Corvus reached the dining hall and, with measured steps, seated himself at the right side of the head chair. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the stone walls, the table polished but austere, its surface reflecting the flicker of enchanted candles floating above. The hall smelled faintly of old wood and polished silver, a place steeped in dignity and memory. After several minutes, Lord Arcturus Black entered, his presence commanding despite his age, every step accompanied by the quiet weight of authority. Corvus rose immediately, bowing as etiquette demanded, his motions precise. Arcturus's sharp eyes lingered on him for a long moment before he gave a small, deliberate gesture for him to sit. Corvus sat to the right of the head chair as Lord Black motined him there. An unspoken acknowledgement of expectation, one that carried as much weight as a spoken oath.
The table filled itself with dishes, curtesy of Kreacher: roasted pheasant, buttered greens, fresh bread, bowls of steaming soup, and a decanter of deep red wine. Corvus ate in silence, copying the older man's pace, recalling and applying every gesture of dining etiquette. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with the napkin when the last plates faded away, Arcturus finally spoke, his voice low but resonant.
"Walk with me."
Corvus followed, his steps soft on the ancient carpets as Arcturus led him deeper into the house. The air grew colder as they passed under old wards, the faint hum of protective magic pressing against his skin. Portraits watched with critical eyes, whispering faintly to each other, their voices carrying both pride and suspicion. As they moved through a long corridor, Arcturus asked, "Your Occlumency, how strong is it?"
Corvus answered evenly, "I will feel even the tiniest intrusion, my lord."
Arcturus raised a white brow, his silver eyes narrowing. "We shall see. Tomorrow, a master of the mind arts will test you. If your defenses hold, you will be granted entry to the Black Library. That library is the greatest treasure of this House, after its people, of course." His voice carried a weight of reverence, though also a veiled warning, as if testing whether Corvus valued tradition above ambition.
They stopped before a set of heavy, rune carved doors. Arcturus opened them with a flick of his wand, revealing the chamber beyond. The walls were covered in the Black family tapestry, stretching across centuries, names branching in threads of silver and gold. It was not just decoration; it was history, legacy, and judgment woven into cloth. The air itself seemed heavy in the room, as though the weight of centuries pressed upon them.
Arcturus pointed first to his own name, proud and bold upon the weave. Then he gestured to the far corner, where a single new thread bore Corvus's name. "As you can see, this is not the first time House Black has teetered on the edge of extinction," he said, showing the strain in the branches, the fading lines of a dwindling legacy. "Each time, a scion has risen to shoulder the duty. Now, I would see if you are strong enough to carry it."
Corvus's eyes drifted to the scorched marks across the tapestry, names burned away: Andromeda Tonks, struck for marrying a Muggle born. Sirius Black, blasted from the tree for defiance. He lifted his wand and whispered, "Reparo." Golden threads sparked as the name of Bellatrix Lestrange reformed, gleaming defiantly once more among the branches. The tapestry shivered, threads settling into place as if reluctantly acknowledging the act.
Arcturus's gaze narrowed, fixed not on the tapestry but on the wand in Corvus's hand. "Tell me, boy, what is your wand made of?"
Corvus replied honestly. "Yew wood, thirteen inches, with thestral tail hair braided with basilisk scale."
Arcturus's eyes glinted with approval, the faintest sign of respect, then turned back to the restored names. His voice hardened. "I can cast them out with a word. But tell me, how many Blacks remain? Only Sirius and yourself. Sirius, a traitor to blood and belief. Should I strike out Bellatrix and Narcissa as well, leaving nothing but ashes?" The disdain in his voice was palpable, echoing through the chamber like a curse.
Corvus tilted his head slightly, answering with care. "Leaving Bellatrix upon the tapestry preserves our tie to House Lestrange, a dishonored house of spineless murderers, and through them, a tense enmity with House Longbottom. Both are members of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Though I disagree with both their views on Mother Magic and Magicals, at least the Longbottoms did not bow to a lunatic like the Lestranges. Narcissa, however, allows a parasite to gnaw at the roots of our family. And as for Sirius… he is no Black. He is a traitor to the blood itself. If it were my choice, I would cast them out without hesitation, my lord. To cling to weakness simply because it is what remains is not the way to preserve legacy. It is how one destroys it."
Arcturus regarded him in silence, his gaze like a knife cutting away pretense. At last he asked, "You are not afraid to speak your mind, boy?"
Corvus met his gaze without flinching. "It is for the greater good of House Black, my lord."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken memories. Then Arcturus murmured, almost to himself, "The greater good. Gellert often said the same." His eyes grew distant, as if staring into a past battlefield, before sharpening again. "We shall see." With a final wave of his hand, he dismissed Corvus. "Be ready after breakfast."
Corvus returned to his room, summoning Kreacher with a calm voice and asked him to bring some books from the library of his manor. The elf appeared with a scowl, ears twitching. "Master Corvus wants Kreacher to fetch books, yes, always books… filthy pages, heavy stacks, Kreacher's poor fingers…" Still, he obeyed. Corvus requested volumes on Herbology, Transfiguration, Battle Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, and Runes. Soon they were stacked neatly upon his desk, bound in leather, the smell of old parchment thick in the air.
Sitting at the table, Corvus traced the spines with one hand, determination burning in his gaze. He recalled what he knew of Durmstrang's system. To reach mastery in any subject, a student had to complete the full seven year curriculum or pass their exams, then pass written and practical exams to enter the mastery courses. These courses were divided into three levels, each more demanding and rigorous than the last. Only upon completing all three could one be named a true Master, a title few achieved but all aspired to.
Corvus intended to reach mastery in the core disciplines. He had six months before the end of the year, six months, and thus twenty four replications. He exhaled slowly, his eyes gleaming with resolve as the firelight danced across his features. It will be enough, he thought, though another voice whispered within him that enough was never truly enough. For to be untouchable he will make sure the House of Black rise again, he would need not just knowledge, but dominance and he was determined to claim both.
--
Breakfast had been simple. Tea, bread, and fruit served by Kreacher with his usual muttering but Corvus had barely tasted it. He knew what was coming. As the plates vanished, Lord Arcturus gestured for him to remain seated. minutes later, the visitor arrived.
The man was at the end of his middle ages, with dark hair streaked by silver and calm blue eyes that seemed to look straight through a person's soul. His robes bore the insignia of St. Mungo's, though muted, and his presence carried the quiet confidence of someone who lived inside minds rather than bodies. There was a weight to him, the kind of authority not born of politics but of knowledge that could unmake men.
"This is Healer Dacian Rowle," Arcturus said. "Master of the Mind Arts, and bound by oath. He will test your Occlumency."
Rowle inclined his head politely, then turned those piercing eyes upon Corvus. "If you are ready, young Black."
Corvus gave a single nod. He steadied his breathing, letting the frozen calm of his Occlumency walls settle into place. The stillness of his inner world stretched wide, a black canvas ready for intrusion.
The first probe came softly, a feather brushing against the surface of his thoughts. Corvus felt it instantly, like ripples in a still pond. With a flicker of will, he cut the connection, severing the probe before it found purchase. Rowle's brows lifted slightly.
Then came the second attempt, sharper, a thin lance of pressure aimed at piercing through. Again, Corvus felt it at once. The vast darkness of his inner world rippled with warning, and he sliced through the intrusion, leaving nothing for Rowle to grasp. The healer's lips parted in surprise.
A third time, this one a passive probe, subtle and patient, creeping like mist into corners, searching for unguarded memories. But Corvus felt it too, every tendril of thought glowing against the black canvas of his mind palace. He crushed each attempt with ruthless precision. Not a whisper, not a fragment escaped him.
Rowle frowned, concentrating harder. He shifted to indirect tactics: brushing at surface emotions, testing for reflexive leaks, even using the rhythm of Corvus's own breathing to nudge at thoughts. Yet every time, Corvus sensed him, each intrusion shining like a torch in the void and with a calm act of will, he severed the threads before they could proceed.
Finally Rowle launched a direct assault, his will battering against Corvus's defenses like a storm. The force of it would have cracked another's mind, scattering their memories into fragments. But Corvus only smiled faintly. Every attack was drifting aimlessly in the emptiness of space he created. He dissolved them one by one. Within, the constellation of his stars flared, every star burning bright, every memory locked behind layers Rowle could not begin to comprehend. He felt every strike, every desperate attempt, and met them with silence and control. After several long minutes, Rowle withdrew, breathing uneven, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Incredible," the man muttered, voice hushed. "Not even a wisp… not even a flicker. It is as if his very thoughts do not exist. Only vast darkness is there."
Arcturus's silver eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He turned to Corvus. "Explain this. What have you built within that mind of yours?"
Corvus paused. His gaze shifted briefly to Rowle, a silent question in his expression. Was he permitted to speak openly before this stranger? Arcturus caught the look and allowed himself a rare, thin smile.
"He is a friend of mine, also bound by oath," Arcturus assured him. "Not only a master, but a healer of minds at St. Mungo's. He cannot reveal what is said here."
Corvus inclined his head in acknowledgment. He turned back, choosing his words carefully. "I have structured my mind as the constellation I carry the name of. Vast space serves as the detection zone; in emptiness, even the faintest probe glows like fire. My memories are stored in the stars themselves. Thoughts are not scattered whisps but ordered, compartmentalized. A system that ensures every intrusion is visible and can be severed before it takes root. The important thing is not merely resisting, but denying the attacker even the illusion of progress. Even if I allowed Healer Rowle deeper, he would not sense thoughts, emotions, or memories. How I ensure this, however, I will keep to myself, my lord."
Arcturus turned to Dacian. "Do you think you are up to the challenge?" he asked, amused.
Rowle smirked faintly, his pride stung, and turned back to Corvus. "Then let us test your claim, young man."
This time Corvus did not sever the tendril outright. Rowle pressed harder, pushing into the void. For a fleeting moment he touched the stars and found nothing but a black screen, a blinking cursor, endless waiting in silence. He pressed again, harder, drawing on every trick he had learned as a healer, but the screen remained. It mocked him with its emptiness.
Minutes passed. Sweat beaded on Rowle's brow as he fought for even a tiny whisp of thought or memory, as though clawing at glass that gave no grip. At last he groaned softly, rubbed his temples, and let go. His shoulders sagged.
"I give up," he said at last. "I could not find even a crack to enter. You, young man, are an outstanding example of a perfectly occluded mind. Your structured defenses has the perfect clarity I have seen only in a handful of true masters and you wield it at sixteen."
Corvus inclined his head modestly, though inside he savored the triumph. He had revealed enough to satisfy their curiosity, but nothing of the true depth of his fortress, nor of the encryption behind his stars. That secret was his alone.
Arcturus leaned back in his chair, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Then it is settled. The Library will open to you. The greatest treasure of the House of Black, beyond gold or relics, will be yours to study. Do not disappoint me, boy for I will tolerate failure in nothing."