Fleur and Gabrielle walked behind their parents with the kind of posture their mother had trained into them before either of them could spell posture.
Vinda Rosier led them through the lowered wards of Black Mansion after Arcturus had them opened long enough to recognise the signatures of the Delacours. The wards did not merely allow entry. They tasted, weighed, and accepted. Fleur felt the brush of aggressive magic over her skin and understood at once why people spoke of the Black estate in lowered voices.
The manor was worse than the stories.
Worse in the best way.
Her family's estate in France had elegance and sunlight and the kind of warmth that invited. Black Mansion did not invite. It judged. Dark stone. Gothic lines. Corridors that looked as though they would remember every argument ever spoken in them. It was not beautiful in a welcoming way.
It was beautiful in a threatening way.
Gabrielle's small hand found Apolline's for a moment, then let go again when she remembered she was brave.
They were shown into a large drawing room with high ceilings and furniture arranged with old confidence. Not a piece in the room looked placed for comfort first. Everything declared rank, history, and permanence.
Minister Delacour began the polite conversation expected of men who held office and hated wasting time. Arcturus Black matched him in tone and rhythm. The talk moved over trade, border wards, educational exchange, and the latest public mood in France.
Fleur listened for one minute and then stopped trying. Political small talk was always the same. Carefully sharpened boredom.
Gabrielle lasted even less. Her feet began to swing where they did not quite reach the floor. Apolline rested her hand lightly on the child's wrist, and the movement stopped at once.
Then Fleur felt it. A weight where the ambient magic rushed towards. Her veela senses stirred before the door opened. Gabrielle straightened too quickly and stared toward it. Apolline's eyes narrowed by a fraction, enough to tell Fleur she felt it too.
The door opened.
Corvus Black entered with Elizaveta Volkova at his right.
Fleur noticed Elizaveta's beauty; it would have required blindness not to, but it did not land first.
First came pressure. It was not hostile and not warm, only heavy, as if the room itself had recognised a centre and adjusted gravity around him.
Magic moved toward him in a way Fleur had never felt before. The effect hit her instincts before her mind could dress it in words.
Then she saw him properly.
He was immense.
She had seen him before at Hogwarts, at a distance, in motion, under public settings that let the mind make excuses. This close, there were none. He was huge in the simple, inconvenient, physical sense of the word. The robes fit his frame; his shoulders took up space without any effort. His eyes held that permanent turquoise silver glow that made it look as though something inside him had decided ordinary colours were beneath it.
Everyone in the room rose.
The Bastion guards stationed by the walls saluted first, not only respect, but there was zeal there.
The fanatical sharpness in their eyes would have unsettled Fleur if she had not already been too busy standing still and trying not to let her breath change.
The contrast between Corvus and everyone else in the room was almost comical. Ministers, her mother and Madame Rosier herself, all of them important, all of them powerful, and then him, making the rest look reduced by proportion and force of presence.
He greeted Apolline first.
His head dipped with the correct amount of grace, then he bent and kissed the knuckles of her hand. Apolline accepted it with composed warmth. Vinda received a light embrace from him next, brief enough to remain proper.
"You are getting stronger every time I see you," Vinda murmured.
Corvus's mouth moved slightly, not quite a smile. "That is the intention."
Then he came to Fleur.
"Mademoiselle Fleur."
His voice carried no unnecessary flourish. He took her hand with careful control and touched his lips to her knuckles. The contact was brief. It still sent a line of heat straight through her spine.
Fleur was dimly aware that her mother was introducing her and Gabrielle, but the awareness came second.
For Gabrielle, Corvus knelt.
The gesture should have looked absurd. On anyone else, it would have. On him, it only looked warm.
Gabrielle stared up at him with the open wonder of a child who had just found the largest stuffed toy in the world and was trying to understand why it had manners.
Apolline smiled. Vinda's eyes cooled with approval. Arcturus and Minister Delacour exchanged the kind of brief masculine amusement that polite men allowed themselves around children.
Corvus leaned closer so he could speak to Gabrielle at her height and greeted her with the same formality he had used with her sister; the amused smile on his face was adorable.
Gabrielle curtsied too quickly, almost lost her balance, then recovered and looked pleased with herself.
The adults chuckled softly.
After the ladies, Corvus greeted Minister Delacour and Black. The talk moved to France, to the visible changes in the public mood and new educational structures. Both ministers acted naturally when they started to give them new 'directions'. Especially her father. Corvus named the progressive houses and gave her father a month to either deal with them or convince them to fall in line. Fleur listened harder this time.
Corvus did not share much, which became clear almost at once when Minister Black probed with the ease of a man used to asking questions that should be answered. Corvus returned measured lines, useful enough to count as polite, narrow enough to reveal very little.
Fleur filed that away.
They moved to the dining hall after that.
The table was long enough to make distance part of the seating plan. Fleur found herself opposite Elizaveta Volkova.
That was not an accident.
Elizaveta's pale hair caught the candlelight and turned almost silver at the edges. Her glacial eyes remained calm, her face so soft in shape it would have looked cherubic on a lesser woman. It did not soften her. She was a beauty that looked carved under cold conditions.
She also noticed Elizaveta noticing her.
Several times during dinner, Elizaveta's eyes passed over Fleur with the kind of calm assessment older women used when weighing silk quality, winter horses, or future rivals. Yet Fleur found no real enmity there.
There was no possessive bite and no hidden anger in Elizaveta's gaze, only calm judgment. That unsettled Fleur more than hostility would have, because women usually knew such things, and Elizaveta certainly knew what Fleur wanted.
And Elizaveta certainly did.
The absence of visible hostility did not calm Fleur. It made her more cautious and curious.
Dinner moved through courses and politics. Arcturus asked Corvus what he had been doing lately. Corvus answered in the way he always answered when he did not want to be pinned to detail.
Enough truth to end the question, though not enough to truly satisfy it.
By the time the final course was cleared, Fleur's patience had thinned into something bright and restless. She stood to excuse herself and refresh.
Elizaveta stood too.
"Come, Mademoiselle Delacour. I was going as well."
Fleur looked at her, smiled, and adjusted her tone to something warm and correct.
"Please call me Fleur, Miss Volkova."
Elizaveta's smile was smaller, kind and warm. "Then call me Elizaveta."
They left the dining hall side by side. Silence followed them into the corridor.
Two young women. Two different kinds of beauty. One question walked between them without either naming it.
Back in the dining room, Apolline watched them go and then turned to Gabrielle.
"Go with your sister, little minx."
Gabrielle nodded with immediate seriousness that lasted exactly half a second. Then she ran after Fleur with all the energy small children store like a separate magical reserve.
Apolline shook her head with fond resignation.
The adults smiled.
Children were one of the few things in the world that could soften a room full of dangerous people without asking permission.
Once Gabrielle was gone, Vinda cleared her throat.
It reset the room.
Corvus had known this conversation was coming before he entered the drawing room.
His psychic mastery had already touched the surface of thoughts and intention in their guests and Vinda herself. Not because he mistrusted her. He did not like surprises.
Now he sat with his wine untouched and watched Gabrielle disappear through the door after Elizaveta and Fleur.
He knew who would speak.
Vinda.
Questions of House Rosier passed through the Rosier headfirst. Everyone in the room knew that, even if they pretended otherwise for etiquette.
Vinda folded her hands.
"It is my earnest intention that Corvus shall begin his attentions toward the elder daughter of the Delacours."
She looked directly at Minister Delacour, then at Apolline, then finally at Arcturus as if allowing him the dignity of inclusion.
"Such a match would strengthen our lineage and secure the esteem of both families. Her grandfather was a dear friend of mine. It will please me to see our houses entwined again through the younger generation."
Arcturus nodded at once. Satisfaction sat on him well.
House Rosier was French by origin, as were many of the older magical houses of Britain. In his mind, the choice was obvious.
Minister Delacour cleared his throat.
He understood rank, and ancient rules governed noble houses. He also understood that Corvus Black was above these rules as a standalone powerhouse himself.
His voice came out measured.
"Madame Rosier, your words honour both our families. The memory of your friendship with my late father remains one I hold in the highest regard, and I recognise the wisdom of your proposal."
He paused, giving the courtesy due.
"It would indeed be fitting that our houses be bound more closely. Yet I would speak with respect to Monsieur Black, whose standing and counsel weigh heavily in such matters. If he is amenable, then I too shall give my consent, and let the match proceed with the dignity it deserves."
Corvus tilted his head slightly.
He was due to handfast with Elizaveta at the next Beltane. Both families were already arranging it. The matter was settled.
He thought of Fleur.
Golden blond hair. Clear pale skin with the warm undertone of her veela blood. Large blue eyes that seemed brighter when she forgot caution. A mouth built for soft smiles and dangerous confidence. There was steel under it. Even seated at dinner, even watched, even knowing Elizaveta had been measuring her, Fleur had not withdrawn.
Beautiful.
Too beautiful for her own comfort, probably.
Corvus looked to Vinda first and saw something rare in her eyes. Expectation, she really wanted this match.
Then he answered as Lord Rosier of Magical Britain.
"Aunt Vinda speaks with wisdom. The Delacour name is one of honour, and the memory of your father's friendship with our House is not forgotten."
Minister Delacour's shoulders eased by a fraction.
Corvus continued.
"I shall not oppose the match. On the contrary, I welcome it. Strength should bind to strength. And our houses should walk forward as allies, not strangers."
Vinda's cold eyes brightened with real satisfaction. Arcturus looked openly proud. Minister Delacour exhaled with relief that he tried and failed to hide. Apolline looked quietly pleased, as if she had expected trouble and found order instead.
Corvus noticed all of it.
He was not sure why Delacour looked relieved. Surely no father should worry about his daughter being tied to a man who could order the end of a country with less effort than most men use to order lunch.
The thought sat in his mind with enough sarcasm to amuse him.
--
Elsewhere in the manor, Elizaveta stood before a mirror and renewed the charm on her hair while listening to Fleur and Gabrielle with the patient air of someone handling two different storms.
The room set aside for the ladies held warm lighting, polished silver, and too many brushes. Fleur stood near the vanity, trying very hard to look composed and failing in ways only another woman would notice.
Gabrielle did not bother trying.
She climbed onto a cushioned stool, swung one foot, and began her interrogation with the purity of childhood.
"Do the guards sleep standing up?"
Elizaveta's fingers moved once through her hair, renewing the shimmer without disturbing the pale fall of it. "Some probably would, if ordered."
Gabrielle's eyes widened. "Do they blink?"
"Occasionally."
Gabrielle seemed reassured by that. "Good. Otherwise, they would be creepy."
Fleur closed her eyes for half a second, then opened them and tried to rescue the conversation.
"You must forgive her."
"I do not need to." Elizaveta looked at Fleur through the mirror. "She is asking sensible questions. Most adults do not."
Gabrielle straightened proudly.
Fleur's cheeks coloured slightly, which only made her prettier. "I had questions as well."
Elizaveta's mouth curved by a fraction. "I assumed as much."
Fleur stepped closer to the vanity, fingers lightly touching the carved wood. "Does he always feel like that?"
Elizaveta turned to her. "Like what?"
Fleur hesitated, which in itself was an answer. "Heavy."
Elizaveta considered her reflection, then Fleur's. "Yes."
Gabrielle leaned forward so fast the stool nearly tipped. "Can he pick up a horse?"
Fleur inhaled sharply. "Gabrielle."
Elizaveta could not help; a melodic laugh escaped her. "Probably."
Gabrielle's face lit like a festival. "I knew it."
Fleur failed not to smile.
"You want to ask about his power," she said to Fleur.
Fleur's chin lifted. "Oui."
"You want to ask if he is always dangerous."
Fleur did not answer.
Gabrielle did it for her. "He seems fine. If he were dangerous, my Veela instincts would catch him." She emphasised the catching with a gesture.
Elizaveta's eyes softened by the smallest amount. "Yes," she said. "He is."
Fleur held her gaze. "And you are not afraid of that."
Elizaveta thought about the answer and chose honesty. "I am not stupid enough to not be afraid of that power. That is different. Corvus is a kind person, even when dealing with his enemies." Her thoughts went to the cell named Azkaban, to what he did in Afghanistan and lastly to the Nest and the third team who butchered hundreds of wizards.
Was he dangerous? Very much so. Was he a danger to her? Definitely not. Maybe when she teases him a bit too much. But that kind of danger she welcomed with open arms, literally.
Fleur absorbed that in silence.
Gabrielle tilted her head. "Did you kiss him?"
Fleur made a noise somewhere between horror and prayer.
Elizaveta looked at Gabrielle, then at Fleur's expression, and another laugh escaped her. She liked the little bundle and showed it by caressing her hair.
"Yes."
Gabrielle sighed with dramatic contentment, as though a vital academic question had been resolved.
Fleur covered half her face with one hand. "Gabrielle, you cannot ask such things."
Gabrielle looked puzzled. "Why not. You wanted to know."
Elizaveta reached for a silver brush and placed it down again without using it. "Your sister is curious. You are honest. Between the two of you, conversation survives."
Fleur lowered her hand slowly. "Then allow me one honest question."
Elizaveta nodded once.
Fleur drew in a breath. "Do you object to me?"
The room quieted.
Even Gabrielle sensed the weight of that one and stopped swinging her foot.
Elizaveta answered without delay.
"No."
Fleur blinked.
Elizaveta continued, voice calm. "I notice you. I evaluate you. That is not the same as objecting."
Fleur searched her face. "You know why I wanted to meet him."
"Yes."
"And it does not offend you."
Elizaveta's gaze remained steady. "If I were offended by every woman who noticed my future husband, I would have no time left to live my own life. I will be Lady Black within a couple of months, Fleur. If everything works as Aunt Vinda thinks, you will become the Lady Rosier. There is nothing to get offended about."
Gabrielle nodded solemnly, as though this sounded very wise.
Fleur's mouth twitched. "That is… practical."
"It is Russian," Elizaveta replied.
Gabrielle giggled so hard she almost slid off the stool.
Fleur's excitement returned in a more controlled form now, sharpened by hope and caution at the same time.
"Then tell me one thing," she said. "What does he like?"
Elizaveta's expression turned unreadable for one beat.
"Competence," she answered. "Loyalty and discipline."
Gabrielle lifted a hand. "Does he like cake?"
Elizaveta considered that very seriously. "I have seen him eat cake."
Gabrielle relaxed. "Good. I like cake too and pudding."
Fleur stared at her little sister, then at Elizaveta, and despite herself laughed softly.
That laugh broke the tension, not into friendship. Not yet, but into something easier.
An opening.