March 31st, 1978
The gloom of March hung heavily over Lestrange Manor, a place where even the walls seemed to whisper secrets of old magic and darker deeds. The ancient estate, its gothic spires piercing the leaden sky, lay secluded in a remote corner of Wiltshire. Its vast grounds were choked with gnarled trees and shadowed paths that led nowhere pleasant. A foreboding mist clung to the air, and the once-grand manor appeared perpetually trapped in twilight.
Inside, the manor formed a labyrinth of dark, polished wood and dimly lit corridors, each lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors who seemed to disapprove of anyone daring to tread their halls. The largest portrait dominated the grand foyer, depicting a black crow perched atop a golden, crown-like structure. Beneath it were the words:
Corvus oculum corvi non eruit.
A testament to the Lestrange legacy and their unyielding commitment to pureblood supremacy.
In a room adorned with heavy black drapes embroidered with ravens and green serpents, warmed by an ornate fireplace, Corvus Lestrange, a seven-year-old with striking black hair and equally dark eyes, sat opposite his grandfather, Mr. Lestrange. Between them lay a wizard's chessboard, its pieces alive with sentient aggression. The match teetered on a knife's edge as stone and wood clashed with vicious intent.
Corvus hummed a soft, eerie tune, the melody weaving through the crackle of the fire and the dull thuds of captured pieces. The subtle aroma of Earl Grey tea lingered in the air, steaming cups resting on a low table nearby.
Suddenly, the fireplace flared emerald green.
Rudolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange stepped through the Floo. Bellatrix flicked her wand, banishing soot from their clothes. Judging by their attire, Corvus knew they had returned from a raid. He whispered a silent prayer for the unfortunates who had lost their lives that night, then returned his full attention to the chessboard.
The couple launched into a heated argument as they moved into the adjoining room, their voices carrying clearly through the manor.
"We're late again, Bella," Rudolphus snapped. "I told you to hurry. You forget your duty too often."
"I have done my duty," Bellatrix shot back sharply. "I gave you an heir. What more do you want from me? The house-elves can care for him."
"An heir is not merely a name," Rudolphus retorted. "Corvus must be molded, trained. He must understand the weight of our legacy. The Dark Lord requires our complete dedication, and that includes ensuring our son is ready to serve."
Corvus's hand hovered over his queen as the argument raged. His focus never wavered from the board.
Bellatrix reentered the room, having changed into a brown dress reminiscent of eighteenth-century England. She seized a potion bottle from near the bookcase, downed it, and tossed one to her husband.
"My body, mind, and soul belong to our Lord," she declared coldly. "It is only my concern for Corvus that keeps me from devoting myself entirely. Thank Merlin he is not like those needy children."
"Your devotion is evident," Rudolphus replied after swallowing the potion. "But Corvus is our future. He must embody pureblood ideals."
Corvus moved his queen, capturing one of his grandfather's rooks.
The old man nodded approvingly.
Bellatrix laughed bitterly. "Future? He is a chain around my neck. Without him, I would be at our Lord's side constantly instead of trapped here."
"Mind your words," Rudolphus warned. "He is a Black as much as a Lestrange."
"You speak as if you care," Bellatrix sneered. "You're just as absent as I am."
Mr. Lestrange calmly shifted his knight.
"Check."
Corvus leaned into his palm, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest as he calculated his response.
The argument continued.
"Sirius Black. Andromeda the traitor. And now James Potter consorting with that mudblood, Lily Evans," Bellatrix spat.
"Traitors," Rudolphus agreed. "The Dark Lord already bested Charles and Dorea Potter last year. If not for Dumbledore—"
"The Potters were formidable," Mr. Lestrange interrupted quietly, accepting the bishop Corvus had sacrificed. "They fought fiercely. Even our Lord was caught off guard."
Bellatrix's voice sharpened with nostalgia. "Dorea Potter bested me. They were exhausted, yet they held their ground. Our Lord offered mercy. They rejected it."
Corvus smiled faintly as his grandfather took the bait.
"Checkmate," he said softly.
Mr. Lestrange studied the board, respect glinting in his eyes.
After a pause, he spoke firmly. "Corvus will relocate with me to our estate in France. It will be safer while the revolution continues. You are both… occupied."
Bellatrix nodded. "Very well."
Rudolphus hesitated, then relented. "He must not be coddled."
Preparations were made swiftly.
Later, in his room, Corvus summoned his house-elf.
"Cherry."
A house-elf in pink drapes appeared instantly.
"Pack my clothes. Leave some behind. Bring all my books and notebooks."
"Yes, little master."
Corvus sat by the window, gazing at the stars. They always helped him think.
Bellatrix entered quietly.
"Corvus, we need to talk."
She spoke of duty, regret, her devotion to the Dark Lord, and her complicated love for him. She reminded him of his first meeting with the Dark Lord. How he had not cried. How proud she had been.
"You will go to France," she said. "We will meet again at the Halloween Gathering."
She paused at the door.
"You may take your raven and the house-elf."
After she left, Corvus exhaled slowly.
A shimmer of magic followed his movement as his notebook and paintings dissolved into rose petals and dried leaves, scattering across the floor.
"So many things to do," he thought dryly. "So little time."
Is this what transmigrators feel like?
And somewhere in the back of his mind, an absurd question surfaced.
When was Harry Potter born again?