It took the better part of an hour to make Arcturus and Vinda leave the room with anything resembling peace of mind. Even then, Corvus did not believe either of them had been convinced.
The moment the door shut behind them, Elizaveta climbed straight into his lap.
She settled there with all the quiet certainty of a woman who had already decided the argument and did not care whether he agreed. Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, then through his hair.
"I thought we had agreed to keep your height as it was, husband." Her eyes locked with his and narrowed. "I refuse to look like a Puffskein trying to climb you."
Corvus held his chuckle for as long as he could. The failure of that effort was brief, warm, and entirely her fault.
With a thought, he let his flesh shift.
Bones shortened. Shoulders drew in. The room eased around him as he settled back to a little over eight feet and no longer crowding the ceiling.
Elizaveta exhaled, half exasperation and half relief. She laid one palm against his chest and looked up at him as if confirming that all the familiar lines were where they belonged.
"I wish I had this talent for changing shape," she murmured. "It would make life easier."
Corvus bent into her hair and kissed her forehead. "You are not allowed to change anything on this body of yours, wife." His mouth slid to the line of her neck. He nipped once, lightly. "You are perfect as you are."
She tilted her head to give him easier access and let her hand settle over his shoulder. "I will hold you to that sentence when we are both over a hundred."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It is a promise."
He liked that answer enough not to spoil it.
After a while, he stood, still holding her. She did not loosen her grip. One arm was around his neck, the other lay across his shoulders. She had no intention of separating from him for the rest of the night.
"I need to lie down for a while, my little wolf."
She only tightened her hold by a degree.
When they reached the bed, she finally released him enough to let him sit. He expected her to take the pillows next to his. Instead, she settled against the headboard, patted her lap once, and looked at him with the calm authority of a woman who knew she would be obeyed.
Corvus lowered himself until his head rested on her thighs.
Her fingers began to move through his hair at once.
The touch was slow. Steady. It asked for nothing and gave him peace of mind.
He closed his eyes, reached inward and started the absorption of Dimensional Mastery.
The memories came hard and broad, not because the Architect had lived wildly, but time itself had weight when measured in millennia.
They began where Mictlantecuhtli's shard had already taken him, with the circle of Architects opening a passage to this world and stepping through it.
It was among them. Then he saw Hades calling the Architect Thanatos.
Not one of the central powers. An underling by their standards, though still far beyond any lesser life this planet had ever produced. He had been left behind to supervise this world's setup, maintain the soul arrays, and ensure the harvest remained orderly until the others returned.
Every two to three centuries, he activated the greater structure, processed the souls accumulated through the cycle, and condensed them into philosopher's stones. The output was stored, preserved and counted. Left waiting for a collection that might arrive after ten thousand years and still be considered punctual.
Corvus lay absolutely still while the knowledge settled around that fact. Even with Extreme Speed, processing the memories was taking time.
Thanatos spent centuries sitting on his throne and doing almost nothing, because almost nothing had been his function. He watched, maintained, processed, and waited.
Corvus endured those stretches; the useful parts were buried between them.
He saw Architects etching the first runes of Purgatory into the raw substance of that place. He watched them cut channels that were not meant for mortal geometry and anchor them to this world. He saw how the arrays communicated with the planet and how little was returned to keep the will of the world docile.
That alone sharpened his understanding of greater structures.
The most important sequence came centuries apart and repeated so consistently that it could not be ignored. Once every hundred years, Hades himself gave Thanatos a vial of blood.
Corvus saw it in Thanatos' memories, felt it in its body and memory, and understood the simple hunger behind the custom. It made one question stand, though. What stopped these beings from devouring each other outright? The answer, if there was one, did not come cleanly in those memories.
By the time the absorption ended, the room had long since gone quiet around him. Elizaveta's hand was still in his hair. Tibby had curled up at the foot of the bed. Umbra had claimed the headboard.
Corvus opened his eyes.
Elizaveta was asleep where she sat, her head angled against the carved wood behind her, one hand still resting near his temple. She had not meant to sleep. That much was obvious from the way she held herself; some deeper part of her still intended to wake the moment he moved.
He eased out of the bed with great care.
She did not stir. He corrected her posture with telekinesis, covered her and Tibby. When turned to the headboard, Umbra's gaze clashed with his. The lovely raven nodded, and he vanished from the room.
He stepped into his study at Grimmauld Place a moment later. The old room greeted him with quiet books, layered wards, and the obsidian box he had brought from the chamber in Brazil.
It sat where he had left it, heavy and self-important on the desk.
Corvus opened it and looked at the vials inside.
Thanatos had spoken true then, or true enough to be useful. The Brazilian cache almost certainly held the same substance, blood of the Architects, bottled and stored for later consumption by their offspring or underlings.
He shut the lid and stood there for a long moment.
Temptation was never loud with him. It arrived as arithmetic. Gain measured against risk. Opportunity against delay. The decision itself remained unfinished.
Corvus reached into the box and drew out one crystal vial.
Dark liquid shifted inside.
He turned the vial once, watching dawn light catch the glass. He was still undecided, should he consume the blood now or after he replicated everything Thanatos offered.
--
The next morning, Fleur woke in the Beauxbatons carriage, dressed, and decided she had waited long enough.
It had been three days since she had last seen Corvus or Elizaveta. That alone justified a visit. Worry merely improved the argument.
By the time she judged herself presentable, the decision had become a pleasant certainty.
She asked one of her guards if he could call for a dragon. After some minutes, the magnificent creature landed on the frigate's deck under the ship's acceptance wards. She took in the familiar line of Hogwarts below before moving inside.
The vessel always pleased her. Not because it was subtle. It was not. It was simply disciplined enough to look understated while carrying enough force to threaten entire ministries.
Below deck, Elizaveta felt Fleur's signature the moment it approached the vessel.
She looked up from her tea and let out a breath of ease.
Elizaveta was the only other person, other than Corvus, who could command the frigate. Naturally, that meant the ship accepted her like kin, with access to nearly everything except the one study Corvus kept entirely his own.
When Fleur reached the drawing room door, Elizaveta was already on her feet.
A small smile touched her mouth. Softer than most people ever saw from her.
"Fleur."
Fleur stepped in and let her gaze sweep the room.
She returned the smile. "Elizaveta." Her eyes sharpened a little. "You look as beautiful as a rising sun."
"That is a charming way to greet a future kinswoman."
"It is an honest one." Fleur crossed the room and accepted the offered kiss to her cheek. "I thought honesty was respected aboard this floating fortress."
"It is even demanded." Elizaveta gestured toward the tea service. "Sit and be useful. Distract me."
Fleur's brows rose. "That bad?"
The conversation turned after that. Not far, but enough. Tournament rumours. The appetite of the Beauxbatons girls for gossip. Which colour suited Fleur best, and how all women eventually learned to use silence as a form of violence.
For a little while, the frigate stopped feeling like a place where one could vanish beyond the Veil and return larger.
-
In London, Sirius Black came out of the Floo into the Ministry atrium looking sharper than he had in years.
Today, he intended to propose to Amelia.
As the only reasonable and sane member of House Black, he had naturally decided that consulting Bellatrix was the logical way to approach the subject.
To his endless surprise, it had worked.
Bella, under all the Black madness, was a fluffy little thing, at least when she chose to be. She had arranged everything down to the minute, including what he would wear, which flowers meant what, and how many times he was allowed to rake a hand through his hair before he started to look like a man on his way to apologise for treason.
She had made him practise every line.
Then, once she decided he was acceptable, she sent him off with a Depulso strong enough to qualify as affection.
Such a loving cousin.
He checked the flowers in each pocket and repeated which one should be presented when exactly. He moved toward the lifts with a spring in his step.
Clerks noticed, one or two even stared. Sirius let them. He looked good, felt better, and had no intention of pretending otherwise.
By the time he stepped out near the DMLE, he had already gone over the opening line three more times.
Not because he lacked nerve.
Because Bella had drilled the rhythm into him with military cruelty.
Do not start with a joke, do not mention Azkaban. Praise Bella for her altruism and beauty.
Do not say you loved Amelia until the first time she threatens you with arrest.
He still thought that last point was debatable.
Sirius straightened his sleeves, rolled his shoulders once, and started toward Amelia's office.
Whatever happened next, he was at least going to arrive properly.
Bella would haunt him if he did not.