Harry and Neville stood ten paces apart on the rug. Wands level. Sleeves rolled. The fire snapped in the grate while a half circle of upper years watched from the couches.
Neville breathed in and set his stance. A light stinger hissed across the room. Harry slid left and lifted a small shield. Sparks kissed the tapestry and died. Dean whooped once and bit it off when the prefect shot him a look.
"Again," Harry called, steady this time. He dipped his shoulder and cast a shallow disarming hex. Neville evaded; he had learned in Heir Black's drills that the best defence is not getting hit. He sent a neat trip jinx that would have taken Harry's feet if he had not stepped around it. The room clapped in short bursts. No one shouted. Their new head of house's warning note about noise after hours had been very clear.
At the table by the window, Hermione read through a Transfiguration text with a quill poised. The page was clean without any blotches. She had a list beside her with panelled headings like the new etiquette teacher had shown them. Footsteps stopped at her elbow. Parvati and Lavender stood with their hands folded.
"How may I help you?" she asked, eyes still on the page.
Parvati glanced at Lavender and took a breath. "Hermione, we hoped you might spare time for Transfiguration practice."
Hermione stood, closed the book, and met Lavender's eyes first. "Miss Brown," she said, voice even, "I expect the minimum modicum of etiquette from a witch of an old family. I did not give you leave to use my given name. Please refrain from doing so." She let the words land and then softened a fraction. "As for your request, I have time tomorrow after lessons. If you and Miss Brown are at liberty, we can work then."
Lavender blinked, colour rising at her neck. She inclined her head. "Of course, Miss Granger. Please accept my apology." She swallowed and tried again. "You may call me Lavender. If you wish."
Parvati nudged her with an elbow and smiled. "And me Parvati."
Hermione's mask slipped for a beat. Surprise touched her eyes, and then she gathered herself. "Very well," she said, and the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a small smile. "You may call me Hermione."
All three paused. The quiet broke at the edges. They giggled in low voices and leaned in over the table.
"You are doing well," Parvati said. "Since you distanced yourself from the baboon, the air around you is cleaner."
Lavender tried not to grin. Failed. Hermione pressed her lips together to keep the smile from running away with her face. "Tomorrow after lessons," she said, and set quill and book in order. "But we can have a look now as well."
Across the room, three red heads kept to a corner by the stairs. Fred and George flanked their brother like bookends. Ronald stared at the duel.
He had stopped handing in work for Baier's class. He had called the new instructor a dark wizard at breakfast. The house had bled points until lunch. Narcissa took another fifty when she watched him shovel eggs with his hand.
"You are not a baboon, Mr Weasley," she had told him in a tone that did not rise. "Refrain from copying their table manners. If you do not know better, the library has shelves for that. This school educates witches and wizards to honour our nation, not some ...lesser beings to be exhibited."
The name stuck before the porridge cooled. Baboon joined Moron by midmorning. Even the twins had nothing for him. They sat with him because the family sat together. They did not cover for him when the prefects asked about missing assignments.
Fred watched Harry and Neville trade spells with a small, honest pride. "Not bad," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
George folded his arms. "He listens," he said, eyes on Neville's feet. "Look at the step. Black taught them well to move those feet."
Ronald hunched deeper into his chair. "Dark wizards," he muttered. "All of them. Taking over one by one." He flicked a look toward the portrait as if McGonagall might walk through to save him from etiquette drills and morning runs. The idea died fast. Even Snape seemed better than the new professors.
On the rug, Harry feinted to move right, changed his step in the last moment and sent a Binding hex. Neville felt the weight on his wrist and rolled through it as Black had shown them. The spell slipped off and cracked against the ward the upper years had set for them to practice with a harmless spark. A second year clapped once before he remembered himself and tucked his hands under his knees.
Harry lowered his wand and offered an open palm. Neville clasped it. They reset their distance and raised their wands again.
Hermione watched for a breath and then drew a small diagram in the margin of her notes. "Left hip," she wrote, and underlined it twice. She would have reminded Neville to guard that side if they were closer. She would have asked Harry to vary his footwork on the third exchange. She felt calm as she wrote. The world made sense when rules sat on paper and people obeyed them.
The clock by the fire chimed the half. The prefect called time. Wands went away without protest. The common room shifted to the softer noise of pages and low talk. A pair of third years cleared the rug because Narcissa had taught them that tidiness was not a favour to staff, it was a sign of pride.
Harry dropped into the armchair by Neville and stretched his legs. Sweat shone at his hairline. He glanced toward Hermione and found her flanked by Parvati and Lavender with three books open between them.
Ronald watched the three girls lean over a page and felt the familiar heat climb up his neck. He reached for his bag and found only a crumpled sheet where his assignments should have been. The twins did not look his way. He ground his teeth and told himself he did not care. He did not look at the prefect who had started a list of missing assignments with his name at the top.
--
Corvus dismissed the last Defence class and did not linger. He cut through the corridor, reached his chambers, and shut the door with a firm click. A quick Tempus hung silver numbers in the air at four fifty nine. He counted the last five beats, turned on his heel, and walked into the bath.
A light from a flame travel created a shadow for a moment on the stone as the loop closed. Memory hit a breath later. Twenty four hours of work dropped into place with clean seams. Faces. Rooms. Notes. Every step where it belonged. He exhaled once, reached under his shirt for the chain, and thumbed the time turner again. One careful twist. Another day banked.
He filled the tub with an Aguamenti. A small, controlled Incendio warmed the water. He undressed, slid into the heat, and let his shoulders settle. For the first time in a long while, the noise in his head quieted.
-
Days passed. Vinda and Arcturus asked how he concluded the operation on the Department of Mysteries again and again. Corvus answered with the same line each time. Soon it will be set right. That was all.
At the end of the week, Arcturus stepped from the floo into the Headmistress's office and brushed a fleck of ash from his sleeve. He did not wait to be offered a chair. He took one and let out a tired breath.
"Where is your heir?" he asked, dry as salt. "He has evaded me for five days."
Vinda set her quill down with care. "One Black is more than enough for me," she answered. "Your heir has ignored my summons for the same five days. I was on my way to DMLE to request an arrest warrant."
Arcturus grimaced. He was not sure if Vinda was being sarcastic or if she really was going to ask for that arrest. Better keep it under control, he decided. "Our heir," he tried.
"Your heir," she returned, and lifted her wand. The fire in the hearth died. The windows sealed with a soft thud. The door locked. She walked around the desk and stopped in front of him, arms folded.
"You know more, and you will talk, Black."
He held her gaze. "You do know he is busy with his masteries. Give him space."
"Give me answers," she said. "Or I will give Grigori and Sigibert a very interesting list of questions."
His mouth twitched. "Threats now, Aunty?"
"You have ten seconds," Vinda said. "Decide now."
He rubbed at his temple and picked his words. "He has asked for three Graphors, two Thunderbirds, and as much Chimaera as I can ...get my hands on."
"You smuggled them for him," Vinda stated the obvious.
Arcturus ignored it and continued. "Miraculously. These endangered animals were available in some of the forgotten reserves of the Ministry. That is all I know. I have no idea what he is doing with them."
"Not bad, Black," she said and sat across him.
"Melania was able to make you sing like a canary whenever she wanted," Vinda added as she asked for tea from the elf she called.
"He is trying to be perfect." She continued, while serving the tea for him and herself. "You may have used all the luck your bloodline has in finding him."
She let the silence stretch as they both took their sips. "I am simply worried. He is too headstrong."
Arcturus nodded and took another sip.
-
While Vinda sharpened her patience on Arcturus, Corvus waited by the door of Transfiguration. He heard the scrape of chairs and the low murmur of seventh years filing out. He knocked once. The word enter came at once.
"Black," Yelena said without lifting her eyes from the parchment in her hand.
"Master Morozova," Corvus answered with a respectful incline. "I would like to demonstrate my mastery work in Transfiguration."
Her head came up at the word mastery. The parchment went aside. She stood, crossed to him, and clasped her hands behind her back. "I am listening."
He conjured a long table against the wall.
"In working toward my mastery, I focused on practical deficits," he said. "Not for public charity, of course. But to be in an advantageous position."
"Rare materials, parts of magical plants and beasts. The question I asked was simple. We can duplicate a book with a charm. We cannot conjure a living mandrake root."
Her mouth twitched. Approval, not warmth.
"So I followed the line of definition," he went on. "Transfiguration is the art of turning one thing into another. Form and property. If that is the rule, why not work on the essence? Not to create life. To alter what is present. To move traits. Regeneration. Conductivity. Resistance. Take one quality from a living source and bestow it on another living source without breaking the law that bars creation, but to bend it as much as it goes."
"Go on," Yelena said.
"I tested on creatures that heal fast. Not to make monsters," he added, "to map the process. Examine the trait, carry it across, hold it and release it. I have a working path."
Interest sharpened her stare. "If you are right, the foundations of several trades will change. Drastically." She stopped herself. "But of course, you will not publish."
"No." He did not pretend. "Which brings me to terms. Before I show the core of it, I need you to sign this. You will not use it. You will not share it. You will not hint at it without my clear leave."
Offence showed plain on her face. He did not step back from it.
"I had my cousin sign parchment on a spoken promise, Master," he said. "I have trust problems. Do not take it personally, please."
Yelena held his eyes for a long count and then signed the contract.
"Now show me," she said.