Arcturus had taken the library for himself.
The long tables were buried under parchment. Not neat stacks, not yet. More like a slow avalanche that kept creeping outward while he worked. Over thirty quills moved on their own. One wrote a list of titles and holdings. One catalogued what could leave and what could not. Another dipped, paused, then tore through a paragraph as if offended by the existence of vague language. The rest were copying tome after tome as fast as possible.
The Black portraits watched with the same patience they used for funerals.
Arcturus did not look up when the last torch guttered low, and the windows went dark. He only rolled his shoulders once, flexed his fingers, and set two more quills to work.
By the time the first grey light bled over London, house elves were already moving through Grimmauld Place in tight, efficient lines. Soft feet. Soft pops. Trunks that slid across the floor as if the wood had decided to obey.
Arcturus stepped out of the library with two trunks floating behind him. He stopped at the landing and let his gaze rake over the corridor.
Corvus waited at the foot of the stairs, Sirius stood with him near the front hall, a hand on the bannister, posture straight in a way that looked forced, like he was still arguing with his own bones at this unholy hour of the morning.
Still, his posture was correct, and he dipped his head towards Arcturus. "Good morning, grandfather."
That was new. He did not fill the silence with noise either. He watched Corvus speak, listened, and kept his face still, as if he had learned that emotion was a leak.
Arcturus descended, the trunks drifting after him like obedient wolves.
Corvus glanced over his shoulder. His tone stayed mild, almost polite, but his eyes checked Sirius all the same. "Ready?"
Sirius answered with a small nod. No grin. No flippant remark.
Arcturus put a hand on Sirius's shoulder, wand already in hand. Corvus was aware of the location. Hence, he apparated without waiting. The ward line around Grimmauld Place flexed, accepted their departure, and sealed behind them without so much as a whisper. Gellert and the others were already registered in the wards.
The next breath tasted different.
They stood on a rise of dark gravel before the new Black Mansion.
It did not look built so much as set into place.
Jagged spires thrust up from black stone, narrow and sharp, as if the structure had been carved by a blade that hated smooth edges. Multiple arches cut through the lower levels, each one deep enough to swallow a carriage. Gargoyles crouched along the ledges. Dragons coiled along the corners in stone relief, their mouths open in silent threat. Hellhound statues guarded the stairways in pairs, heads low, shoulders broad, teeth bared in a permanent snarl.
It was not a home. It was a statement.
Sirius stood very still.
"This is not a mansion, Grandfather." His voice came out steady. He sounded older than he had a month ago. "This is a seat of power. It is meant to show who holds life and death in this realm." He looked up at the spires, eyes narrowing. "If it was possible, why did you not build it earlier?"
Arcturus let the question hang. He did not rush to answer, which was its own lesson.
"Multiple reasons, Sirius." Approval sat behind his gaze like a blade behind velvet. "Come to me again when you can name them without guessing."
Sirius's mouth tightened. He did not push. He stored it.
They crossed the outer wall through a gate that recognised Arcturus's signature and opened with a heavy, satisfied grind.
The wall stood four metres tall, black stone veined with dull silver runes that drank the morning light instead of reflecting it. Beyond it, the garden sprawled like a dark chapel given roots.
Paths of slate cut through beds of harsh, glossy plants. A line of yew stood along the left, trimmed into rigid angles. On the right, thorned shrubs grew in deliberate, cruel spirals. A Snargaluff patch sat behind an iron trellis, its pods hanging like clenched fists, thick vines twitching when they sensed movement. Venomous Tentacula crowded a sunken bed, their spines flexing in slow impatience. A cluster of pale, heavy leaves marked a cultivated corner of aconite, warded, labelled, and watched by a stone raven that turned its head as they passed.
The air smelled of damp earth and sharp sap.
Sirius's gaze kept snagging on the details. The new discipline in him wanted to catalogue everything. The old Gryffindor in him wanted to poke it with a stick. Arcturus' lessons were showing their effect. Additionally, he was getting tutored by Narcissa on Wizarding Etiquette.
Arcturus's smile returned, brief and sharp.
At the far edge of the garden, a large cave entrance opened in the rock face. It looked natural at first glance. The second glance showed how the stone around it had been cut clean, then roughened again to hide the cut.
Arcturus's eyes flicked to Corvus. "Is this a good enough cave?" He sounded amused. "I am still wondering why you need it. Now that we are here, why not show us?"
Corvus tilted his head. "Why not indeed." He looked at Sirius first, then Arcturus. "Nothing that happens in there leaves it. Not by mouth, not by parchment and definitely not by accident."
Sirius did not scoff, nor did he roll his eyes.
He surprised both with the next line.
"Words are cheap, Corvus." Sirius's tone stayed calm, almost formal. "People betray when it suits them. Mother Magic gave us contractual magic for a reason. If you want an oath, you can have, I am not opposed to giving one."
Arcturus's gaze sharpened. Corvus's expression did not change much, but the approval landed all the same.
"Simple, then." Corvus drew his wand and traced a small circle in the air. The magic gathered like cold mist. "Repeat after me."
Sirius did. Arcturus followed without complaint. The oath settled with a quiet pressure behind the ribs, not painful, just present.
Corvus nodded once. "Wait here for a minute, then come after me." He stepped into the cave.
The slope down was slick with condensation. His footsteps echoed, then softened as the wards ate the sound.
Corvus moved with casual confidence, as if the darkness belonged to him. He reached a large underground pond where the water lay black and still. The air was damp and cold, with mineral stink and the faint sweetness of rot.
He knelt at the edge and conjured rocks. They landed with heavy thuds. A flick of his wand transfigured them. Blood sheen, torn flesh, a suggestion of bone. Not convincing on inspection, but convincing at a glance.
Then Corvus shifted. A Basilisk filled the space.
Scales the colour of old swamp water, dark and dull. The head lifted, long and heavy, eyes closed, the slit lids sealing the horror behind them. The mouth opened a fraction, and the air filled with the hiss of a predator.
Corvus slid into the pond and sank without a ripple. The water swallowed him. The bottom took him in like a grave.
He waited.
-
Above, Arcturus and Sirius stepped into the cave after a measured pause.
"Did you register your Animagus form?" Arcturus asked as they walked.
"I did, Grandfather." Sirius kept his tone respectful. "Director Bones handled the procedure. She is an amazing woman." The words escaped before he could clamp down.
Arcturus's brow rose, pleased in a way that made Sirius regret breathing. "Oh." He dragged the syllable out. "How amazing are we talking?"
"It is inappropriate to talk about a lady like that, Grandfather." Sirius did not look back. "What would Grandmother Melanie think of you?"
Arcturus's steps faltered for a heartbeat.
Sirius kept walking, the smallest satisfied curl to his mouth.
They reached the pond.
The transfigured gore sat at the edge like a warning.
Sirius's breath hitched. Arcturus's wand was in his hand before thought could catch up.
Bubbles rose.
One, two, then a burst.
The surface split.
The Basilisk rose out of the pond like a nightmare crawling from a well.
"Shut your eyes!" Arcturus shouted . "Do not look into its eyes, no matter what happens."
Sirius made a strangled sound that would have embarrassed him in any other circumstance. Arcturus reacted first, curse already forming.
Magic slammed into Basilisk's hide.
A cracking hex hit the scales and skidded off. A cutting curse sparked, bit, then died as if ashamed of itself. Sirius threw one that would have flattened a troll. It fizzled across the serpent's underbelly and vanished.
The Basilisk blinked once, slow, unimpressed.
Arcturus swore under his breath, the kind of curse that sounded old.
Sirius's panic did not last long. His new Occlumency walls held, barely. The fear stayed, but it stopped driving.
"Where is Corvus?" Sirius snapped, and the fact that he could speak at all was progress.
Arcturus kept his wand up, shoulders set. His gaze flicked to the fake blood, then to the serpent's massive form. "Back. Now!"
They both took one step.
The Basilisk took none.
It simply watched.
Sirius swallowed. "Where is Corvus?" He repeated, still not understanding where the monster came from.
Arcturus shifted his stance. "Move."
They turned to retreat.
The Basilisk's body tensed, as if deciding whether to let them.
Sirius's courage chose a terrible moment to wake up. He spun, wand up again.
"If you come after us, I will take your bloody eyes out," he said, voice shaking despite himself.
A sharp hiss rolled through the cavern.
Then Corvus's laugh.
The Basilisk shimmered, collapsed, and Corvus stood where it had been, eyes bright with the kind of satisfaction that was clearly illegal.
Arcturus stared.
Sirius stared.
Then Sirius launched a curse out of pure spite.
Corvus flicked his wand and let it dissipate against a shield that looked bored.
"That," Sirius snapped, "was not funny."
"It was a little funny," Corvus answered.
Arcturus exhaled slowly, then raised his wand and sent a harmless but sharp jinx.
Sirius's lips twitched. He tried to stop it. He failed.
"Next time," Arcturus said, voice very calm, "I will drown you myself."
Corvus lifted both hands, palms out, as if surrendering. "Noted. Now, if you are both finished trying to murder me, I brought you here for a reason." He glanced at the fake gore and waved it away. "And I will accept your gratitude for the excellent acting."
Sirius's wand stayed out. "You are still an arse."
Corvus's smile turned small and pleased. "Progress. You did not scream too loudly."
--
They crossed the last stretch of the garden in silence, boots pressing wet gravel into the earth. The outer wall rose behind them like a cut of night stone, too high to be polite about. The mansion ahead had no interest in being polite either.
Arcturus stopped at the mouth of the main path. The main ward stone sat on a pedestal for them to bind and decide where to hide afterwards. Runes glimmered under the surface like oil under water.
He rolled up his sleeves. Corvus conjured a dagger and gave it to him. Blood was gone the moment it touched the surface of the stone.
Magic answered.
The air around them tightened, then settled, as if the land had taken a deep breath and acknowledged their presence.
Arcturus lifted his hand and flicked his wand in a small circle. The runes on the stone flared, then dimmed.
"The Black Mansion," he said, voice steady.
The wards accepted it.
He gestured to Corvus. His heir stepped in, and a small cut on the tip of his finger satisfied the required blood. Next, his palm flat on the stone, and let the ward net take the measure of him. It ran over his core like cold fingers. The sensation passed. A second click.
Sirius followed with a hesitation that lasted exactly one heartbeat. He put his hand down like a man placing a signature on a confession.
He was registered as a member of the family.
The ward net shifted again, and the mansion seemed to look at them properly for the first time.
They pushed through the main doors. Iron groaned against iron. Inside, the air was cooler, drier, faintly scented with old stone and something sharp, like crushed herbs.
The heart of the building opened into a central hall with a high ceiling. Seven towers rose from it like ribs, each a separate wing, each with its own staircase curling upward. The walls were black stone polished to a dull sheen, broken by arches that carried carved ravens, hounds, gargoyles, and beasts that stared down with permanent contempt.
There were no portraits, no bright tapestries and definitely no warm welcome.
Just space, shadow, and a sense that everything here had been built to outlast its owner.
In the centre, the hall was split into rooms that mattered. Dining room. Drawing rooms. A long gallery that led to the main study on one side and a smaller sitting room on the other. The floor beneath their feet was patterned with dark marble that caught the light from floating sconces without ever becoming friendly.
"This is not a mansion," Sirius repeated.
They began to divide the wings like generals dividing fronts.
Corvus took the first tower to the right. The door to it responded to his wand with a soft chime, then swung inward. It had its own master bedroom and an attached bathroom, a private study with shelves already waiting, and seven guest rooms laid out along a corridor that curved with the tower.
Each wing mirrored the others in function, but not in feel.
Sirius claimed a tower without ceremony. He walked in, pressed his palm to a wall, and nodded once as the ward net learned his magic.
"This one," he said, and that was that.
They reserved two towers for Bellatrix and Narcissa. Arcturus left the wing next to Bellatrix empty, like a place setting he refused to remove from the table.
Corvus did not comment. He understood.
Andromeda.
The seventh tower, the far one, was kept for Gellert and the four acolytes.
Moira Carrow paced the central hall with the restless energy of a woman who had spent too long behind bars and now had too much space. "Gringotts," she said for the third time. "I need to visit Gringotts. I am the last Carrow to take the mantle of the head of house."
By late afternoon, the fortress was not just occupied. It was awake.
And with it awake, it was time to do what Corvus had planned for.
By evening, he held the deed to Grimmauld Place in his hand.
The parchment felt wrong. Too thin for what it represented. Too easy.
He stood alone for a minute in a quiet corridor and let his mind run ahead.
Grimmauld would not remain as it was. Not with the Black Library inside it. Not with the way the world was tilting.
Fidelius would be the cleanest solution. Then came the tedious part.
Secret Keeper.
His thoughts slid to the Chamber of Secrets.
The basilisk.
If its mind was not gone entirely, it would be perfect for the role. A creature that did not speak to anyone, that did not leave the place, that did not care about politics or comfort.
And if it was too senile to hold the secret cleanly, Viridith could do it.
He decided without ceremony.
Flame Travel took him from the mansion and dropped him into his chambers at Hogwarts with a soft rush of heat and ash scent that vanished the moment he set foot down.
The room reacted immediately.
Locks clicked, wards layered, and the air became thicker, as if the castle itself had decided he should stay where he was.
Corvus did not fight it. He dropped into the sofa and leaned back, head against the cushion, eyes half closed.
A knock came at the door.
Two knocks. Controlled.
He did not move.
The door opened anyway.
Vinda Rosier stepped in. The wards behind her tightened, then shut again.
Corvus rose to his feet with exaggerated patience. "Aunt Vinda," he said. "It has been ages." The sarcasm sat in his tone like a flower placed on a grave.
It had not even been an hour since he saw her at the Black Mansion.
Vinda sat across from him and folded her hands in her lap. Calm posture, sharp eyes. "Now that I have you locked in place," she said, "we are going to talk." Her mouth curved slightly. "Do not look like you are planning your escape route. It is insulting."
Corvus exhaled slowly.
He had spent the day moving pieces and listening to old wolves circle each other.
Too much noise, too much attention.
And under it all, the familiar pull, quiet and constant.
Power.
Not the flashy kind. The kind that made choices easy. The kind that turned people into tools if he let it.
Vinda watched him as if he had spoken aloud. She lifted a finger, and a Hogwarts elf appeared with a pop, set down a tray, and vanished without waiting to be acknowledged.
Tea steamed in thin porcelain cups.
Vinda took hers first. "It is the border, Corvus," she said. "The one you keep pacing. The one where Black magic stops being a deep cliff and starts to look logical." She sipped. "I will do everything in my power to keep you from falling over it."
Corvus held his cup and took a light sip.
"No one is blind," Vinda continued. "We all saw Nurmengard. We all saw you hold Fiendfyre like a leash." Her voice stayed level, but her eyes softened at the edges. "I cannot stop you if you decide to act. That is the point."
Silence sat between them for a moment.
Then she leaned forward.
"You are the closest thing I have to a son, Corvus." She said, and the words came without ornament. "I refuse to lose you." A pause. "So be a good little heir and tell me why you are here."
Corvus looked at her for a long moment. No mask, not fully. Just a man with too many plans in his hands.
He could dodge. He could lie. He could do what he always did and move on.
He did not.
"I am going to the Chamber of Secrets," he said.
Vinda blinked once.
"And I am taking the basilisk Salazar left there," Corvus added. "I need it."
Vinda blinked again, slower.
She took a long drink of tea as if it might fix the sentence.
"I am sorry," she said at last. "For a moment, I thought you said the Chamber of Secrets." Her eyes narrowed. "A myth." She set the cup down with care. "Then you added basilisk." Another pause. "Left by Salazar Slytherin." She stared at him like he had grown a second head. "Must be something in the tea."
Her gaze sharpened further. "Tell me you are joking."
Corvus did not smile.
Vinda inhaled, slow and deliberate, then let it out through her nose. "Of course you are not joking," she said. "Because why would my life be simple?" She shifted in her chair, posture still perfect, but the disbelief in her face was real. "All right, then." A beat. "Explain. And add why you need a thousand year old Basilisk this time."