Corvus traced a finger along the rim of his teacup. "In our world a godparent is not a ribbon on a cradle. It is a charge under vow. A godfather or a godmother swears to keep a magical child within magic, to defend the child's person and property, to sponsor first oaths, to see the child trained, and to stand as first petitioner before the courts if guardianship fails. If the parents die, the godparents may claim wardship ahead of distant kin. They may place wards on a nursery, steward a vault until majority, and compel Ministry help if the child is dragged into a Muggle household that will not respect our laws."
He was about to continue when a soft pop interrupted him. A castle elf bowed until his nose touched the carpet. "Letter for Professor Black." The envelope lay on a tray, thick and cream. Corvus read the name, cast a pair of diagnostics, then slid the missive beneath the blotter and let it wait. The Headmaster's habit of mediating for strangers had always outpaced his habit of minding his own business.
He returned to the matter at hand. "If Madam Longbottom truly stood as your godmother, then a godfather stood beside her. Between the two, you should never have seen the inside of a Muggle household. Director Bones is already untangling your guardianship. Let her findings land, then raise this second point at once. Names. Oaths. Dates. We will have them."
Harry listened without blinking, jaw set. Corvus rose for the lesson. The movement had become habit.
Corvus crossed to the hearth. "First, you will learn to keep your thoughts your own. The times call for it. In our craft there is a narrow road called the mind arts. One branch is Occlumency, the art of ordering and defending the mind. Its twin is Legilimency, the act of entering another mind and prying at what should stay private. Occlumency tidies the noise in your head. It steadies the temper. It sharpens recall. Legilimency can heal when a Healer must find where a memory is torn. It can also be used for ugly work, and the worst of it needs no word and no wand. A glance may be enough."
He cleared a space on the table and tipped his chin toward the chair. "Close your eyes. Find a place that belongs only to you. Not this castle. Do not give a trespasser a map he already knows. Most magicals in Wizarding Britain studied in Hogwarts after all. Choose a park, a room, a gallery corner, any place that is yours. Fix a door, or a vault. Behind it are shelves. On each shelf a memory. Label them. Lock them. If a thought rushes you, set it on a shelf and hold it with your will. It is your mind palace. You are its creator. You are its keeper."
The boy's brow furrowed. His breath steadied. He traced a rectangle on the table with one fingertip as if marking glass. "There was a snake," he murmured, eyes shut. "It looked at me."
Minutes slipped past with the clock on the mantel. When he opened his eyes the fretful shine was gone, replaced by a thin, new stillness. "You will work on your mind palace. Build it brick by brick. Every night you will give it ten minutes. Next week you will report to me and I will test your guards."
He continued as he sat again. "Now the other side. Legilimency rides the gaze. It feels like pressure behind the eyes and a tug at the edge of a thought. If you feel it, do not flinch. Close the door you built. Break eye contact. Be especially careful with Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape. Both are Legilimens. Avoid their eyes unless duty requires it."
Corvus reached for a narrow silver token from the desk. "There is another guard. A vow. Your hours with me fall under it. Your lessons remain yours. You will not speak of Occlumency, or any other subject we cover, or the cloak or any choice we make concerning it. Not to classmates. Not to housemates. Not to any adult unless I tell you that you may."
Harry glanced at Corvus and then back to the cloak. "I can promise."
"Promises are air. This is heavier. Hold your wand, Heir Potter, and repeat."
"I, Harry James Potter, bind my tongue and my mind to secrecy in matters of Corvus Black. I will not speak, nor write, nor hint, to any being, unless given leave to do so by Corvus Black himself. May Mother Magic be my witness." A faint warmth ran from wand to skin.
Harry touched his temple. "The room was there. It is gone now."
"Build it every night for a week," Corvus said in his lecturing tone. "Ten minutes only. When you feel tired, stop."
He walked the boy to the threshold. The corridor lay quiet. Corvus turned back to the desk and laid the cloak flat. He began dismantling the tracking charm on the Cloak of Invisibility. The second Hallow, now in his possession, taken with the owner's consent. He murmured that the boy was well behaved and bent to the work at hand.
--
The night thinned around the windows while Corvus tested the cloak. The fabric settled to his shoulders, then lengthened when he pulled at the hem. It learned his height, his reach, even the line of his stride, and lay quiet when he moved.
He was waiting now for the stone to be stored in the mirror and the mirror to be moved. Corvus unfolded the map and hissed silently to activate it. Quirrel was not within the castle again. Corvus went to the window looking directly towards the forest. He opened it and jumped down.He took the shape of a shadow raven. One steady beat of wings, one clean shadow step, and the forest closed around him like a door.
A conjured arrow formed against next to him. He loosed it with a silent flick. Quirrell twisted. The shaft kissed a shoulder and hissed past. Corvus shaped a dozen more in the air and sent them in a quick fan, low and wide. Bark chipped. Robes tore. Nothing vital. He kept the pattern messy on purpose.
Quirrell broke and ran, stumbling toward deeper dark, the thing beneath the turban hissing at his retreat. A second volley sang past his boots and buried themselves in the roots ahead to turn him. Panic did the rest.
Silence returned in pieces. Corvus dropped from the branch and stopped ten paces from the unicorn.
Replication stirred as the creature entered the skill's range. Cards appeared around it's head.
Extreme Speed.
Extreme Agility.
Sense Dark Magic.
Sense Purity.
Curse of Vengeance.
The last one tempted him. He let it pass and chose Speed. The familiar current pushed against him. He halted the absorption for more suited time.
His kept his hands where the unicorn could see them. In a soft hush he said, "I carry healing tears. I would use them, if you permit." The head dipped once. Acceptance.
A small vial came from his pocket as he knelt next to the unicorn. Three clear drops touched the blackened wound. The flesh brightened and drew closed, cursed taint thinning to nothing. The unicorn exhaled, relief clear it it's eyes. It stood without sway, and stepped near enough for him to lay a palm along its neck. Warmth met warmth. A brief nuzzle followed, light as a benediction.
He checked the glade before he stepped back. No prints that mattered. No blood other the the golden droplets. He called the scattered arrows to his hand and vanished them. The creature backed two steps, gathered itself, and blurred into motion. Speed like a pulled thread. It's white color vanished between the trees.
Corvus watched the path it had taken and let the quiet sit. Another skill earned. He would find them again to get the Agility as well.
He shifted and flew to the branch again. No chase. No return. The parasite would be licking its wounds and planning a lesson for its host. He filed it away and left the forest in a fold of fire, landing reappering next to his bed.
The cloak waited on the chair where he had left it. He shook it once and let it fall over his arms. He tested the hem again, watched it shorten to his wrist and lengthen to the floor as he wished. It was already connected to him, then laid it flat and ran a last pass of diagnostics.
No trace, no compulsion bound to the weave. A Hallow ought to be stubborn and this one was. When it resisted the removal of the tracking charm he put the Stone next to it. It yielded only after it felt the other hallow. He did not felt any guilt to take it from the boy. Potter himself forgat it many times. At the Astronomy Tower in Philosopher's Stone. At Shrieking Shack in Prisoner of Azkaban. At Prefect's Bathroom in Goblet of Fire. Each time Dumbledore, Snape or Crouch Jr. returned it to him. He will let the boy have another cloak. He can forget it anywhere he like. It was not his concern anymore.
He lay down in his bed after taking a short bath. He let the absorption start. Memories began. From the time The unicorn but a small foalwith it's golden coat, Corvus learned where to find the herd as the creature grew to it's young form it's coat turning silver. He watched how it did lived itt's life sensing magic around and deciding where to move accordingly. Corvus watched as it matured, it's horn started to show at the age of four ast it's coat turned pure white. He focused on the instincts he felt when it was using it's extreme speed. How it was not crushing to each and every tree in the forest. His own history was not full of succes on this regard.
The skill was not only speed of movement he noticed, it was speed of perception and thought as well. A brilliant surprise. He stood after nearly an hour absorbing the memories mapping the forest. Most importantly. he was feeling ready to use the skill and start the tests now.
After donning 'his' new cloak he fire travelled to the forest again and allowed the skill to seep into him. The world around him slowed down and he started to move in short sprints. what should be a five meter sprint turned to a fifty. What should feel like seconds felt like half a minute. This skill was amazing beyond his expectations. He wondered what Extreme Agility will give him next. The thought of using this speed in his other forms gave him the chills, especially his basilisk form. He practiced within the forest till the first rays of dawn. The skill settled into place like a new gear in an old clock.
--
Albus Dumbledore waited under a Disillusionment charm in an unused classroom. The mirror sat beneath its tarp like a sulking diva. He watched the corridor, practiced benevolent smiles, and tried a few lines on the dust just to hear how wise they sounded.
Minutes dragged. He paced. He straightened a chair that had not misbehaved. He considered peeking under the tarp and decided the ceiling was far less judgmental.
Another half hour. Still no boy, no cloak, no teachable moment. Very well. Patience was leadership. He congratulated himself on being very patient.
At last he ended the charm and climbed back to his office. Inside, the instruments ticked in polite confusion. The small brass tracker for a certain heirloom lay exactly where he had left it on the desk. Its needle performed a lazy circle and went back to sleep.
He tapped it. Nothing. He tapped again. Still nothing. Perhaps the boy had gone everywhere except where he was supposed to go. Perhaps the headmaster had spent two hours hiding from empty air. That would be an interpretation.
He reset the tracker. The needle wobbled like a bored beetle and chose nowhere at all. Something was wrong.
He told Fawkes to mind the office and set out once more, Disillusionment neat on his shoulders. The corridor would still be a corridor, the mirror would still be dramatic and the boy would arrive exactly when the lesson required. He believed this completely, which was almost as good as being right.