Breakfast at Hogwarts had turned into a strategy meeting wearing the mask of a meal.
Students leaned over plates and argued about duels as if the cup already belonged to them. Durmstrang spoke in clipped phrases and watched everyone else for weakness. Beauxbatons smiled and pretended the whole thing was light entertainment. Hogwarts tried to do both and looked strained.
Corvus ate quickly, rose without ceremony, and left the Great Hall while the noise still had momentum.
For Fleur Delacour, it did not feel like a man leaving a room.
It felt like the sun dropping behind a wall.
The pressure that had been pressing against her senses eased so suddenly that she swayed a fraction, fingers tightening around her goblet. She recovered at once. A Delacour did not stagger in public.
She still tracked the space he had vacated, her eyes fixed on nothing with an intensity that made two younger Ravenclaws glance at her and then glance away.
Fleur pushed her hair behind her ear and forced her attention back to breakfast.
-
The champion selection brought parents and officials like moths to a lantern, and Appoline Delacour arrived with the rest of them, appearing at Hogwarts with the kind of composure that made people step aside without realising they were doing it.
Fleur spotted her mother the moment she entered the Hall.
It was not that Appoline made a scene, but Fleur recognised a mature Veela.
Appoline's hair fell in the same pale gold waves, glossy even under the light of the candles. Her skin held the same warm tone that made the winter stones seem less cold around her. The shape of her mouth was softer, the eyes older when watched closely, but at first glance, they looked like sisters who dressed for different occasions.
Fleur rose at once and moved before her peers could start gossiping.
Appoline turned her head. A small smile touched her lips.
Fleur reached her and took her hand, fingers lacing with the familiarity of habit. Appoline's hand felt warm. Fleur held on as if she could anchor herself with it.
Appoline's eyes flicked over Fleur's face.
No visible injury, no tears, like in her first years when she was bullied by older students.
Still, something was wrong with her firstborn.
Appoline's smile stayed in place, but it changed into something sharper, a mother's attention hidden under social grace.
Fleur did not waste time.
She guided her mother out of the Hall, through the Great Hall crowded with visiting parents, and toward the Beauxbatons carriage.
Outside, the air carried the last bite of autumn. The grounds were clean under the midday light.
Beauxbatons students hovered near their carriage in their own small groups, elegant even when whispering. A few glanced at Fleur and then at Appoline with fascination that quickly turned into politeness.
Fleur led her mother up the steps and into her room. The carriage was a masterwork of the Beauxbatons' Charm Masters. It was enlarged enough to house half of their school.
She closed the door and leaned her back against it for a heartbeat.
Appoline sat at the edge of Fleur's bed with smooth confidence, posture still perfect even while waiting.
Her gaze moved across the room, noting charms, perfumes, and the small collection of moving photos Fleur had brought from home.
Then Appoline looked at Fleur and let the amusement in her eyes show.
"So, my flower." Her French wrapped the words in warmth. "What made you lose your cool. Or should I ask who?"
Fleur crossed the room in three steps and stopped in front of her mother.
"Maman, I need your help. Yours and Papa's."
The amusement faded.
Appoline's head tilted slightly. "Tell me, Fleur."
Fleur tried to shape the sentence and found her throat tight.
She had dealt with professors. She had dealt with Ministry officials. She had dealt with boys who assumed her smile meant permission.
None of that prepared her for asking her mother to open a door that might bite.
"I need you and Papa to introduce me to Corvus Black."
Appoline remained still.
Only her eyes changed.
"Is this the same Corvus Black we warned you about?"
"Oui, maman. The very same."
Fleur began to pace the length of the room, hands working in small, restless gestures that she would never allow in the Great Hall.
She spoke quickly at first, then forced herself to slow.
She recounted her arrival, the first exposure to Hogwarts Occlumency discipline, the way her allure had been resisted by students who should have folded. She described the way the Bastion guards moved just like they did back at home.
Appoline listened without interrupting.
Fleur reached the part she cared about, and her voice changed.
"The aura, maman." Fleur stopped pacing. "It is not possible. The pressure was larger than a coven's. It is not a ritual residue, maman. It is him."
Appoline's fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the bedspread.
Fleur continued, eyes bright with frustration. "I could not control my allure. I tried, but my instincts were ablaze. They reacted on their own."
Appoline watched her daughter as if evaluating a patient rather than comforting a child.
"Did he notice you?"
Fleur's mouth tightened. "Non."
Appoline's gaze sharpened. "Not once."
Fleur's chin lifted. "Not once."
Silence held for a breath.
Appoline exhaled slowly.
"Your grandfather, may Mother Magic embrace his soul, had a good relationship with Vinda Rosier." Appoline's voice shifted into the tone she used for political reality. "To be honest, it was one of the reasons your father was selected as Minister. It was not the votes."
Fleur's eyes lit.
Appoline raised one finger, stopping the hope from turning into fantasy.
"We can ask your papa to meet Headmistress Rosier. We can touch on the subject while we are there."
Fleur stepped closer. "You will do it."
Appoline studied her daughter's face.
"I will do it," she corrected, firm. "But you will listen to me first."
Fleur held still.
Appoline's voice stayed calm. "You are not chasing a boy. You are approaching a force. If you lose control, you will not be the only one paying. Veela blood does not impress a man like that."
Fleur's eyes flicked away, then back. "It is not about impressing him."
Appoline nodded and added. "He is dangerous, Fleur."
Fleur swallowed and nodded.
--
Corvus was far from the worries of a Veela.
At the Nest, he stood in his study with the new map spread across a table, charmed to show ward lines as living threads.
The new wards looked clean, too clean.
He traced the lines with his eyes and felt where the net tightened, where it thinned, where it avoided. One island stood out as a dark spot against the ward mesh.
He scoffed; it was the island where the Flamel's villa was.
Not labelled as anything romantic or highlighted as a secret. Simply a void in the pattern.
Corvus's mouth curved slightly. There was one other void on the Alliance map.
He memorised both locations without moving a finger.
Then he sent requests for access to the maps of MACUSA and the combined confederation China and India had formed. He was received with professional respect in both places. It was easier to cooperate with Magicals, especially when your name had become the new boogyman.
The other maps revealed other dark points. One not surprisingly in the Bermuda Triangle, Southwest of the region.
One south of Pico da Neblina in Brazil, one north of Honolulu, isolated enough to feel deliberate.
Corvus committed them to memory.
He started with the Bahamas.
Wind struck his face the moment he left the containment wards behind.
The sky over the Atlantic held a pale clarity, sea and horizon cutting into each other with hard lines. Corvus flew above the water and watched the surface for nothing. The map had given him a position. His own senses would confirm it.
As he approached the region people called the Bermuda Triangle, he felt the mild irritation of the name. Most of it sat closer to the Bahamas. Human habit preferred drama to accuracy.
Corvus dropped altitude and slowed.
He reached the exact point. The air felt normal; hence, Corvus cut his flight, activated phase, and water meld and let himself fall.
He became one with the cold water. Light faded fast. Sound became a dull constant. His core fed him, his mind remained clear. Being one with the water of the ocean was a freeing sense. Similar to flying, yet better, much better. It was the embrace of a mother.
He sank further, to the darker depths.
The deeper he went, the more the pressure reminded him that even water has to obey the physics of the depth. He felt his body getting denser under the immense compression.
He ignored it.
At three thousand six hundred feet, the world around him became ink.
His dark sight held shapes, but not meaning.
He conjured multiple light orbs and sent them spiralling around him.
Their glow cut small tunnels through the black. That was when he felt the familiar void.
A presence, different from the regular feeling of absence.
Corvus halted his fall and resumed flight, moving sideways through the water toward the exact point where sensation disappeared.
The orbs drifted with him, light wobbling through salt and current.
Then the light hit something that absorbed it.
It was a globe. Darkness condensed into a shape the size of a man, maybe larger, too perfect to be natural. It did not reflect the light. It swallowed it. It was dormant, a perfect sphere, a shade darker than natural black, devouring light without reflection.
Corvus held still.
His phase remained active. He was feeling a presence, unlike an object; it was like a living organism.
He reached out with his replication to confirm what he was feeling. To measure whether the object was alive or not.
The globe reacted the moment his mind touched it. It charged, crossed the space between them in a blink and slammed into him.
His Phase did not stop it. The darkness sank through his protections and latched onto his magical core with hungry precision.
Corvus felt it like a hand closing around a heartbeat.
The cold pressure turned sharper, not water, not depth, something older.
His light orbs flickered.
One died, another dimmed. Others started to blink.
The globe pressed further, trying to merge, trying to become one.
His core pulsed, and the darkness tightened around him.
For a moment, it felt like the ocean itself held him down, and the void tried to crawl inside.
Corvus tried to teleport to the surface. He moved, but his control was all over the place. From the pressure and light around he understood he was close to the surface. Yet the globe was interfering with his control.
His psychic grip tried to close around the globe, but it couldn't grasp it completely. He tried Necromancy next and tried to grasp it with Soul Magic. The darkness got loose, and the moment Corvus felt it, he teleported again while dropping water meld. His destination was the ritual room of the Grimmauld Place.
"Now we understand each other," he murmured with a sigh of relief after seeing the stone walls of the room.
Corvus forced the darkness to stop moving. The globe shuddered as if offended by being rejected.
Corvus pulled it away from his core by sheer will.
The orb resisted; it was not still anymore. Shadowy tendrils were flailing around, trying to latch on to him. It fought like a living thing.
Corvus held it at arm's length; the globe trembled again. It tried to surge. Corvus tightened his grip.
This time, the darkness could not advance. A sphere of soul magic was holding it in place.
It quivered and tried to get free by leaking, thin threads of shadow that twisted like ink in water.
Corvus watched the reaction and used his replication again to see what exactly he was dealing with.