Corvus stopped using Portkeys, Flame Travel, and Apparition the moment Spatial Mastery settled properly into his skill set. He chuckled, thinking what Karkaroff's reaction would be to him and Elizaveta simply disappearing without the swirl of apparition or a Portkey.
Potterverse spellcraft had been a language built for details without comprehending the entirety of what Magic is. There were thousands of charms, hexes, and curses, each one for a specific action. It was shaped through a wand, a gesture, a word, a rune, a focus. Even the Dark, Light, Black and White magic had etiquette, even if their manners had sharper fangs and intense emotional ranges.
The magic the Elders used was different. He started to call it High Magic. It required two things. Intent and dominance.
Corvus stood in his private chamber and let the world simplify into what mattered. The way mana moved around stone and iron. The way wards altered flow like dams and river beds. The way living bodies create their own small disturbances.
He appeared in his study, the Nest greeted him with waxed stone and ink. It smelled like order and control, and it sounded like disciplined quiet. No laughter. No idle chatter. Footsteps that kept to the edges. Doors that opened and closed with purpose.
Black Bastion had over five hundred guards here, in the Headquarters.
He settled into his chair behind his desk, a Shadow waited at the inner threshold. The man offered a short bow, respectful without flattery, and presented a sealed packet on his gloved palm.
Corvus broke the seals with a brush of intent.
The parchment unfolded in the air and arranged itself for speed. Ink brightened. Lines shifted to place the important names where his eyes landed first.
A group that moved wherever the Unit and the Healers appeared. Not only in GAIA but in MACUSA and Middleeast as well.
They did not argue; they simply provoked. They did not preach to convert people; they do it to ignite.
Corvus read without blinking.
This was not a collection of random fools waving placards. The funding was too clean. The transport routes were too consistent. The timing matched media schedules in a way street men did not understand. The language in the leaflets had been polished by people who had read law. The reports included references to the Vatican, to Jerusalem, to Mecca, to Tehran and to Al Azhar.
Corvus folded the parchment back into the packet. His decision arrived in the same breath. He would turn the tables; if they want a religious theatre, they will be disappointed. He would not allow the so-called sacred language to become a shield for men who used weak minds as disposable tools. He lifted his gaze.
"How many did you replace?"
He would not let some people, radical enough to dig up a seven-month-old corpse in 897 AD, conduct a trial and found the 'corpse' guilty, cut off his fingers and throw the body to Tiber River to decide. The other actors were no different. These organisations had serious corruption that makes the atmosphere of Venus friendly when compared.
The Shadow did not hesitate. "Forty-three at leadership level across the network, Lord. Two hundred and eleven in support, finance, and transport."
Corvus nodded in satisfaction. Black Spire was the sharpest tool in his budding empire.
The numbers were enough to cripple, yet not enough to clean the rot.
"The source of the phrase?"
The Shadow's breathing tightened for a fraction. "Jurists and media figures. Some sincere. Most purchased. They feed the street-level men the term 'Obligatory Execution' based on their scripture."
"Did you identify the minds behind these groups' actions?"
The Shadow inclined his head. "Yes, Lord."
Loudmouths were useful. They gave the public a clear face for what was wrong. They also drew attention away from the men who mattered.
Corvus leaned back. Hence, the solution was simple.
"I want to see the headlines on every Muggle channel. Inverted crucifixion for the ones from Rome. Push the ones from the Western Wall for Jerusalem and behead the rest. Make sure they are placed on public squares."
The Shadow's jaw tightened once, then smoothed. "Understood."
Corvus turned away and walked, pace measured.
"We will remove organisers, financiers, the men who hand out scripts and money."
The Shadow followed, silent.
Corvus continued. "Redirect their funds into charity drives. Real ones. Food, medicine and environmental foundations. Let their own followers praise them for generosity while the knives are taken from their hands."
A pause.
The Shadow's voice stayed careful. "And the sincere ones."
Corvus did not slow. "Let them be. They will scream into empty rooms."
He moved through the inner corridors of the Nest.
A group of Healers stood at a side table, reading reports from the last two public appearances. They looked tired.
The Healers were the light and soft face of the Mana users, while The Unit was the other side. If this incident happened a year earlier, Corvus would not have acted as he did now. But the balance was not what it was anymore. He was not afraid of a total war with the Muggles. If they pushed, his response would be to reduce their population to a more 'manageable' number. Though he highly doubts their governments, with most of their posts held by shadows, would do such a thing.
Corvus had built both for the same reason. To let Muggles get used to Mana users. They needed to see power. If the public only saw the hard face, it would fear and resent. If it only saw the soft face, it would become entitled.
-
A Black Bastion cadre waited near the departure hall.
They were not his protection. They were his honour guards. Men tall enough to make a normal wizard look like a schoolboy. Their eyes tracked Corvus with a reverence.
Corvus gave them a nod, enough to feed the mechanism. Spines straightened. A sense of being seen settled over them like a reward. He stepped past them after telling them where he was going.
Space folded again.
Black Manor's receiving corridor replaced the Nest. A moment later, seven guards of the Bastion apparated and took their positions. Candlelight sat in steady rows along the wall. The mansion did not feel like a home. It felt like a fortress that remembered how to host.
Corvus did not announce himself. while moving towards the voices of Arcturus and Grigori, loud enough to be heard. A third voice, crisp and cold, Oksana Volkova.
Corvus paused at the threshold for one heartbeat and listened.
This was not anger; this was ownership. A fourth voice drifted in, amused.
Vinda.
Of course... the usual suspects, he shook his head with amusement.
Corvus stepped in. Arcturus sat at the head of a low table, spine straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. He did not look like a man arguing. He looked like a man deciding.
Grigori stood by the hearth, shoulders wide, hands behind his back as if preparing to command a regiment.
Oksana sat on the sofa with perfect posture and an expression that suggested she was judging the furniture for weakness.
Elizaveta stood near the window, gaze on the gardens, face composed, mouth tight.
Vinda lounged in an armchair as if attending a theatre.
Corvus's presence drew attention the way a blade drew light.
Arcturus acknowledged him with a nod. Grigori's eyes narrowed. Oksana's gaze flicked to Corvus's height, then to Elizaveta, then back. Vinda's mouth curved.
Elizaveta finally turned. Her eyes locked onto Corvus. A warning sat there. Corvus gave her a look of calm innocence.
He had none.
Arcturus spoke first, tone mild. "You are just in time."
Corvus chose a chair and sat, placing himself slightly off line from both patriarchs. Neutral position. It annoyed them both.
Grigori broke the silence. "It will be in Moscow."
Corvus met his gaze and let a small politeness into his expression. "May I know the reason for this respectable conversation?"
Grigori's lips thinned.
Oksana's eyes sharpened.
Elizaveta exhaled slowly.
Arcturus's ring tapped once on his chair arm.
Vinda's voice floated in like silk over steel. "They are trying to agree on the date and some 'minor' details of the wedding before bringing it to you."
Arcturus returned to business. "Time for Handfasting is naturally Beltane."
Corvus inclined his head once.
Grigori stepped closer to the table. "There is no argument over the time of the ritual, and you know it. It is the location."
Corvus started to feel a headache.
Handfasting was the name of the ritual that Magicals have instead of weddings. It was a binding of a Witch and a Wizard in the eyes of Mother Magic.
Ribbon wrapped at the wrists, knots tied in front of witnesses who would remember every detail. The ribbon was a symbol and contract. It forced families into discipline because everyone saw the oath.
Oksana joined smoothly. "It should be conducted in Russia."
Arcturus's gaze did not flicker. "England."
Grigori's tone turned hard. "We are Volkovs, Black. We do our handfastings in the Tundra. Not in someone else's hall. Even if that someone is the groom." He murmured the last part quietly.
Arcturus's mouth curved into polite sharpness. "I can make it snow at the time of the ritual, you old wolf. You will feel just like at home."
Grigori leaned forward. "We will make it in Moscow, Arcturus; it is our tradition."
Elizaveta's mouth tightened. Corvus watched her instead of them. She wanted the ritual; there was no question about it. But she did not want Volkovs and Blacks to turn a ribbon into a Cold War.
Vinda leaned forward slightly, eyes bright with mischief. "If you want a solution, choose a third location."
Arcturus and Grigori cut her down with one word. "No."
Oksana's tone turned mocking. "Switzerland, perhaps."
Vinda's gaze moved to Corvus. "Your absence caused this."
Corvus met her eyes. "You are welcome."
Elizaveta's eyes narrowed.
Corvus continued, voice calm. "You are turning a wedding into a prestige contest between House Black and House Volkov. This is a tragedy."
Arcturus's ring tapped once. "It becomes a tragedy if it fractures our traditions."
Corvus acknowledged the point with a small nod.
Grigori's voice turned colder. "Volkov traditions do not bend."
Arcturus returned the line with smooth certainty. "Nor does the Black."
Silence held the room for a breath.
Elizaveta stepped forward.
Her voice stayed polite, but steel lived under it. "If you insist on treating this as a contest, then it will be a contest."
Oksana's gaze softened by a fraction. Pride.
Grigori's mouth curved. Satisfaction.
Arcturus's eyes narrowed. Calculation.
Vinda looked delighted.
Elizaveta continued. "However. The contest will be conducted by the rules. Not by a tantrum."
She turned to Arcturus first. "Uncle Arcturus, you will not treat my house as guests in your country. You will treat them as equals."
Arcturus inclined his head once. "Of course."
Elizaveta turned to Grigori. "Grandfather, you will not treat House Black as if they are begging for entry. They are not."
Grigori held her gaze, then gave a short nod.
Elizaveta's attention moved to Vinda. "And Aunt Vinda."
Vinda smiled. "Yes, my dear."
Elizaveta's tone stayed even. "Do not inflame this for your entertainment, please."
Vinda's smile remained. "I cannot promise that."
Elizaveta closed her eyes in desperation.
Corvus watched the exchange and felt pride settle cleanly.
His wolf was learning to command rooms full of predators.
Corvus stood up. We will do the ritual twice. One in England and one in Russia. The first ritual will be conducted in Moscow as it is the home of the bride. After that, we will move to Black Manor to repeat it.
Arcturus started murmuring about being first, but no one cared anymore. Grigori had a satisfied smile.
Arcturus returned to business. "I will have Narcissa organise security, guest list, the ritual structure, witnesses and press management."
Oksana's gaze sharpened at the last phrase. "I will manage everything on Volkov mansion."
Corvus turned to Elizaveta. "Now that the emergency is settled, we need to leave."
She nodded and linked her arm to his.
Corvus folded space and vanished. Sea air replaced Mansion.
The frigate's deck welcomed him with salt wind and disciplined quiet. Bastion guards straightened at his arrival.
Corvus walked to the rail and looked across the dark water.
Spain waited.