classic English spread. Roast beef with a rich, thick gravy, Yorkshire pudding crisp at the edges, boiled potatoes glistening with butter, peas and carrots steamed to perfection, and a small Victoria sponge for dessert. A jug of fresh juice sat in the middle of the table, next to a pot of tea. Corvus ate steadily, savoring the well prepared meal, allowing his mind to drift. He thought of the rituals he planned, of lessons waiting for him at Hogwarts, and of the political maneuvering Arcturus was surely engaged in within the Wizengamot. Even in these moments of peace, his mind never fully rested.
When he was finished, Tibby reappeared at his side. This time the elf held an envelope sealed with red wax, his chest puffed out proudly.
"A letter for Master. Tibby has checked for bad spells," the elf reported with almost comical seriousness, clearly expecting praise.
Corvus allowed himself a faint smile as he broke the seal. The neat, looping script of Albus Dumbledore filled the parchment:
Assitant Professor Black,
I trust this letter finds you well. As our last gathering of the Hogwarts faculty was cut short by unexpected developments, I would like to extend an invitation for you to rejoin us. There are still matters to be discussed before the new term begins, and your presence will be to finalise some of the important details.
Please come through the Floo Network to the Hogwarts staff meeting room this afternoon at four o'clock.
With kind regards,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Corvus read it twice, smirking at the careful phrasing, unexpected developments was a polished way of describing the disaster that had befallen a certain greasy Potions Master. Folding the letter with practiced neatness, he called for Kreacher and instructed him to inform Lord Black of his departure later in the day. Afterwards, he changed into fresh robes of dark green trimmed with silver, crests of House Black and Durmstrang proudly standing on his chest. Sitting back in a drawing room, he let the afternoon hours slip by, idly reading a book on bloodline curses. Whether this new meeting would be as chaotic as the last or not was to be seen. Whatever came, Corvus was prepared.
--
Corvus brushed the ash from his robes with a practiced flick of his wand after stepping through the Floo into Hogwarts. Knowing the route, he made his way toward the faculty meeting room, the heels of his boots echoing faintly against the stone corridors. Reaching the door, he knocked once, then opened it with calm assurance.
The entire faculty was present this time, including a figure Corvus had only heard about until now, Professor Quirinus Quirrell, wearing that ridiculous, oversized turban. Corvus' sharp eyes took in the ensemble, but his expression remained politely neutral. He gave the room a small nod. "A pleasant afternoon to you all," he said smoothly.
It was Flitwick who responded first, his high pitched voice warm. "Professor Black, welcome, welcome. Do have a seat, please." His tiny frame straightened with genuine enthusiasm. Several of the others murmured greetings, some with warmth, others with polite reserve. Quirrell shuffled forward, his voice halting with that nervous stammer. "P-p-professor Black. I-I've heard your n-name quite often of l-late. Allow me to c-congratulate you on your v-victory in the c-c-continental tournament, and your successes at Durmstrang."
Corvus inclined his head politely. "Your kind words are most appreciated, Professor Quirrell. It was a challenge worth undertaking."
As Corvus moved toward a seat near Flitwick, Severus Snape rose, his black eyes fixed on him with that piercing intensity. His voice came low, silky, and clipped. "Heir Black. As requested and signed under contract, I extend my formal apology for my prior conduct toward you and your house. It was my failing, influenced by bitter memories connected with your relative, Sirius Black. I would repeat the same apology when the term start to complete the conditions of our contract."
The room stilled. McGonagall's lips thinned, "A long overdue apology, Severus." Her eyes, however, softened ever so slightly. Flitwick gave a visible sigh of relief, his small hands folded neatly on the desk. Sprout added a brisk, "Best to leave the past where it belongs," though her eyes narrowed at Snape with a hint of reproach. Quirrell bobbed his head quickly. "Q-quite right, q-quite right." Madam Hooch let out a dry snort. "We'll see if it sticks," she muttered under her breath.
Corvus turned to Snape, composed. "Accepted," he said, extending his hand. Snape took it with stiff grace, their grips firm but their eyes betraying no warmth. The handshake ended, but the message lingered, this was a truce, not peace.
As they sat again, Snape's voice cut through the quiet, smooth and emotionless. "I would also ask whether you would be willing to assume Potions instruction for the first and second years, Professor Black." It was the first time he had used the title, and though it came grudgingly, the weight of it was clear.
Corvus allowed the faintest smile. "Now that the… misunderstanding between us has been settled, I would indeed be willing to take on that responsibility."
Dumbledore, who had been watching with that familiar twinkle in his blue eyes, clapped his hands together softly. "Excellent, excellent. Then, let us continue, now that we are all assembled."
The meeting dragged on, filled with routine reports and petty faculty concerns. Corvus however was cursing his luck under his breath. Above the head of Quirrell two sets of cards were visible, there was noting to catch his gaze in the cards of the idiot. The other set however was different. Tommy boy it seems was knowledgable enough to have multiple orange cards. Among them Magical Theory, Dark Arts, Rituals, Battle Charms were the ones he firts noticed. He would like to replicate them all except for the Rituals. He would not want to get close to the sick mind of Tom on that topic. By the end of the meeting, Corvus had been formally assigned two classrooms on the third floor. One for Potions, the other for Charms. When he asked about space for his Dark Arts work, Dumbledore assured him a sealed chamber had already been prepared, its wards reinforced to the utmost limits, "to safeguard our students," he added with grandfatherly solemnity.
Corvus inclined his head politely, though behind his calm mask he smirked at the irony. Safety was always a matter of perspective. Especially now that the events of the first book was starting.
--
After the faculty meeting concluded, Corvus began preparing for his upcoming role at Hogwarts. The first order of business was reviewing his new classrooms. In the Charms classroom, he separated the rows of desks into clear, even columns, determined to prevent childish distractions and house rivalries from interfering with his lessons. He intended for his classes to be serious affairs, and every detail of the seating reinforced that discipline. The Potions classroom received even stricter changes, one desk, one cauldron, one student. There would be no pairs or partners here. No one would advance on borrowed effort. Each student would stand or fall by their own skill and diligence, and Corvus meant for them to know it from the very first day.
The sealed chamber designated for his Dark Arts work was next. Though the room was secured by Hogwarts wards, Corvus trusted neither their strength nor their intent. He carefully combed through the space, seeking out any spellwork that could be used to spy on him. Only when satisfied did he overlay his own protections. Wards that bit and snarled if probed, dangerous and subtle enough to keep even Dumbledore from prying too closely. He repeated the process with his classes and private chambers, layering enchantments until he was confident that no outside interference would go unnoticed.
Back at Grimmauld Place, he entered Lord Black's study to share the update. "I'll be moving to Hogwarts soon," Corvus said. "With the term approaching, I need to finalize my course schedules and materials. I'll make sure to keep at least one or two days free each week."
The old patriarch exhaled slowly. "Another fifty Squibs are ready, waiting for your inspection. We've drawn them in from across Europe, quietly as you wanted. The ministry and the ICW won't catch scent of our dealings so long as we keep the flow discreet." His expression softened. "I've grown used to having you here, Corvus. This teaching position of yours carries influence, so wield it wisely. I am proud of you."
Arcturus rose from his chair, clasped Corvus by the hand, and then drew him into a rare, firm embrace. For a moment, the steel of the Black patriarch gave way to warmth. When he finally stepped back, he gestured toward the stacks of ledgers on his desk. "Go prepare," he said with a faint, tired smile. "Let this old man enjoy the sound of our wealth multiplying."
Corvus inclined his head, his own expression composed but faintly touched by satisfaction. With that, he left the study to continue his preparations, already plotting how to shape the coming school year to his advantage.