Arabella Figg stood last at the rail. Tears streaked the lines on her face. The chamber held no softness. Arcturus rose from the Minister's seat, voice cold.
"We will not tolerate any who abets harm to a magical child. Blood and station are irrelevant." He signed the warrant after the votes were counted. "Sentence: death by Veil. Take her to the Department of Mysteries for immediate execution."
Two Aurors took Figg by the elbows and guided her through the side door. Her pleading thinned in the corridor. The doors shut. Only then did the room breathe.
Arcturus faced the Progressive bench. "Take note. Being Muggle, Squib, Wizard or even a lord will not shield anyone who aids a child killer. The law applies without mercy."
He turned to Frank Longbottom. "Are there any other matters we must take up, Chief Warlock?" His gaze slid to Selwyn and Avery, then returned to the Longbottom.
Cadmus Selwyn read the cue and rose with a single parchment in hand.
Frank looked toward the Traditionalists and exhaled. "The floor recognizes Lord Selwyn. Let his voice be heard."
Selwyn did not waste time. "The Protected Settlements Act," he read, formal and clear. "The purpose of this act is to create secure places of residence for Wizardkind that far enough from the terror of Muggles and cannot be exposed by neglect or malice. We have all seen the danger, mentality and reach of them in this very session. Each settlement shall be circled by wards set and sealed by the Ministry. No Muggle is to gain entry under any circumstance. Any Muggleborn who seeks residence shall first register a new domicile under seal and leave the Muggle life behind through a vow. Entries are to be authorized by ministerial writ or by settlement charter. All entrants shall swear to keep the location in confidence, obey ward law, and submit to inspection when called. Trade shall be by license, bonded and revocable. Breach of laws on Traders side should result in confiscation of goods at the very least, memory work to remove the location followed by expulsion. In time we should move Diagon Alley and other such markets inside these warded settlements, and leave no wizard on the Muggle side of the Isles. The Ministry will hold the settlement lands in trust for Wizarding Britain."
He folded the parchment and let the words settle. "We protect our own, or we lose them. Let your votes show your side on this please."
Murmurs ran through the tiers. The Progressives looked tight and tired; most did not rise. The Neutrals weighed the wind and nodded. From the Traditionalists came a clipped, "Hear."
Ignatius Avery stood next, measured and cool. "The Night and Nature Concord," he announced. "Three classes of protected domains.
"One. Werewolf enclaves, warded to the last hedge. Wolfsbane to be brewed and issued by license at Ministry expense during the first period of the setup. After settlement, ingredients and brewing may be assumed by the enclaves themselves.
"Two. Registered vampire covens, with blood supply brought by Ministry approved contracts through Muggle banks and hospitals. No predation should be allowed. We minimize exposure and earn the support of a race with uncommon speed and strength, should we ever need numbers against an enemy with more population."
Even the empty seats caught the meaning of that line. Avery went on.
"Three. Ranges for the Centaur tribes, recognized as sovereign under treaty. Trespass, hunting, or baiting on those lands shall be judged by the inhabitants. All three domains to stand at least fifty miles from any Muggle settlement. We should and would look after our own."
Both acts went to wands and passed. Frank lifted his gavel to close the session and surrender the chair when Arcturus rose with a smirk as to mock the enthusiastic interim Chief Warlock.
Frank sighed. "The floor recognizes Minister Black."
Arcturus stood unhurried, his gaze roamed the benches. "The Ministry will open multiple Dragon Stewardship Charters," he announced. "Reserves will be established for Hebridean Black, Common Welsh Green, and select foreign breeds. Custody of the reserves will be under the Ministry. Work and plans to focus on breeding and research, for the good of the realm."
Quills moved. White flared for aye and red for nay. The totals were not even close. There were forms to keep, but power sat in one chair and everyone knew it.
The session came to an end afterwards to the relief of Frank Longbottom. The chamber emptied in streams. The Progressives left first, stiff and silent. Neutrals drifted after, speaking in low pairs. Traditionalists lingered to clasp hands.
Corvus remained on the step until Lucius Malfoy was leaving. "Lord Malfoy."
Lucius inclined his head, smooth as ever. "Lord Rosier."
"I plan to see cousin Narcissa today. I hope you have nothing urgent as I do have matters to discuss with you as well."
Opportunity and caution wrestled behind pale eyes. Lucius smiled. "My wife will be pleased to welcome her cousin. The Malfoy Manor is always open to you, Lord Rosier."
They walked to the atrium side by side. Lucius paused at the line of fireplaces, pinched a handful of floo powder and glanced back. "I will lower the wards for your entry, my lord."
He cast the powder. "Malfoy Manor."
Green fire took him. Corvus stepped forward, took a pinch, and threw it into the grate after a minute.
--
He stepped from the green flare into a high white room dressed in pale panelling and gilt. A quiet sweep of will took the soot from his cuffs and shoulders. Lucius waited with the air of a host who knew the worth of his carpets. His eyebrows rose at the display of wandless and silent casting.
"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Lord Rosier." A smooth incline of the head. "Or shall I say Heir Black, now that we are out of the chamber."
"Both are my bloodlines to manage and expand, Lord Malfoy." Corvus brushed a thumb across his sleeve, gaze level. "Either title will do."
"Dobby." Lucius called, the elf arrived with a crack and a silver tray that did not rattle. Steam rose from the pot. Porcelain chimed once and fell still.
Footsteps on marble announced Narcissa's arrival after a while. Robes of Acramantula silk, a simple string of pearls at the her neck was all her accessories. She curtsied, and extended her hand, palm down.
"My lord."
"Cousin Narcissa." Corvus kissed her knuckles, no more than a breath. Memory Mapping unfurled behind his eyes while his mouth shaped a polite smile. Ledgers, correspondence, a wall of colour coded files by estate, a separate cabinet for favours owed and favours given. Menus for three months ahead, a list of donors the cahirt works under Malfoy name, written by her hand. Ward keys tallied and checked every dawn. Competence in precise strokes. He filed it with interest.
They took their seats. Porcelain clicked and Lucius lifted his cup by the ear, wrist loose.
"My father," Corvus began, tone even, "may Mother Magic embrace his soul, often praised your eye for order and your hand for accounts, Cousin Narcissa. I wonder if House Malfoy has the full benefit of those gifts."
Lucius smiled without teeth. "It does." He set his cup down with care. "Flawlessly."
"Understandable. She will need something to do, after all." Corvus let the words sit, then looked to the mantel with idle interest. "I heard of the difficulty that resides in your blood. After the birth of an heir, it activates. Strange things, these bloodline curses, are they not Lord Malfoy?" His gaze did not shift. "One child, then silence. A tiresome curse to manage for a family that values legacy."
A small curve touched Narcissa's mouth, amusement hidden in good breeding. Lucius on the other hand was not amused, not at all. He did not move for a heartbeat. Fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. The smile returned, a moment later though it was thinner.
"You are well informed." A cool sip of tea covered the flinch.
"I make it a habit." Corvus turned the cup once on its saucer. Memory Mapping skimmed across Lucius as easily as a hand over still water. A study with a false back to the bottom shelf, a locked drawer inside. Muted rage caged under a gentleman's mask. Another mask had set it free, ironic.
"You should have noticed the benches," Corvus went on, mild as weather. "Several lords approached me in private to ask if my expertise in Rituals can help them. Some 'marks' from their past were disturbing them."
Steam drifted. Lucius followed it with his eyes and not his mind. Yaxley had shifted seats. Selwyn no longer wore long sleeves indoors, he learned from others. Avery had stopped twitching at every ripple of sound. Travers nodding along with Corvus in the corridor on recess. Pieces placed themselves. A road opened that did not end with a skull in the sky.
He set the cup down. "If a mark could be taken, one might consider what else could too, my lord." His glance went to Narcissa, then back. "Curses on a line, for example."
Narcissa watched both men over the rim of her cup. She approved silently when Corvus did not look away first. A secretary for Arcturus to manage and organise the ledgers of House Black needed a mind like that.
Lucius drew a breath through his nose. "A generous thought." He reached for a biscuit he did not want. "Hypothetical, of course."
"Of course." Corvus wiped a thumb over the rim of his cup. "The hypotheticals multiply when one remembers our late local tyrant enjoyed trinkets. Gifts, or tokens placed with those who pleased him." His eyes lost their nonchalance. "I am collecting such pieces, Lord Malfoy. They foul the air around them. They knot and deepen every curse in reach. I have seen them make old curse work bite twice as hard and refuse to lift."
Porcelain ticked a hair too loud as Lucius set his cup down. There was no need to use any skill to see the trail of thought in his head. Calculation, a mental glance toward a narrow box tucked behind the false back in the study. The line of his shoulder went stiff, then smooth.
"You think such an object could sit in any gentleman's house," continued Corvus. His voice was calm.
"I think men keep trophies they should bury." He let Lucius hear the quiet of his next breath. "Some trophies strengthen the wrong things. Bloodline curses, for instance."
"I would like to learn more of your expertise in rituals that remove marks, Lord Rosier." Lucies decded to test the waters. "From a man who wishes to correct old choices." He picked his words with care. "I am quite sure we can come to an agreement, as I do possess some 'trinkets' you may find interesting."
Corvus tilted his head slightly. "I agree, Lord Malfoy." His gaze turned sharp, predatory. "We can come to an agreement."
"Should we continue in my study?" asked Lucius, standing and motioning politely toward the door.
--
Far a way from Wiltshire, in a Ministry holdeing cell a woman was looking at a mirror. The regimen had started to work. Potions at dawn, exercises at noon, reports before lights out. By the end of the month Bellatrix moved like a woman in her early forties, not a husk pulled from a cell. Healer Thalassa Penrose kept the vials on a strict clock: nutrient restoratives, nerve soothers in drops, a whisper of dreamless sleep on alternating nights, and the bitter tonic that chased Dementor chill from the bones. Healer Oswin Thornevale checked the lattice of her mind thrice a week, pruning the last barbs of the shrieking double that contract law had fed.
Every evening she sat at the little steel desk and wrote in a clear hand for Senior Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. No voices nor any compulsion was left in her mind. Memories of the time as Mrs. Lestrange were sealed and set aside. She was signingthe reports of her time as a death eater as Bellatrix Druella Black. The quill scratched, she sanded the page, and for a heartbeat she simply watched the name dry.
Today the schedule shifted. Penrose arrived with a bundle of dark green wool over her arm. "Visitors," the healer murmured, setting the dress down.
Bellatrix bathed, rubbed the thin scars on her wrists with oil, and let her hair fall the way it used to before the island gnawed at her. Curls broke free and framed the sharp planes of her face. She could almost taste an old perfume that was not there. She smoothed her dress, drew breath, and lifted her hand. Three measured knocks on steel.
The hatch slid. A young Auror with windburned cheeks peered in, "Miss Black," he said, giving her the small bow of the head.
Miss Black. The words settled somewhere deep and right. She inclined her head and stepped into the corridor after the door was opened. Boots rang, doors breathed. They walked past corkboards studded with notices, past a squad room that smelled of ink and tea, into the quieter run that led to the offices. The Auror rapped twice and a clipped "Enter" came through the wood.
Arcturus Black did not look up at first. He stood behind a scarred desk, long fingers moving a stack of files into strict order, murmuring how these aurors are working in such a mess. Silver hair caught the lamp. Beside a filing cabinet, Sirius leaned a shoulder to the metal and pretended to study labels. He had shaved. It had not helped the hollows under his eyes though.
Bellatrix stopped just inside the rug and bent her knees in a small, exact curtsey. Old habit, older than any oath. Arcturus lifted his gaze, and for an instant the Minister of Magic was only a grandfather who had waited too long.
He came around the desk in three sure steps and gathered her in. The silk of his robes was smooth against her cheek. He held on as if he meant to anchor her to the floor. "There you are," his voice low. His breath hitched. He did not let go. "There you are."
She had promised herself, yet it all melted. The safe harbor of his chest broke something tight behind her ribs and the tears came, hot and clean. She did not sob. She let them run, the way Healer Thalassa had told her to do, and felt the old, gnawing presence in her skull shrink another inch.
Arcturus eased back and bracketed her face with his hands. His thumbs chased the wet away. Up close he could see the cost, the leanness at the jaw, the new steadiness in the eyes. "We will put meat on these cheeks," he murmured, and tweaked them as he had when she reached his knee. The smallest laugh escaped her, surprised and young.
Across the room, Sirius reached for a linen square and held it out without quite meeting her gaze. Bellatrix took it, dabbed carefully, then crossed the space and bumped her shoulder to his, quick as a cat. "You saw nothing," she warned, mouth tilted. "Repeat this and I will hex you bald."
"Perish the thought." He lifted both hands, mock solemn. The smile did not reach his eyes. Sadness had nested there and refused to move.
They sat. Arcturus returned to the far side of the desk but not to the chair; he stood until she settled, then lowered himself. "Show me your hands," he asked, palm up. She offered them. He turned them over, traced the pale scars where iron had eaten through her years in Azkaban. "Good work," he said toward the door, for Penrose and Thornevale though they were not there. "Very good work."
"I keep the schedule," Bellatrix answered, flexing her fingers. "Penrose has a sharp tongue. I have no wish to hear it twice."
Arcturus's mouth twitched. He turned to Sirius, can you see how good behaving she is, even after the years in that hell hole, her etiquette is as you would expect from a daughter of House Black. Maybe I should ask her to 'train' you on the subject.
Sirius simply nodded and avoided an eye contact with both of them.
Arcturus stacked the files, weighed one and set it aside. "Your case is is completed at DMLE level and closed already. The Wizengamot will take formal notice this week. You will walk out with your name, and with my seal on the writ. No one will harm you again."
She let that lodge where the other words had lodged. Miss Black. You will walk out. No one hurts you again. The room seemed larger by a hand's breadth.
Sirius shifted in his chair. "There is a room open at Grimmauld," he offered, tone careful. "There is even sunlight, believe it or not. I checked the glass myself."
Bellatrix cut him a sideways look that was almost kind. "I will visit," she said, and left it there. "After I am out."
Arcturus leaned back at last. "There will be noise," he went on. "Ignore it. You will continue the regimen for three more months.
Arcturus set his signet beside the blotter, a quiet circle of gold on leather. He seemed, for a breath, to search her face again, as if confirming that the light he had glimpsed at the door was not a trick of the lamp. Satisfied, he tapped the stack of files into a precise square and slid them aside.
Bellatrix broke the silence. She turned from her grandfather to Sirius, then back again. "Grandfather," she asked, voice even, "where is Corvus Black?"