Corvus dismissed his students after the potion class and returned to his chambers with deliberate calm. He had other matters at hand, important ones. The skill, Metamorphmagus, a signature gift of the Black line, was waiting to be his next conquest. He stripped of his robes, lay down on his bed and began the absorption process. As always, the knowledge came with the experiences of the one who possessed it. This time the young Nymphadora Tonks. Her teenage experiments with the gift were vivid and, to Corvus, deeply unwanted. Memories of her shifting her figure in awkward ways, enlarging or reducing her chest, trying to mimic fictional characters from muggle born friends' odd literature, even playing with entirely unnatural shapes. He grimaced. He wished he had never learned the meaning of some of the cursed things she had attempted, such as 'futa'. Still, the skill itself was powerful, a spy's dream, and worth every ounce of discomfort.
It took nearly two hours for the ability to settle, the girl's memories examined and filed in his mindpalace. When the flow ended, Corvus carefully isolated the useless, embarrassing moments and locked them away, extracting and erasing most of them outright. He kept only a few fragments. Memories of her experimenting with 'close' friends in harmless fun. Because they offered.. insights. Yes, let's call those insights. He rose, stretched, and approached the tall mirror standing in his chamber.
He began with simple changes, eyes shifting from grey to blue, green, amber. Hair sliding from his pale shade into black, then flame red, then white as snow. Skin tone shifting from pale to sun kissed bronze. His features followed, jawline sharper, nose more aquiline, then softened until his own reflection was unrecognizable. By the end of an hour, he could alter his face entirely. By the second, he was changing height and weight, thickening his shoulders, shrinking his frame, bulking muscle or smoothing it away to fat. It was intoxicating. To see his own image melt and reform like wax in fire.
At last, his eyes slid lower. He sighed, the memory of Tonks' ridiculous obsessions echoing in his thoughts. Hypocrite or not, he increased the 'volume' of some more delicate parts. If only to ensure mastery of every part of his form. Satisfied he had control, he dismissed the thought forget to reverse the change he made.
He shifted into his Shadow Raven form. For an experiment, he attempted to alter the color of his feathers. The shimmer of midnight black melted into a crisp, pristine white. A white raven stared back at him through the mirror. Corvus tested the balance, the wings, the air flowing through his feathers when he flew in small circles in the chamber. He memorized each bone, tendon, and vein, then reverted, only to attempt something new. Morphing his arm alone. Pain lanced through him the first time, his flesh twisting wrongly, but after correction and focus, a great black wing burst from his shoulder, feathers glinting like starlight. Again and again he practiced. Left arm, right arm until the motions became smoother. Before long, a massive raven. larger than any normal bird stood before the mirror.
Umbra cawed wildly, hopping excitedly as if saluting his new form. The bond between them deepened when Corvus lowered his beak and touched Umbra's head. The raven bowed, silent and respectful. Viridith, however, was furious. The serpent hissed and cursed, calling him a traitor for favoring feathers over scales, threatening to move in with the elder human. Corvus chuckled darkly at the jealousy but made no reply. His serpent would come around.
Hours passed. Again and again, he tried to reduce his raven size, striving for the subtle form of an ordinary bird. Failure. No matter how he compressed, the bulk remained. His shadow raven body too massive, too powerful. What catched his attention was none of the abilities of the Shadow Raven was available when he morphed with his new skill. Still, he practiced, sweat slicking his back. By evening, he could transition faster, smoother, though his form remained too large.
When he finally returned to his human body, he ordered Tibby to prepare a light dinner. The elf's eyes shone with reverence, murmuring to himself "like a fire chicken and now shadow chicken" for how he moved through forms. He decided he should explain to the elf not all avians are variations of chickens someday. Corvus allowed himself a small smirk. The gift was his now, and he would master it completely. His next challenge was to morph into his tiger form. The thought alone made him hungry for what was yet to come.
--
Come morning, Corvus woke up early, showered, and dressed himself in sharp robes of deep parliament blue trimmed with silver. Entering the Great Hall, he took his place at the staff table. The students were already gathered, and he allowed his gaze to wander toward the far corner where the great hourglasses stood, measuring the fortunes of the Houses. Slytherin's emeralds glistened about thirteen in total, Ravenclaw's sapphires sat at about ten, and Hufflepuff's yellow diamonds numbered six. But Gryffindor's glass was empty. Utterly barren, not a single ruby sparkling within. Corvus arched an eyebrow, half amused, half curious, and wondered if the ancient enchantments would even allow for negative scores.
His musings were interrupted by the sharp click of shoes on stone. Professor McGonagall approached with her usual rigid bearing, lips already pressed into a firm line. "Professor Black," she said, her Scottish burr pronounced, voice clipped with disapproval, "some of my students believe you are treating Gryffindor unfairly. You deducted sixty five points on their very first day."
Corvus set down his fork and knife deliberately, irritation flickering across his features. He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, rose to his feet, and inclined his head slightly. "A pleasant morning to you as well, Professor," he replied, the sarcasm clear though his tone remained calm. "I see where your House inherits its manners, if this is the example its head sets. Approaching a colleague mid breakfast without courtesy or cause."
McGonagall's jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring. But Corvus pressed on, his words cold and measured. "Allow me to explain, since Mr. Weasley seems to have omitted the full truth. All of your cubs were in their seats on time, save one. Ronald Weasley not only arrived late, he threw open the classroom door without so much as a knock, despite a professor being present. That lost him fifty points on the spot. When he tried to excuse himself, I deducted a further fifteen for his tardiness. That, Professor, is the whole story."
Her face darkened further, lips thinning until Corvus wondered if she might soon rival the lipless visage of Voldemort himself. "So," he added smoothly, "from your reaction, I gather Mr. Weasley was less than honest in his explanation to you. Consider this, then: an additional hundred points from Gryffindor, for attempting to mislead his Head of House."
McGonagall's eyes flashed with Gryffindor defiance. "Then I will award one hundred and sixty five points to Miss Granger, for being exemplary in her preparation," she snapped, her gaze boring into him as though daring him to object.
Corvus' smile was all ice. "Very well, Professor. Then hear me plainly, Gryffindor students are henceforth barred from my classes. I will not waste time teaching those who confuse discipline with insult." His tone was calm, even pleasant but the finality in it rang clear across the hall.
The Great Hall went silent, students whispering anxiously at the audacity of it. At the staff table, Severus Snape's pale lips curled into a delighted smirk. He had enjoyed every second of McGonagall's discomfort, until Corvus' declaration struck him as an inconvenience. Rising languidly, his robes billowing, Snape drawled, "Professor Black and I had arranged for my first and second years to join his classes. I shall not alter my schedule to accommodate them elsewhere. Therefore, I will not accept them back either. I am certain, Minerva, you can find some alternative solution."
The triumph in his tone was unmistakable, the smirk never leaving his sallow face. McGonagall's mouth tightened further, but she gave no reply. With her tartan robes swishing, she turned on her heel and swept away, rigid as steel.
Corvus sat back down, unruffled, his expression calm. He reached again for his breakfast, his appetite unspoiled, while Snape's dark eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction at the little scene that had just played out.
--
Corvus had just finished the last bite of his breakfast and was quietly sipping his tea while holding an engaging conversation with Professor Sinistra about the astronomy curriculum, when the doors of the Great Hall swung open. Albus Dumbledore entered with Professor McGonagall at his side, her expression tight and thunderous. The hum of chatter among students faltered; many turned their heads, sensing that something unusual was about to happen.
"Professor Black," Dumbledore began, his voice calm but carrying over the hall. "If you would, Headmistress McGonagall has some concerns I would like to address with you."
"Of course, Headmaster," Corvus replied smoothly, inclining his head before turning politely to Professor Sinistra. "If you will excuse me." He rose gracefully, his expression composed as ever, and faced Dumbledore. "How may I be of assistance, Headmaster?"
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in private?" Dumbledore suggested, a note of weary patience in his tone.
Corvus shook his head faintly. "With respect, I must decline. My time is occupied with mastery studies. Let us settle this matter quickly and openly."
A faint sigh escaped Dumbledore's lips. "Very well. Professor McGonagall claims you have been unfair to her house, and that you have denied her students entry to your classes."
Corvus' gaze shifted to McGonagall, his tone still even. "She is correct in the latter and absurdly mistaken in the former. Allow me to clarify. I am not a Hogwarts professor by appointment of this institution. I am a Foreign Assistant Instructor. I hold no stake in your House Points or your House Cup. What I do care about is respect, discipline, and honesty." He let his eyes sweep the student tables, noting how many leaned forward to catch every word. "One of the Headmistress' students displayed a complete lack of these qualities. Instead of supporting my disciplinary actions, she undermined it, dismissing the offense and even rewarding the misconduct. That, Headmaster, is what I cannot and will not accept."
The murmurs among the students grew louder. Hufflepuffs whispering to one another, Ravenclaws scribbling mental notes, and Slytherins wearing thin smirks at Gryffindor's expense. Gryffindors, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably, whispers of Ron Weasley's name rising here and there.
Corvus continued, his voice steady. "If you wish me to accept the first and second years of Gryffindor back into my classes, the points I deducted must not only be reinstated but doubled in penalty, officially recorded, and entered against Mr. Weasley's conduct. Otherwise, I invite you to address the matter with Headmaster Karkaroff directly. I have no further patience for this game."
He inclined his head briefly. "Good day, Headmaster. Professor." He turned as if to leave, robes brushing smoothly against the floor.
"Three hundred and thirty points from Gryffindor," Dumbledore's voice rang out suddenly, halting Corvus' steps. The Great Hall erupted into gasps and exclamations. The handul rubies in the Gryffindor hourglass all but vanished, leaving the glass painfully bare. "I hope you remember, Professor Black, that this is a school. These are young minds, and young minds must be allowed the freedom to make mistakes, to learn from them."
Corvus glanced back, a faint, cutting smile on his lips. "Of course, Headmaster. And in your classes, I am certain they will be given every opportunity to make such mistakes. But in mine, they will be sharp, disciplined, and precise. I will not allow anything less." He inclined his head once more. "Good day."
As he strode out, the hall buzzed with reactions: Ravenclaws whispering excitedly about discipline and rigor, Hufflepuffs murmuring nervously about the severity of the punishment, Slytherins smirking with evident approval, and Gryffindors groaning, their faces pale with the crushing loss of points. At the head table, McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line, while Dumbledore's expression remained carefully neutral, though his eyes followed Corvus with a sharp glimmer of thought.