Quill to parchment, wax to seal. Corvus sat behind his desk in the Nest with two lamps burning hot and steady. He wrote names and needs in a tight hand, each line exact.
To Arcturus, he listed instruments from the Muggle world. Centrifuges, laminar hoods, chilled storage, reagent sets, and glassware in full racks. He added a note for power conversion and isolation wards. No traceable orders. No paper trail. Delivery through their own shells only.
He pulled a fresh sheet for Rookwood. The ex Unspeakable would work, willingly or otherwise. He was preparing a contract for him, Corvus traced the clauses with the tip of his quill. Loyalty and obedience, and honesty to himself alone. Nondisclosure by word, writ and intent. He checked it many times to make sure there was no possibility of breach.
He drafted a template for lab assistants. He would recruit from the Ministry and the Alliance. He would feed them the clean blocks of knowledge he got from the Muggle world, then give their minds a week to knit the new paths. No one would stumble into madness on his watch.
Tibby cracked into the room like a split log. The elf's eyes were wide, ears twitching. "Master, cranky old master wants you to floor to plumb robes."
Corvus blinked once. Repeated the message in his mind and nodded.
"Of course he does." Corvus set the quill in the stand and pressed thumb and forefinger to his brow. The game in London had not stopped because he had different priorities.
He lit the bath with a flick. Steam rose fast. He stripped, washed, and let the heat take the last bite of ink and night from his skin. Only soap and heat. He dried with a charm and crossed to the wardrobe. Dark emerald robes, fine cloth, House rings on. Elder Wand went to the holster on his left arm.
He flame traveled to his Grimmauld chambers, eyes already on the clock on the mantel. From there, he stepped into the Floo, called for the Ministry, and half a breath later, he was walking out of green flames into the Atrium.
The lift rattled as it always did. He rode down with two clerks who stared at their shoes. The doors opened on the long corridor that led to the antechamber. Two purple robed ushers bowed at his entry.
He gazed at his reflection in the side mirror. Taller now, he stopped using the metamorphmagus ability to shorten his height. Shoulders set, eyes clear. He liked what he saw.
The ushers swung the doors. Sound rolled over him, full and layered. The Wizengamot chamber still looked like a stone bowl, high tiered benches, lamps on chains, and a floor that felt old under the soles. Plum robed witches and wizards spoke in clusters. Lesser seats watched the floor with greedy eyes.
Arcturus sat at the head, not a crown in sight, but power filled the space around him. Ignatia stood at his right with a stack of folders, calm as ice. Corvus let his gaze touch them both, inclined his head to his grandfather and moved on. He went to the Rosier bench and nodded to the other lords and ladies.
A hush moved like cloth as word spread. He took his seat. The overcloak settled without a crease. He placed his notes on the rail and kept one letter under his palm, the one Arcturus would want to see when this circus took a breath. The rifles he got from his visit to Russia were still sitting in his mokeskin pouch.
The doors at the rear opened for late arrivals. Vinda stepped in with Professor Morozova next to her. She wore black that drank the light. She did not look at him, which told him she had already marked him in her periphery and did not need to check twice. They were here for the reading of the will. Potter was under her and Morozova's care as the Headmistress and Head of House.
Arcturus raised a hand. The room quieted. Frank cleared his throat and read. "We have matters of law, the will of an old house and settlements." He rubbed his temples and continued. "We need to elect a new Chief Warlock, as I took the post for one sitting only; I was not planning to be recorded in history." The last part got some chuckles from the benches and a sigh from Frank. "We have foreign pressure. We have traitors to judge and funds to allocate." His voice carried without charm. He turned a page. "We also have a petition from the DMLE about the prisoners of the High Security Ward of Azkaban."
Corvus had a faint smile at the mention of Azkaban.
He rose. Robes fell still. "Chief Warlock, a procedural motion," he said. "A matter of security that requires a short demonstration."
Frank held his gaze for a beat, then inclined his head with a sigh. He really wanted to come to the election part as quickly as possible. "Proceed, Lord Rosier," Longbottom said
Corvus stepped down to the floor. He conjured a long table and began taking out weapons from his pouch. Two handguns and two automatic rifles. He put them down one by one.
"These are Muggle weapons, recovered from criminal syndicates abroad," Corvus said, voice even. "Common, cheap and flooded across borders. They do not care if we hide behind robes or titles. They punch holes. They are easy to carry and require minimal training to become efficient enough to know which end shoots. They outpace shield charms and can drain and force a senior Auror to a corner. I would like to have one of our brave Aurors here for a demonstration."
Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in after getting a nod from Amelia Bones.
"Lord Rosier," he greeted.
"Senior Auror Shacklebolt," Corvus greeted him and continued. Do you trust yourself and your shields to be the test subject, or would you like to protect a dummy instead?
Kingsley conjured a block of wood shaped like a man. He cast Protego over it and turned his gaze to the young lord.
Corvus smiled and addressed the chamber again, "asking for a volunteer to cast a shield to protect the rest of the chamber." Amelia stood up at this, and another team of aurors followed suit. Without talking, she raised her wand and conjured multiple shields.
Corvus held and raised one of the handguns, "Stechkin APS is the name of this mechanical device, my lords and ladies." his gaze roamed the benches. "It has eighteen rounds, which means it has eighteen shots. Think of it as a device that casts eighteen piercing hexes quickly.
He turned and held the gun with two hands, his training from the National Police Training kicking in. He aimed for the head of the dummy and squeezed the trigger. On the third round, the shield broke, and the rest of the bullets were embedded in the head and body of the unfortunate dummy. Each shot echoed off the walls of the chamber. Benches were shocked by the sound first, and effectiveness next.
It took only seconds. Corvus continued by ejecting the magazine and holding it high. He took a full magazine from the table and fed it to the pistol. "Now it is ready to shoot another eighteen more rounds.
He put the pistol back on the table and took the other one. "This one is another model of a handgun, named Colt 1911 Series 80. It has fewer rounds and more power. He turned to Shacklebolt. The shield was renewed, but this time Amelia added her own in front of Shacklebolt's shield.
"How much more power?" She asked.
Corvus smiled and aimed. First round took Amelia's shield, second took out Shacklebolt's third was embedded in the head of the dummy.
"Now imagine this he said, as he took out the magazine and began to etch runes to enchant it on the spot. An enchantment to repair and return the bullets after they were shot. Another way to keep the pistol at top performance and clean.
"Now," he said and conjured a barrel full of sand. "Imagine what we can do with this, a weapon that is nearly a hundred years old. Yet, with small additions of magic..." And started to shoot. Again and again and again.
He put the Colt back on the table and raised the AK-74M. The same enchantments went to the magazine and the body of the rifle.
"Raise as many shields as you can," he said to Amelia and Kingsley. He aimed and started to fire. A nonstop hail of bullets went into the barrel. Destroying every shield the Aurors raised in seconds in front of it. After ten seconds, he stopped. His gaze went to the last rifle, a SVD Dragunov.
"I think the chamber is convinced of the dangers Muggle technology and weapons have. These weapons have range," he said and turned to Amelia. "At most, how far can you hit a target with your curses and hexes, Director Bones?" He asked her.
"Twenty to thirty yards, Lord Rosier." Corvus nodded.
"These weapons can hit targets from ten to a thousand yards easily." He let the chamber understand what that meant.
He looked up to the tiers. "I propose a new department under the Ministry. Defence Against Muggles. A standing office, for understanding. These are the most basic weapons they have. They have missiles that can devastate cities from a continent away. We need to develop shields against kinetic force, we need to hide our settlements, and we need to have spies within their ranks, as I am sure they have their own among ours. We need every member of the Ministry to sign a contract to never betray Wizardkin to Muggles." He inhaled and continued.
"We need wards. Layered public protections for Ministry halls, courts, stations, and schools, tuned for metal and pressure as well as spell. Third, intelligence. A liaison cell that maps Muggle threats and routes, with no contact beyond what is needed to keep our people safe."
He paused, then added, "I ask for a vote to form a working committee with DMLE."
Vinda had come forward to the rail. Her eyes were cool and sharp. Ignatia's quill was already moving. Arcturus leaned back, unreadable. A simple question was in his head. Were they this naive, really? If they had won their war against the ICW in their time, the Muggles would have torn them to shreds. These weapons of Muggles, Corvus has called them common, cheap and simple. He was not alone in his thoughts. Vinda had already come to the same conclusion. By the end of the day, the rest of the Acolytes and leaders of the Alliance will understand as well.
A rustle passed through the benches. One elder in plum called for the wardmasters' opinion. The senior wardmaster spoke without flourish. "The shields were correct. The drain was real. The wards did as charged. The threat is credible."
Arcturus raised his hand for quiet. "Motion received. Committee to be named before recess. The demonstration record is sealed and catalogued under High Security." He turned to Ignatia. "Begin drafting a contract as Lord Rosier suggested. We will sign it. All of us will sign it. By the recess, the rest of the ministry will do the same. From the ranks of Clerks to the Minister himself." Corvus' gaze was roaming the chamber. Before anyone could understand what happened, he raised the rifle. In a heartbeat, four shots were fired. Two runners and two clerks were shot. Corvus turned to Arcturus. Put the ministry on lockdown, Minister. We have traitors among us. He turned to Amelia, "I suggest you prepare some Veritaserum and mind healers in case they are under oath, which I highly suspect they are."
--
Harry kept his eyes on the doors of the Great Hall and tried to breathe as Heir Black had taught him. In for four. Hold for four. Out for six. The smell of porridge and fried bread could not cut through the tight knot in his chest. Spoon on plate, chatter, the scrape of benches, the rustle of owls. None of it touched him.
Headmistress Rosier had summoned him yesterday. "You will be collected by Sirius Black for the reading of the Potter will."
He had slept, but it felt like he had only shut his eyes and opened them again. He checked the doors. Again.
Neville dropped onto the bench beside him and set down two slices of toast. "Eat," he said, pushing one over without looking up. He did not add a single word of comfort. Neville had learned when to fill the space and when to leave it alone.
Harry bit, chewed, swallowed. "Thanks."
"They will read and follow it," Neville said. "Properly."
"They should have done that twelve years ago." Harry stared at the toast as if he could force time to answer. "Dumbledore…" He stopped himself.
"Save that for later," Neville said. He nodded at Harry's untouched tea. "Drink."
Harry lifted the cup. Steam warmed his nose. His hand did not shake. Progress. He set it down and dragged his gaze back to the doors.
Hogwarts moved around them. Routine had a new shape now. Breakfast came earlier. Prefects kept tighter lines. First years kept their voices low. Baier crossed the floor with that clipped stride of his, eyes counting heads, jaw set. Narcissa Black spoke to a sixth year at the Slytherin table with the same careful poise she used at the dais. A tilt of her head. A quiet word. The girl corrected her posture at once. Discipline had become the air they breathed.
Hermione passed with a stack of notes tucked under her arm and nodded to them both. She had stopped trying to argue with the castle. She had started to listen to it. Harry gave her a small salute. She managed a quick smile and moved on.
At the staff table, Isolde Nacht stood. He remembered the runic array she sketched in front of the History class's doors. The moment Binns hovered over the array, he first froze and, after a while, dissipated. Harry recognised some of the symbols. He had seen them or something similar to them when Heir Black had drawn a circle that fixed his eyesight. That ritual healed more than his eyes. The Scar on his temple healed as well. He touched the spot by reflex. Smooth skin. No pull. Not even a twinge when he thought of it now.
He had grown since then. He stood level with most of his year mates. He did not skip his exercises. He ran the grounds each morning with Neville and some others who decided to join them. Draco Malfoy was the surprising name among these. They even started to get along. The blonde has changed drastically after his parents' divorce. Squats in the courtyard. Push ups by the lake wall. Stretches until his hamstrings burned. It helped. He felt it in his stance and in the way his wand sat in his hand.
He looked to the High Table again. Headmistress Rosier watched the room with that flat calm that warned you she had already counted the exits, the threats, and the excuses. Her gaze slid once to him, measured, then away. He sat a little straighter.
Neville followed his look. "You are ready," he said.
"Ready to hear what I should have had." Harry kept his voice even. "Ready to know who signed it. Ready to know why he kept it from me?"
Neville did not argue. "We meet in the common room tonight," he said instead. "Review Charms chains. I will run shield drills, and you will cast the disarming charms."
Harry nodded. Plans steadied him. "Deal."
An owl thumped down between their plates. A short note bore the Rosier seal. Harry broke it. 'Get ready to be summoned. Dress robes required. Escort will arrive.'
Neville read it over his shoulder. "Sirius?"
"That is the plan," Harry said. He folded the note and pocketed it. He tried to picture Sirius walking through the doors as if it were a normal day and not a day with a courtroom waiting behind it. All he could see was a boy in a cupboard, counting breaths in the dark.
"Look at me," Neville said quietly.
Harry turned.
"You are not there," Neville said. "You are here. You have a wand. You have a name. You have people."
Harry held his gaze, then let the breath go. "Right."
Across the hall, Countess Lasombra rose from her chair in one smooth motion, and the seventh year she was speaking with went still. Even the chatter from the Hufflepuff table ebbed for a moment. The castle had learned of her presence as a fact. Respect first, then interest. Harry found it funny that a vampire made the place feel safer. Then again, the Countess did not pretend to be anything other than what she was.
The doors did not open.
He thought of the offer Professor Morozova had made two weeks ago. Take the exams. Skip up. His answer had been simple. Not without Neville. They studied nightly in a corner by the window. They checked each other's notes. They did not miss a session. The work gave shape to the hours that used to float. Corvus had told him to build habits. He took the order like a lifeline.
"I can go with you," Neville said.
"I know," Harry said. "If they let you in."
"They will if they have sense, my father is the Chief Warlock." Neville pushed his plate away while grinning.
Harry felt his mouth twitch.
He checked the doors again and worked through another set of breaths. Tea, toast, clock, doors. The rhythm held.
A ripple went through the hall near the entrance as a matron from the hospital wing passed a message to a prefect, who passed it to a professor, who passed it to the dais. Rosier read, nodded once, and lifted her gaze to Harry. She did not beckon. He stood. Neville rose with him.
They waited.
The doors stayed closed.
Harry's jaw set. He did not fidget. He did not pace. He only watched and kept the air moving in and out of his lungs to a count of four and six.
Sirius Black, he thought, where are you?