Corvus finished the last stroke with the tip of his wand and stepped back from the slate floor.
The runes sat in three concentric rings, cut into the stone with a steady hand.
Grindelwald stood in the centre, coat off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. The new lines on his face still sat there, like a habit, but his eyes were sharper than the skin that held them. Abernathy, McDuff, Nagel, and Carrow were somewhere in the house.
Arcturus hovered at the edge, arms folded, impatient in the way only a man with a Ministry on his shoulders could be. Corvus locked his gaze on Grindelwald.
"Ready?"
His answer was a simple nod.
Gellert watched as the first Muggle was set in the circle designated for the victim.
Corvus started to chant in a low murmur. After a while, there was only a husk where a drug dealer had once stood. Next was a predator. Generally, Corvus likes the sacrifice to be stunned, but for creatures such as this one, he was always ready to make some exceptions. It started to flail and ask questions in his heavy accent, when no one answered him, and the chant began. Pain made him return to his native tongue. Corvus especially kept the pace of the chant as slow as possible.
Gellert watched the life force being taken out of the Muggle. He watched as death was as close as a breath yet as far as stars for this particular Muggle. The body thinned and turned to husk slowly. Even Cruciatus was not able to cause this much pain to produce such screams of agony. He wondered if Corvus would share the method.
Another thirteen sacrifices later, Gellert was back to his early forties. When he stepped out of the array, Arcturus conjured a mirror for him. While looking at his reflection, his gaze went to Corvus, and a faint smile appeared on his pale face.
"Call me Uncle Gellert, please. Heir Black."
Corvus snorted, "Of course, Uncle Gellert. Please feel free to call me Corvus."
Arcturus decided to be the elder this time. Though some dark murmur was coming from him.
One by one, the four took the centre. One by one, the runes took their due. The air stayed tight, but the pressure shifted each time; the room was learning new names. Kreacher and Tibby worked in tandem to satisfy the need for sacrifices.
When it was done, Corvus erased the arrays, rune by rune.
The warmth faded. The smell of iron lingered.
Gellert flexed his hands, stared at them as if seeing them for the first time in decades. He lifted his head, and the grin that came was older than his new face.
"Mother Magic," he murmured, voice low. "Still hungry."
Corvus holstered the Elder Wand. "Expect this appetite for a couple more days."
"Dinner," Arcturus clipped, already moving.
They ate in Grimmauld Place because Arcturus trusted its wards and because the house knew how to keep secrets. The long table had been set like a Wizengamot bench, minus the pomp. Silver, dark wood, candlelight that did not flicker. Food that would have been wasted on most men, but not on wolves who had spent years counting on scarcity.
Gellert sat at Arcturus' left without asking. Corvus took the opposite side. Vinda claimed her usual space with the calm of a woman who had never needed permission.
The four acolytes took their seats as well. Plates full, eyes still watching each other and Gellert, trying to get used to the look they forgot they once possessed. McDuff ate like he expected someone to snatch the fork away. Abernathy held his cutlery as he had never forgotten manners. Carrow was the epitome of what a pureblood witch should be. Nagel ate slowly, gaze lifting now and then to study faces.
Corvus cut his steak. The knife did not drag.
"Rita," he began, voice even, as if discussing the weather.
Arcturus chewed once, swallowed, then set his knife down.
"She is already prowling," Vinda noted, lifting her goblet.
Corvus nodded.
"We will feed her what we want printed. This way, Nurmengard becomes a symbol. Liberation from the Confederation's rot. Not a jailbreak. We did not destroy it. We do not know who did. We thank whoever did."
He glanced at Grindelwald.
"We make it about their crimes, their oppression, their arrogance and their disregard for the Magicals."
Arcturus scoffed.
"Make sure to add more of Dumbledore's mess; his life is full of them," Corvus added, tone dry. Make him the face. Skeeter will enjoy it. She writes filth better than anyone alive."
Corvus let his gaze rest on the candles.
Arcturus resumed cutting his steak.
"We deny involvement," he confirmed. "We praise the outcome and keep the Ministry clean."
Gellert watched them like a man watching a stage he once owned.
"Well," he said, voice smooth, amused. "Look at you. A board, pieces placed, and not a single tantrum."
Arcturus' eyes flicked up.
"Do not get used to it."
Gellert's smile did not change. He turned his glass between his fingers.
"Arcturus, you have a mind beside you that you should not waste. Corvus is structuring what the people, our people. He is choosing what they know and how they think."
His gaze slid to Corvus.
"You should help him more. Minds like that do not appear because a teacher wished for one."
Arcturus huffed, but it was not a denial. It was pride dressed as irritation.
Vinda's fork paused mid air. The smallest smile touched her mouth, then vanished.
Corvus took a sip of wine. Let the silence sit.
Gellert leaned back, and with the rejuvenation, he looked wrong in the room. Too alive. Too present.
"That ritual," he said. "Where did you get it from?"
Corvus wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"Family magic."
Gellert's brow lifted.
"Which family?"
Corvus met his eyes.
"Black."
A beat.
Arcturus' knife resumed its work.
Gellert nodded once, filing it away.
"Fine. Keep your myths."
His gaze moved across the table.
"Now that everyone here can stand without creaking, tell me. Spain, France and Portugal. What do you plan to do with them?"
Corvus did not rush. He did not look excited. He looked like a man reading a map.
"France first. Their Ministry, whatever they call their assembly. I want it under control. I want the laws we want passed. I want the circuit closed. The continent becomes a bloc."
Nagel shifted a fraction, listening closer.
Corvus continued.
"The Confederation keeps the Americas. I do not have the time, the numbers, or the interest to fight on both shores."
Grindelwald's eyes narrowed.
"And you starve them instead."
Corvus nodded.
"We raid reserves. Greenhouses. Warehouses. We make it expensive to stay loyal."
Gellert turned his glass again.
"The trade routes are already cut. You are destroying their reserves, and then what? You sit on your hands while your own stock runs dry?"
Arcturus scoffed. It came from the chest.
"That would be true if we were idiots."
He speared another piece of steak, chewed, then spoke again.
"Assume every greenhouse we have burns tomorrow. Every reserve. Gone."
He looked at Gellert like he was daring him to doubt.
"We have stock for fifteen years."
McDuff choked on his drink at the far end, then covered it with a cough.
Gellert blinked.
"Fifteen."
Vinda's mouth quirked.
"The last harvest was bountiful," he said, tone mild.
Gellert's gaze slid to Corvus.
"You did that."
Corvus did not deny it.
Gellert let out a soft breath.
"So you are safe. You play the long game. You let them rot in scarcity while you sit warm."
"You read correctly," Arcturus replied.
Gellert nodded, then turned to Corvus and asked the question that mattered.
"How many reserves did you raid to fill those warehouses?"
Corvus tilted his glass, watched the wine climb its side.
"It is not how many reserves."
He looked up.
"It is how fast I can make them produce."
Arcturus laughed, loud and delighted.
"Listen to him," he boomed. "He talks like a goblin banker."
Corvus kept his expression flat.
Gellert's smile sharpened.
"Uncle Gellert," Corvus added, almost as an afterthought.
Arcturus' hand tightened around his knife.
"Do not start," he muttered.
Nagel leaned closer to Carrow and murmured something. Moira's mouth twitched, then she regained her solemn face.
Gellert's eyes gleamed.
"I like it," he said. "It makes Arcturus angry."
Arcturus stabbed his steak as if it had insulted him personally.
Gellert rose from his chair. He did not wobble. He moved like the man who changed the history of Magical France.
"I would like to volunteer," he said. "Your raids. Your little pressure points. I would enjoy stretching my legs towards Paris."
Vinda's gaze went sharp.
"We do not need chaos," she warned.
Gellert's smile stayed.
"You need results. I can give you those. Quietly, if that makes you sleep better."
Corvus watched him.
Before he could answer, something tapped the window.
A Gringotts owl clung to the ledge outside, feathers slick, a leather tube strapped to its leg. Its eyes were pale and unblinking, like it had been bred to deliver bad news and not care who received it.
The room stilled.
Arcturus did not look away from the owl.
"Of course it is, Gringotts."
Corvus rose, chair legs scraping softly against the floor.
The owl's beak clicked once against the glass.
Grindelwald's gaze followed Corvus, and the amusement on his face faded into something watchful.
Whatever was in that tube, it had chosen its moment.
--
Kreacher popped before anyone else moved. The old elf did not ask permission. He reached for the latch with two grey fingers, pulled it open a fraction, and caught the owl by the leg as if it were a parcel.
The Gringotts bird gave an offended hoot. Kreacher gave it nothing back.
A thick parchment slid onto the table with a soft thud. Wax seal. Black string. The neat, sharp hand on the front was Tornhook's.
Arcturus broke the seal with his thumb. He read in silence. His fork continued to lift. Only his eyes moved faster, and when he reached the end, his mouth twitched.
The corner of it tried to become a smile.
He took another bite of steak, chewed, swallowed, then wiped his fingers once on the napkin, like he had decided this news deserved manners.
Corvus watched him without hurry.
Arcturus folded the parchment, held it between two fingers, and passed it across the table.
Tornhook had been brief.
"You old swindler, the mansion is finished. It is ready. I've charged your accounts accordingly. If you dare to check the amount I've charged, come!"
Corvus lowered the parchment to the table. His expression did not change. He was not sure if he would ever understand the relation between Arcturus and Tornhook.
Returning to the subject at hand, the air around him changed.
Across from him, Vinda lifted her goblet and drank, like she had been waiting for this line to be crossed. Carrow's shoulders loosened. McDuff's mouth curved in approval, thin and precise.
Gellert sat with his chair tilted back a fraction too far, one boot braced lightly against the leg of the table. He looked too comfortable in a house that had once been a shrine to old blood.
He turned the stem of his glass between thumb and forefinger, slow as habit.
Arcturus tapped the folded missive with one knuckle.
"We can move tomorrow," Corvus said.
The words landed like a decision already filed.
Arcturus gave a short nod. "After breakfast."
Corvus let the agreement sit, then tilted his head.
"Grandfather."
Arcturus's eyes lifted.
"What happens to Grimmauld Place?"
The cutlery paused, but only for a beat. Arcturus leaned back and considered the room. The old house was listening, too. Corvus felt it. A creak in the timber, a faint shift of the wards, the way the walls held their breath when the name was said.
"No plan," Arcturus answered.
He looked at Corvus properly now.
"Why?"
Corvus did not soften his voice. He did not dress it up.
"I want it."
A silence followed.
Vinda's eyes stayed on Corvus. Her mouth held a line that was not quite a smile. It was approval, but sharp.
Arcturus looked as if he had expected it, hated that he had expected it, and respected it anyway.
"Deed and all," Corvus added.
He glanced around the table once. Not asking permission. Bella, Narcissa or Sirius would not challenge it.
"I want it with everything in it."
Arcturus's gaze slid toward the corridor that led deeper into the house. Toward the stairs. Toward the door that had been opened only for Blacks and only when the house agreed.
"The library," Arcturus said.
Corvus did not deny.
Arcturus exhaled slowly. "It is one of a kind."
The candles flickered. The fire snapped.
"Some of those tomes are older than the Ministry," Arcturus continued. "Older than our Ministry. They were already old when a Druid thought the Romans were worth watching."
Gellert's eyes narrowed a touch at the word Druid.
Arcturus turned back to Corvus.
"You intend to bury it under Fidelius."
Corvus's mouth curved. Yet again, he did not deny it.
It answered enough.
Arcturus stared for a beat, then gave a small, reluctant sound of agreement. "Of course you do."
Arcturus reached for his wine.
"I will take some books to the Mansion,"
He let his glass hover near his mouth.
"I suggest we keep the originals where they are, grandfather. Take copies instead."
Arcturus's eyes sharpened. The advice was solid. It was also a claim.
"Copies," Arcturus repeated.
Gellert leaned forward a fraction, elbows not quite on the table, as if the idea had pulled him in.
"I would love to see that famous Black Library," he said.
His voice was mild. The kind of mild that had made people walk into cages smiling.
He watched Arcturus over the rim of his glass. One eye pale, the other darker.
Arcturus did not return the smile.
"It is full of the scribbles of old family members, Gellert," Arcturus replied. "And before you decide to call them quaint, remember what our name means."
Gellert's fingers paused on the stem.
"There is a reason we are called Black," Arcturus continued. "House Black is one of the few houses in the Magical World that did not just read about Black Magic."
A faint scrape of chair leg on wood. One of the freed acolytes shifted, the sound small but quick, like a reflex to a word that still tasted like prison.
Arcturus kept going.
"We used it, we shaped it. We mixed it into our spellcrafting until it stopped looking like someone else's sin and started looking like a tool."
Gellert's brow rose. Interest, plain and unashamed.
He set his glass down with care. Too careful for a casual man.
"And you kept it in a family house, in London," he said. His lips curved. "Under the nose of the Confederation."
Arcturus's expression stayed hard. "We kept it where it belonged."
Gellert's gaze slid to Corvus.
"And you want it," he said.
Corvus did not pretend otherwise.
"I am a Black," Corvus answered. "The books are part of it."
Gellert's smile widened a hair. He looked pleased, not because of the library, but because Corvus had not lied.
Gellert leaned back in his chair and rolled his shoulders, the movement almost content.
"Give him the house," he said to Arcturus. "If you do not, he will take it anyway, and you will have to pretend you gave it."
Arcturus shot him a look that would have killed a lesser man. Gellert only smiled. He pushed his plate back a fraction.
"There are some bound tomes there. They are wrong in every sense of the meaning," he told Corvus.
"I will not be reckless," Corvus answered.
Arcturus snorted. "That is not what I asked." Corvus held his gaze.
"Grandfather, I am capable of discerning which tome is dangerous enough to stay locked and which is not," Corvus added. This was one of the rare moments where his will clashed with Arcturus'.
Gellert watched the exchange as if it were a theatre he had bought a ticket for.
"Tomorrow," Arcturus said. "Breakfast. Then we move. The Mansion is ready. Grimmauld Place remains. Corvus takes possession. The library stays sealed until I say otherwise."
Corvus did not argue. He did not need to. The last clause was a courtesy. The house would obey blood, and Arcturus knew it.
He pushed his chair back and stood.
"I will start copying tonight," he said.
Gellert rose as well, smooth and unhurried. He adjusted his cuffs, then looked toward the corridor again.
"Fifty years," he said, voice quiet. "And I still find new rooms to want."
Arcturus's jaw tightened.
"Do not romanticise my house," he said.
Gellert's mismatched eyes returned to him.
"I am not romanticising it," he replied. "I am appraising it."
Corvus turned away before the argument could grow teeth.
The fire cracked again. Kreacher drifted in near the doorway, pretending not to listen, listening anyway.
Corvus caught the elf's eye.
"Lock the library," Corvus said.
Kreacher bowed low. "Always locked," he answered.
Corvus left the dining room. Behind him, conversation resumed in low voices.
It was planned.
And somewhere beneath the floorboards, Grimmauld Place settled around the new intent like an old beast choosing a new master.