Corvus watched Herpo's eyes flutter like a candle trapped in a draft.
The old wizard's mind had been a ruined library. His body matched it. Rot, salt, fish, and the sour edge of neglect clung to him like a second skin. Even the trickle from the ceiling could not wash the cave clean. It only made the filth slick.
Discord sat in the man like a lodged shard. Not a mood or a habit, it was a trait.
Corvus kept Psychic pressure steady while he shifted his focus inward. Necromancy in his hands became a method after Egypt. Soul Mastery sat inside it like a blade kept in a velvet case.
He could have killed Herpo with any number of means. A clean severing. A broken spine. A curse that stopped the heart.
None of those solved the problem. Herpo was stained immortal.
Corvus tightened his grip on the psychic field and watched the old wizard's shoulders sag under invisible hands. Herpo's lips moved as if he wanted to curse, pray, bargain, or laugh. No sound came. Corvus had taken that choice from him the moment he stepped into the cave.
The taint in Herpo's soul prickled against Corvus's senses. It carried the sharp scent of strife. It did not feel human. It felt like a god's joke that had lasted centuries.
Corvus did not touch it. He chose the worst option because it was the safest.
Soul Rend.
The spell did not need words. It needed a cold intent. Corvus let his will narrow to a point, then drove it forward.
Herpo's body jerked once. His hands clawed at nothing. A dry rattle escaped his throat as if the cave itself wanted to scream for him.
Corvus held the line. The soul inside Herpo tore. Unravelling thread by thread, until only a hollow shell remained.
The cave's stale air shifted. Dust fell from the ceiling in thin sheets. The stream wavered, then steadied again, as if even the water had flinched.
Herpo's eyes rolled back. For a heartbeat, the discord quieted, and Corvus glimpsed what might have been the man before the apple: a sharp mind, a hungry one, now lay there worse than the victims of Dementors.
Then the taint surged, trying to cling.
Corvus refused it.
The soul ruptured fully. Whatever anchor held Herpo in the world snapped. There was no ghost tug. No lingering thread. No elder residue creeping into the cave walls.
Herpo collapsed forward into the filth, heavy and ordinary. Corvus waited. Seconds passed. The only sounds were the water drip and the distant, patient slap of waves against rock.
Corvus loosened the psychic field and flew around the body without touching it. Disgust was not the issue. Contamination was.
Corvus moved to the corpse and opened a small spatial fold above it, a mouth of darkness that led to nowhere safe and nowhere relevant. The body slid into it in silence. The fold snapped shut.
The cave was empty now, save for the filth.
Corvus let himself feel the magic again. The discord residue remained in the stone and in the grime, but the core taint was gone. He had cut the immortal out of the world, not buried it.
"That," Corvus muttered to the empty cave, "was not even worth the walk."
He stepped through folded space and returned to steel and wards.
The frigate's corridor met him with clean air, polished metal, and the faint tang of engine heat. The ship's hum felt almost pleasant after the cave's stench.
He climbed to the deck without hurry. The crew adjusted around him in practised silence.
Corvus reached the helm area and tapped the chart table.
"Novorossiyk." He ordered.
The officer on duty straightened. "Course confirmed."
Corvus did not linger for ceremony. He turned away from the table and walked below deck at the same pace he used in a corridor at home. The crew opened the space without being told.
His chambers sat midship behind two warded doors. The first ward tasted him, accepted him, then let him through. The second did the same, slower, as if it liked the work.
Elizaveta waited inside.
She had been seated with a book open on her lap. The page did not turn. When Corvus entered, her nose wrinkled before she could stop it.
Her eyes met his, then dipped to his robes.
"You smell like a dead harbour," her voice carried no accusation. It carried relief that he was standing in front of her and not missing.
Corvus shut the door and leaned his shoulder into it for a brief second. The cave stench had followed him. Fish, damp stone, old rot. Even the ship's clean wards could not erase it instantly.
Elizaveta stood and crossed the room. Her hand took his without hesitation, fingers closing around his palm like a claim.
"Bath."
Corvus let her pull him, not because he needed guidance, but because he liked the certainty in her grip.
The bathroom was larger than most people's bedrooms. Marble underfoot. Brass fixtures warded against corrosion. A tub built like a small pool, deep enough to hide a man of his size.
Elizaveta's wand waved in her free hand. "Augmenti."
Water poured in smooth sheets, clear and hot, filling the tub with the sound of a river forced into a room. Steam rose and clung to the mirrors.
Corvus watched her work. His gaze stayed hungry, blunt, and unashamed. Elizaveta caught it and slowed on purpose. She stepped close and started unfastening his cloak. The clasp clicked. The fabric slid from his shoulders and hit the floor with soft weight. Her fingers moved to his collar, then down to the first buttons.
Corvus held still. The discipline that made him dangerous also made him patient.
Elizaveta eased his robes from him in stages. Damp air hit his skin. The smell did not vanish, but it stopped being trapped.
Corvus reached toward her waist. Elizaveta slapped his hand away with playful precision.
"You are stinking."
The words landed with that faint Russian bite she used when she was amused and taking control.
Corvus's mouth twitched. He did not argue. Elizaveta turned her back to him and began to undress. Her dress slid down slowly, gathered by her hands, then dropped to the floor in a quiet pool of fabric. She did not hide. She did not rush. She did it knowing exactly what it did to him.
Corvus's eyes tracked every movement. The steam softened the edges of her skin, but it did not soften his attention.
Elizaveta stepped into the tub first. The hot water climbed her legs, waist and stopped at her chest. She sank until the water reached her neck, then leaned back with a satisfied exhale.
Corvus stepped in next.
The heat wrapped him. It pulled the cold from his muscles and replaced it with something heavier. He lowered himself into the water, shoulders relaxing despite his effort to keep control.
Elizaveta moved behind him.
Her hands found his shoulders and pressed firmly, fingers sinking into the knots he carried like armour. She dragged her nails lightly across his skin, not enough to scratch, enough to remind him she could and definitely would in the coming hours.
Corvus's breath changed.
Elizaveta's mouth hovered near his ear for a moment, her lips close enough to feel. No words. Only the promise of them.
Then she reached for soap, worked it between her palms, and began to wash him.
She started at the back of his neck, careful and slow. Her thumbs traced the line where tension sat, then pressed in until it gave. Her hands slid down his shoulders, across his upper back, then lower, the water carrying her touch everywhere she wanted it to go.
Corvus's head tipped forward a fraction.
Elizaveta's breath warmed his skin. "You walked into something foul."
Corvus simply nodded and stayed silent.
She did not push for more. Her hands told him she had already read his mood and decided it was enough.
Elizaveta kissed the edge of his shoulder, a quick touch, then another lower, testing the line between comfort and hunger.
Corvus's hand rose again, slower this time.
Elizaveta caught his wrist and guided it away from her body, still gentle, still in control.
"Let me."
Corvus let his hand fall into the water.
Elizaveta's washing turned more intimate in its intent without turning crude. Soap, heat, fingers that lingered on purpose. She leaned closer, her breasts brushing his back, her mouth near his neck again.
Corvus's eyes closed for one beat.
When they opened, the hunger remained, sharpened by restraint.
Elizaveta rinsed him with a sweep of her hands, then curled her arms around his torso from behind and held him there.
"You did not get what you wanted."
The statement came quietly. Corvus's jaw tightened once.
Elizaveta's fingers traced the line of his ribs under the water. "That makes you dangerous in a different way."
Corvus turned his head enough to see her in the steam. "I am always dangerous."
Elizaveta's mouth curved, approving. "Yes. But now you are restless."
Her hand slid down to more private parts. Her other hand pushed wet hair back from his face, then smoothed it down along his scalp.
Corvus caught her wrist with a growl and brought her hand to his lips. The kiss was slow. It was also a promise.
Elizaveta shifted, facing him now. Water lapped against her collarbones. Steam clung to her lashes.
"You ordered Novorossiyk." Her tone stayed even. "You want to vanish again?"
Corvus held her gaze.
Elizaveta did not glare. She simply stayed present, the way she had learned to stay present around him.
"I will go to China," Corvus replied.
Elizaveta's face tightened for a moment, then softened into something steadier. Support did not mean liking it. It meant not making it worse.
Her hand slid across his chest under the water and rested there, warm and firm. Her other hand did not stop its motion. Gaining her feral growls. "Alone."
Corvus did not deny it.
Elizaveta's fingers pressed once, as if anchoring him. "Then you will return."
Corvus's mouth curved slightly. "That sounds like an order."
Elizaveta's eyes held that Volkov heat, controlled and proud. "It is a condition."
Corvus leaned forward and caught her mouth with his.
The kiss stayed hot, turning frantic after a while. It was pressure and restraint, the way they did everything. When he pulled back, Elizaveta kept her hand on him as if she did not trust the world to keep him in place.
Corvus's voice dropped. "I will return."
Elizaveta nodded and raised herself before sinking deeper. A gasp escaped her. Corvus's hands went to her hips. It was going to be a long bath.
--
Another year ended at Hogwarts with the usual theatre of house banners, scratched parchment, and exhausted children pretending they were not exhausted.
Harry Potter stood shoulder to shoulder with Neville Longbottom in front of the notice board in the Entrance Hall. The parchment was charmed to hold steady against the crowd, but the students pushed in anyway, fingers pointing, voices rising, jealousy leaking out of every breath.
Harry found the fourth-year section and read it twice.
Top twenty.
He had barely made it. Neville's name sat close enough to his.
Above them, the names that filled the top lines looked like a roll call from a war council. Blacks. Rosiers. Carrows. A single Draco Malfoy parked like a pale thorn.
Harry's eyes drifted to the fifth-year list.
Hermione Moira Carrow.
Top five.
Harry's throat tightened.
He had not slacked. He had not played. He had spent every hour he was awake studying, duelling, drilling, writing, reading, repeating. He had burned through ink like it was water.
Yet the gap remained.
Neville's fingers curled into his sleeve. "They are not just good."
Harry kept staring at the list. "It should not be possible to be this good."
Neville's shoulders rose with a slow breath. The discipline Corvus had taught them showed in the way Neville refused to let the feeling spill.
Harry forced himself to inhale through his nose and let it out slowly. The frustration stayed, but it stopped clawing.
This summer was going to be different. He was going to spend it with Sirius and enjoy every moment of it. He was curious about the Black Mansion. He was more excited about becoming an Animagus.
The thought hit like a door opening. Harry smiled and barely kept himself from laughing out loud. He had plans, Sirius had promised and an unforgettable summer.
When Harry had told Alice and Frank, Alice's face had gone flat, then sharp, then dangerously polite. Frank had looked amused. Sirius had looked proud and slightly alarmed by his own mouth.
Aunt Bellatrix had ended the argument before the wands came out with a hand on Alice's shoulder and a tone that left no room for refusal.
Harry's best memory of it was Neville trying to talk his parents into joining him. Neville's version of persuasion had included logic, pleading, and eventually desperate puppy eyes that would have worked on a kneazle. Frank had wavered, Alice had not.
In Harry's head, Alice's voice still carried the same calm blade. Neville, with puppy eyes, had leaned halfway across the kitchen table.
Alice exhaled and set her teacup down with careful precision.
Neville had tried again.
Alice had reached out and pinched his cheek, hard enough to make him yelp, then patted it as if she had soothed a toddler.
Frank had coughed into his fist, shoulders shaking.
Sirius had sprawled in his chair and watched with bright satisfaction, like a man enjoying a rare show where he was not the target.
Neville had glared at him. Sirius had raised both hands in mock innocence. Alice had lifted one brow. Neville's puppy eyes returned.
Alice had leaned forward. "It seems you have mastered at least the eyes aspect of the Animagi transformation, Neville. I will be expecting more throughout the summer."
Frank, Harry and Sirius could not hold their laughter after that. Sirius had taken the moment to offer helpful advice. "At least we can be sure you are a dog."
Alice had turned her head slightly and looked at him. Sirius had shut his mouth and looked at the ceiling. Back in the Entrance Hall, Neville's face still carried the faint sting of that memory.
Harry bumped his shoulder lightly against Neville's, a small show of solidarity.
Neville muttered something that sounded like a promise to win the next argument by brute persistence. They moved toward the carriages with the flow of students.
Draco Malfoy stepped into their path. He no longer carried the pampered bounce from his first year. His posture was straighter. His eyes were sharper. The fall of his father had carved something out of him and left something harder behind.
Narcissa's etiquette lessons had done the rest. Her being one of the most appreciated beauties in the Wizarding Britain was another. His duelling skills rose very quickly to shut down some of his yearmates.
Draco stopped at the correct distance.
He inclined his head with smooth restraint. "Heirs Potter and Longbottom."
Harry returned the nod with the right angle and pace.
Neville mirrored it, a fraction slower.
Draco's mouth tightened into something that might have been a polite smile if anyone believed him capable of warmth in public. "A pleasant vacation."
Harry watched him turn and walk away, robe hem moving with controlled grace.
-
The platform at Hogsmeade looked like a formal gathering instead of a chaotic goodbye.
Alice and Frank waited near the carriage line with Sirius Black, all three of them dressed like adults who expected trouble even on a holiday. Narcissa Malfoy stood slightly apart with Draco, her hand resting on his shoulder with a mother's quiet claim.
Harry reached Sirius first.
Sirius pulled him into a hug that was too tight and too fast, the kind of affection delivered like a promise. Harry's chest warmed despite himself.
Alice hugged Neville with the same fierce grip, then shifted and hugged Harry as well.
Frank followed with a hand on both boys' shoulders, steady and grounding.
Narcissa's fingers slid along Draco's cheek with restrained tenderness. Draco held still, letting it happen. A mother's affection was priceless.
Then the floo flare hit the platform edge. Green fire spat and collapsed. Bellatrix Black strode out as if she owned the station. The air around her felt different, charged and sharp. She did not greet anyone. She did not slow. She went straight to Draco.
Her hands rose and captured his face. Fingers dug into his cheeks, squeezing until his skin reddened.
"Are you on top?"
Draco's eyes widened briefly, then his posture snapped back into place. "Yes, Aunt Bella. First in Dark Arts and Potions. Top five in Charms, Healing, and Rituals."
Bellatrix's grip tightened a fraction as if the numbers pleased her. Narcissa's expression stayed composed, but her exhale came out tired. Bellatrix released Draco's cheeks and immediately pinched them again, as if she could not help herself.
"Of course you are." Her smile turned sharp. "You are my nephew. And I, your favourite aunt, had arranged a gift."
Every adult's attention shifted.
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with the kind of pride that had teeth. "Corvus will teach you to become an animagus."
Sirius's brows shot up.
Neville's eyes widened.
Harry's heart gave a stupid, jealous leap.
Narcissa turned her head slowly, the motion controlled to the point of threat. "Dear sister." Her tone stayed polite. "Did you bother to ask Corvus if he will be available before promising his time?"
Bellatrix waved one hand as if shooing a fly. "Why would I do such a thing, Cissa?"
She began counting on her fingers.
"No active wars. No invasions. Last I heard, he took a frigate with that Volkova girl and went to Egypt to rob crypts."
Bellatrix paused, brows knitting.
"Or was it Spain?"
Her hand dropped. She turned to Sirius with bright, expectant eyes.
Sirius scratched the back of his head, looking genuinely unsure. "I thought he was in Greece."
He glanced at Harry and Neville as if asking them to confirm.
"Maybe Turkey?" Sirius added, voice lighter.
Narcissa's gaze went flat.
No anger in it. Just that cold, clean emptiness that came from dealing with Bella and Siri. She wished Andy were here to help her.
She lifted her chin. "Tibby."
Nothing happened for nearly half a minute. Narcissa waited. Bellatrix crossed her arms and looked offended in principle.
The Longbottoms watched in the cautious way of people who had stumbled into a family ritual they did not fully understand.
A few seconds later, a soft pop. Tibby appeared with a deep bow, long ears flopping forward. "Good sister calls Tibby."
Bellatrix leaned in. "What do you mean by good sister, Tibby?"
Tibby turned toward her with solemn focus, then pointed at Narcissa. "She is the good sister."
His finger shifted toward Bellatrix. "You are the barmy sister."
Bellatrix blinked.
Narcissa's mouth twitched once, then smoothed.
Tibby's finger swung toward Sirius with absolute confidence. "Old Master says throw him to Medusa if he does not behave."
Sirius's head snapped back. "Hey. Why am I the basilisk's food?"
Tibby nodded as if Sirius had raised a fair, adult concern. "No worries." His tone turned soothing, the way an adult spoke to an upset child. "Master told Medusa not to eat you."
Sirius's mouth opened.
Tibby continued, unfazed. "He said you are no good for her stomach. Old Kreacher also says you are no good to be served."
Sirius stared at him, offence and disbelief warring on his face.
Bellatrix nodded with a serious face as if a scholar gave a lecture on life choices.
Narcissa pressed her lips together, not to give any reaction, which would encourage the elf.
Frank raised both hands, palms out, trying to herd the conversation back into something that resembled sanity.
"I have questions," Frank managed, voice careful. "First and foremost. Who is Medusa?"
Sirius, Bellatrix, and Narcissa answered at once.
"Corvus's basilisk."
Frank froze.
He blinked repeatedly, face working as he tried to assemble the sentence he wanted.
Nothing came.
Neville's eyes slid to Harry in a silent exchange that contained equal parts horror and delight.
Tibby leaned toward Frank with the intimacy of a conspirator.
His whisper came out high and pleased.
"Black Madness."
Frank lowered his hands slowly.
Alice's voice cut in, crisp and controlled, like she had decided the only safe way through this was to treat it as an Auror would. "All right."
Her gaze pinned Sirius first. Then Bellatrix and lastly at Narcissa.
"Explain."