Two more days passed before Corvus returned to the frigate.
He had spent them in Grimmauld Place, mostly in the ritual room, forcing the new blood to settle into obedience instead of letting it act like weather with ambitions. By the end, the arcs no longer burst from him when his focus slipped for a second. He could hold them under control until they were nothing more than a low pressure in the veins, or let them dance over his hands and shoulders with a precision that pleased him.
That alone had been worth the time.
He appeared in his study in the late afternoon and stood still for a moment while the room greeted him properly. The hum in the walls remained steady. The maps were where he had left them. The reports on the side table had multiplied, which meant Elizaveta had been using the room while he was gone.
He was starving.
"Tibby."
The elf appeared with a silent pop.
Corvus blinked, tilted his head, looked again. Then blinked a second time, slower now, because the first look had not improved matters.
Tibby had something tied over his head that might once have been intended as a headbonnet. It sat crooked over one ear and carried a row of feathers stuck into the fabric like a failed military display. Each feather had been painted a different colour. The workmanship was abysmal. One had streaks where the paint had dried in clumps. Another had been missed at the base entirely.
Corvus let the silence sit long enough for the absurdity to mature.
"Tibby." His eyes stayed on the elf's head. "Why do you have chicken feathers on your head?"
Tibby drew himself up with great dignity. "Tibby is Supreme Chicken Elf, master."
That did not improve anything.
Corvus looked at the feathers again and decided, for the moment, not to ask who had encouraged this. The list of suspects would only upset him, and all of them shared his surname.
Tibby lifted a frail hand and started counting with solemn importance.
"Master is supreme." He pointed to one of the feathers that had been painted black. "Shadow chicken." His finger shifted to the red one. "Fire chicken." Then he touched a yellow-brown feather and frowned deeply, causing the whole bonnet to tilt. "Tibby does not know what porcupine chicken colour is."
Corvus closed his eyes for one brief second.
He was going to have to explain the avian family tree to the elf. Properly, from dinosaurs onward, if that was what it took.
Later.
Preferably after eating.
"Will Supreme Tibby prepare some dinner for me, please?"
The elf brightened at once and bowed so deeply the bonnet nearly fell off. "Supreme Tibby obeys supreme master."
He vanished with another pop.
Corvus finally allowed himself the smallest exhale and moved toward the armchair by the main desk, which remained his preferred place in the room.
He had barely settled when the study door opened.
Elizaveta walked in and crossed the room without asking whether he had time. She came straight to him, turned slightly, and climbed into his lap as though the chair had been designed with that exact use in mind.
It almost had.
Her hand went to his shoulder first, then to the side of his neck. She liked confirming he was whole and hale with touch.
"We are invited to Black Manor."
Corvus's eyes widened by a fraction, and lightning blue flashed through them before he could stop it.
The last time she had begun a sentence with those words, Fleur had become part of his life. He could have stopped that, of course. He had simply failed to see a reason compelling enough to bother. Fleur was useful, beautiful, and politically valuable.
Still, the line of thought remained educational.
Elizaveta let out a short laugh, then saw the brief blue flare. The amusement left her face, replaced by cooler attention.
"Should I be worried, husband?"
Corvus shook his head and leaned in to steal a kiss before the concern could shape itself into something more.
She bit him lightly and deepened it in a way that made the question irrelevant for a while.
When he let her go, he kept one hand at her waist and the other against her spine.
"What is the occasion this time?"
"Sirius and Amelia." Her fingers began drawing idle circles on his chest through the fabric of his shirt. "Their engagement will be announced with a small ball."
Corvus looked past her shoulder for a moment, thought of Sirius in formal robes, then pictured Bellatrix having opinions about the event.
A very small part of him pitied Amelia.
"We had better go and make certain the Director is not under any spell or potion." His tone stayed grave with mock seriousness. "When is this ball?"
"This evening." Elizaveta shifted slightly against him, comfortable enough to make it difficult to remember that time existed. "I was going to send Tibby to find you if you had not returned within the hour. I have already arranged our outfits. After a bath, we can prepare and leave at once."
Corvus nodded.
Tibby appeared at that exact moment and announced his meal was ready with the solemnity of a herald delivering news of a coronation.
"Master's food waits in the dining room."
Elizaveta slipped off his lap and crossed toward the sofa she preferred when she wanted comfort.
"Fleur will be here shortly," she added.
Corvus turned his head.
"She will come with us."
That made sense. Fleur, as the elder daughter of the French Minister, had enough standing, with or without him, to be included in such evenings. Excluding her would have been rude.
He asked whether Elizaveta would join him for the meal and got only a slow shake of the head in answer. She had already eaten or had decided to punish him lightly for disappearing again.
Both were plausible.
Hence, he rose and walked toward the dining room.
Tibby had outdone himself.
The bonnet was gone, which improved the meal immediately. The table held roast beef, buttered potatoes, a dark gravy heavy with black pepper, warm bread, and a bowl of greens dressed simply enough that one could still recognise the original leaf. There was also a plate of roasted carrots with honey, which Tibby must have added out of some private conviction that all meals required sweetness near the edge.
Corvus sat and ate without rushing.
Halfway through the meal, Fleur's signature touched the ship.
By the time he returned to the study after eating, Fleur was already there.
She stood near the window speaking with Elizaveta and had chosen something elegant enough to remind the world that French women had weaponised fabric centuries ago.
Fleur turned as he entered. "I missed you." She greeted and walked towards him. "You look better than the last time I saw you," she whispered when he leaned down to hug her.
Elizaveta looked between them. A slight smile appeared on her face. "The bath is ready." She informed Corvus.
-
When they finally arrived at Black Manor, music drifted through the lower halls. Lights burned warm in every chandelier. The ballroom doors stood open, and the first thing that reached them was the sound of conversation sharpened by curiosity.
Small ball was a lie of scale only. By Black standards, perhaps. By any rational measure, half of Wizarding Britain appeared to be in attendance.
The announcement itself went as expected.
Sirius looked almost respectable, Amelia looked composed enough to survive him, which was more valuable. There was applause, proper bows, smiling lies, honest congratulations, and at least three old women mentally rearranging bloodlines before the second toast.
Corvus moved through it all with ease.
He was enjoying the ball, in a limited and practical sense. The wine was good. The music was acceptable. Fleur looked pleased. Elizaveta looked amazing. Amelia wore her control like armour, and Sirius had the expression of a man who had just discovered the world could, in fact, be kind once in a while.
Still, his mind was already elsewhere.
Beyond the ballroom and the manor. Beyond the Ministries, the magical world, and certainly beyond the mundane one.
He had decided what came next.
The rest of Juracán's blood would be consumed and consolidated. There was no purpose in letting the vials sit. At the same time, he would replicate everything Thanatos had, then consume the blood he had taken from him.
The Nereids would not remain untouched either. Nor the creatures of Abydos that still had purpose left in them. Every useful branch would be absorbed.
His time in this world was coming to an end.
There were still tasks left to settle. Loose structures to tighten. Certain ministries to leave in stable hands. Certain people where they needed to be so they would continue without him. Yet the direction itself was clear.
He was already beyond the ceiling of this world. And there was still the sole Architect to consider.
Thanatos sat in Purgatory, and Corvus had plans for him.
A hand touched his sleeve.
Elizaveta.
He turned back to the ballroom at once.
Her gaze held his for a heartbeat, long enough to show that she knew his mind was not there. And had decided to settle him with her warmth.
"Will my husband not dance with me?"
Corvus let one corner of his mouth lift and offered her his hand with proper form.
He led her to the floor.
Music rose. Her hand settled into his. The room adjusted around them the way such rooms always did when power entered the centre, and everyone else remembered their place.
For a little while, Corvus let the future wait.
Only for a little while.