Elizaveta Volkova stepped through the doorway with the quiet confidence of someone taught exactly how to enter a room. Pale hair was braided for winter, the plait lying neatly between her shoulder blades. Her beautiful eyes, larger than usual were a clear glacial blue, sharp and observant. High cheekbones, a straight small nose, and lips the color of blood. Her skin had the pallor of northern light. An hourglass figure with curves in all the right places. A dark wool cloak, a deep red travel scarf and polished boots marked the journey. Her curtsey was textbook and unhurried. Nothing showy. Everything correct.
Among the older magical societies there are houses that keep custom with a grip that does not loosen. Russia stands close to that end of the line. Especially Volkovs. Against that measure, Wizarding Britain's traditionalists look almost liberal and that is saying something. The effect on daughters of such families is more visible. Posture is taught. Words are weighed. Appearance is their armour.
Vinda and Arcturus watched the curtsey and gave a single approving nods. Grigori cleared his throat in a way that required hospitality.
"Are you not inviting us in," he said. Arcturus smiled and led them to the drawing room.
The room had been set for conversation rather than celebration. The fire was high. The tea was hot. Bottles waited for those who preferred stronger company. A silver box and a short stack of congratulary cards sat on the mantel.
"A celebration," Grigori said. "For what."
"His seventeenth," Arcturus said, tipping his head toward Corvus. "Mother Magic will have her say after midnight."
Grigori's mouth curved. He wished Corvus good fortune in the formal style. Elizaveta added a precise echo of the same and earned a pleased look from the elders. Arcturus and Vinda were pleased for similar reasons, It was not clear if Grigoris was aware yet.
They sat. The talk moved the way it does with old comrades who have faced the same wind. Grigori teased the British fashion for committees. Arcturus replied that Russian wards still creak when leaned on them. Vinda corrected a point of policy and then corrected a point of grammar. Cups were raised to the fallen. Names were spoken without fuss. For a time the room felt like a campfire where the map is drawn in the ash.
Elizaveta took a seat beside Corvus. She did not crowd nor did she avoided him. When she spoke, her tone matched her elegance.
"Master Black," she said, and inclined her head, voice as lovely as it's owner.
"Miss Volkov," Corvus answered, returning the courtesy. "I do not recall you from Durmstrang. I would not have forgotten a presence so composed."
"This is expected," she said. "I know you. The whole school does, for your achivements. You are a popular subject, though some girls remember you for different reasons. That is why you do not remember me."
Corvus let one eyebrow rise. "Different reasons."
Elizaveta met his look without flinching. "You chose companions whose values are... different from mine. I value other things. Quiet. Study and tradition." She allowed herself a small smile. "We were often in the same buildings and never in the same rooms."
"Well," Corvus said, "your caution seems to have faltered. You are exactly next to me now."
"Correct," Elizaveta said. "And I have my grandfather with me. He and Lord Black are very similar men especially on the importance they put on values. He was a general in all but name. So is Lord Black. Which means I am quite safe."
Across the room Grigori lifted his cup and called, "Arcturus, your London is too quiet. We must teach it to sing."
"It sings enough when you visit," Vinda replied. "Even the portraits will need a week to recover after hearing your voice."
Arcturus glanced between them with a fondness he rarely showed in public. "You did not come for the tea," he said to Grigori. "What brings you through my door in such a time."
"Congratulating the new Minister for Magic," Grigori said. "And business. We will speak of it when toasts are done."
"Then let us finish the toasts," Arcturus said.
They raised their cups again. Names went around the circle and were set gently back on the table. The fire settled. The house listened.
Grigori set his cup down and locked eyes with Arcturus. "I hear things, old wolf. From Norway. From Bulgaria. From Russia. Now speak."
--
Arcturus and Vinda shared a look that said this would not be casual talk.
"This will require an oath," Arcturus said.
Grigori lifted a brow. "Acolytes are already sworn."
"The result does not change, brother," Arcturus answered. "The oath is for security, not the cause."
Grigori's eyes moved from Arcturus to Vinda and back again. "I know you both well enough to be sure you do not crawl through the sort of rituals that stain the soul. Tell me something first. Does this oath explain why you look decades younger."
Vinda did not blink. "I look as I did last year," she said. "Either age is catching up to you, or the winter has frozen your good sense."
Arcturus inclined his head. "The oath," he said, and they turned their backs to the hearth where Sirius, Corvus, and Elizaveta sat with their drinks and their silent conversation where Elizaveta was shooting Corvus' every attempt without and ounce of pity.
The old words were spoken and sealed. When it was done, Vinda called and Corvus left a lively conversation with the Russian beauty and joined them.
"Yes, Aunt Vinda," he said.
Arcturus nodded to Grigori. "Here is your answer, and not the whole of it. The rest comes after the celebration."
Grigori studied Corvus as if weighing a blade. "Graduated in your third year. Certified master of Potions and Charms. Continental duelling champion under eighteen. Heir to this old wolf and" he paused as Vinda's gaze sharpened to a point "and heir to this 'lovely' lady. Tell me, young Black" Vinda did not look away "and Rosier," she added quickly, loosening his collar Grigori repeated, "and Rosier, what are you doing that keeps two of the sharpest minds I know so close to you."
"Lord Volkov," Corvus began.
Grigori smiled. "Call me Uncle Grigori." Arcturus frowned and before he started to curse, "And yes, I heard you, Arcturus."
Corvus returned the smile. "Uncle Grigori. Perhaps a more private setting suits the weight of that question." His gaze went to Elizaveta for a brief moment and turned to 'uncle' Grigori.
Grigori scoffed. "We are Volkovs. Every member is sworn to keep secrets of the family." He turned to Elizaveta and said "anything you hear is a secret my snowflake." She simply nodded. Grigori returned to Corvus. "We are the wolves of the tundra. We do not leak. I dare you to crack Lizaveta's shields and pry a simply thing from her mind. She is perfect."
Arcturus and Vinda both nodded at that, though the thoughts behind their nods were not same as Grigori's.
"Then after the celebration," Corvus said.
Grigori answered with a nod. Corvus returned to Elizaveta.
"What did my grandfather ask of you, Master Corvus," she said.
"Uncle Grigori has questions," Corvus replied, using the words on purpose. "I will meet the old guard after midnight."
Elizaveta's eyes warmed with interest, though she only inclined her head. She wondered when her grandfather had decided that this young and dangerous man could call him uncle.
The clock struck midnight.
Arcturus stood first. He offered a wand holster and a wand that matched the wood and core of Corvus's own.
"In case you ever need an unofficial tool," he said, and pulled his heir into a hard embrace. "You make me proud."
Vinda followed. She placed a black crystalline rose in Corvus's palm. "An artefact of my own make," she said. "Any room it rests in becomes unplottable and impossible to scry. I suspect you will find use for it." She touched his cheek with a kiss that was almost a blessing.
Sirius cleared his throat and called for Wick his new elf. The elf arrived with a long wrapped parcel.
"The latest model," Sirius said, and shook Corvus's hand. "Try not to fall off it."
"I will make a note," Corvus said.
Grigori spread his hands. "I did not know it was your birthday. Blame your 'grandfather' for that."
Arcturus made a sound that was not a word. Grigori looked pleased with himself.
Elizaveta stepped forward and offered her hand, palm down. Corvus kissed the back of it lightly.
"Congratulations on your seventeenth, Master Black," she said. "We did not come prepared, so forgive the lack of a gift."
Corvus leaned a fraction closer. "A kiss from such a lovely lady would be the best gift, Miss Volkov."
Grigori's brow went up. He turned to Vinda and Arcturus. "Listen well. Lizaveta is my precious granddaughter. If this rascal has intentions, he will follow Tradition. If he does not, you will receive pieces of him for months. Just so you know, I will keep him alive for at least half of it. You have been warned."
Elizaveta smiled and took her place at her grandfather's side, that angelic smile still in place as if threats were a kind of music.
Sirius whispered, "Happy birthday," and tried not to laugh into his cup.
---
Arcturus and Vinda turned to Corvus together. "Write the letter as Black - Rosier," they said in the same breath.
They met each other's eyes and, as if on habit, their wands were out and pointed before anyone breathed.
"You old relic," Vinda said. "This young lady is perfect for my heir. He will write the letter as Lord Rosier."
"You thorny witch," Arcturus replied. "He is my heir in law and custom. He will court her as Black."
Grigori grinned. Elizaveta watched, amused. Sirius wore the smile of a man who enjoys other people's trouble. Corvus rubbed his temples.
From the armchair Sirius offered, very helpfully, "Why not as Rosier Black."
Two harmless hexes hit him in the same heartbeat. He yelped and lifted his cup like a shield.
Grigori lifted a hand. "I have an idea. Write it as Rosier Black."
"Acceptable," Vinda said at once.
Arcturus gave a curt nod. Wands slid away.
Sirius looked scandalised. One offender was the Minister. One was a master of the darker curriculum. The third made credible threats. He decided to be the adult and close his mouth. The adult then stood and left, stomping only a little.
They settled. Now that the courtship was half official, Elizaveta sat beside her grandfather and did not glance in Corvus's direction.
Grigori folded his hands. "Speak," he said to Arcturus.
"He is under oath," Vinda said, tipping her head toward the old Russian.
Corvus sighed and began. He outlined the shape of the work. How the syndicates were taken and turned. How the ICW seats would be shifted, one by one, until a working majority could be built. Arcturus and Vinda added the texture. Norway in motion. Bulgaria and Russia next. Muggle money counted and cleaned.
Grigori's eyes widened at the numbers. "Is it repeatable in Russia," he asked.
"Yes," Corvus said. "The illegal arms and drug trades bring roughly one point two billion in muggle currency each year for Russia. If ten percent can be captured and moved, we are speaking of," he calculated silently in his head, "eighteen million galleons annually."
Elizaveta reached over and closed her grandfather's jaw with one elegant finger. Arcturus stared into a middle distance that belonged to planners. Vinda's smile shifted between Corvus and Elizaveta as if weighing something that was not related to the subject on hand.
Grigori turned back to Corvus. "You are officially invited to Volkov mansion in Moscow as of this moment. I will arrange the squibs and whatever else is required. You will build the rest. I want the same structure." He paused a smirk appearing on his face. "And there is no need to mention this small detail in the letter of intention."
Elizaveta's smile turned angelic. Arcturus showed teeth. Grigori was already assembling names. Vinda looked like mother hen who has just agreed to something unprintable. Corvus sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.