The year was coming to an end at Hogwarts, and the change in the castle had stopped pretending it was subtle. Ravenclaw still carried the reputation of bookworms, but it no longer carried it alone.
Passing a year became a matter of passing exams. Both Theory and Practice, if a student is capable of performing above his year and can prove it, he will be allowed to skip that year and sit with students at his level.
That single rule pulled the lazy into panic and pulled the capable into hunger. Core lessons that used to feel like niche clubs became crowded. The Animagi class drew students who wanted an animal form. Rituals filled with those who learned quickly that power came with procedure and sacrifice. Dark Arts became one of the most popular as one of the core classes. Defence Against Muggles turned into a badge, not a curiosity.
Harry and Neville lived in that current for months.
They worked hard, studied hard, and kept their discipline when others tried to bargain with themselves. They passed the last of their third year exams after Yule. Today, they sat the last six exams of fourth year, and even their walk back to the Great Hall felt like another parchment waiting to be studied.
Harry's hands still carried ink in the creases. Neville's robe sleeve had a faint scorch mark near the cuff, the sort a professor pretends not to see when the student passes the practicals with a perfect score.
They sat at the Gryffindor table and started to eat because their bodies demanded it.
Food had become one of the best practical changes in the castle. The old heavy dishes still appeared, but they no longer dominated the table like punishment. There was variety now, proper variety, the sort that made students talk about flavours instead of merely filling their plates. Pumpkin juice sat among the pitchers and no longer ruled them.
Harry's gaze drifted to the Hufflepuff table again.
Susan Bones looked more beautiful every time he saw her, and it irritated him that the thought did not go away with revision schedules and late nights. His eyes slid to Hannah Abbott next.
Neville did not even pretend.
Neville watched Hannah with the steady focus of a boy drenched in love.
Harry's mind ran ahead in the way it always did when he was tired. Susan for him. Hannah for Neville. Two respectable matches that would make even the old portraits nod in approval.
A voice cut the thought.
"Oi, Potter, stop creeping over Bones and Abbott."
Ronald Weasley, as usual.
The baboon was the shame of Gryffindor, and every student wearing red and gold was praying to Mother Magic for the day the moron got expelled or, at the very least, learned the difference between wit and noise.
Harry's jaw tightened. Neville's fingers paused on his cutlery. A couple of older Gryffindors glanced over, already measuring the trouble.
The double doors of the Great Hall opened, and the room changed without being told.
Corvus Black entered with Elizaveta Volkova to his right, their arms linked.
It had been over two years since students saw Professor Black within the hall. The last story that had travelled through the castle with any certainty was simple. Headmistress Rosier and Professor Black had a small disagreement that ended with corridors, walls, and runic arrays restored and renewed from the third floor to the Headmistress's office. A disagreement at their level was not something regular Witches and Wizards should stay around.
Elizaveta Volkova drew eyes, as always. Granddaughter of Minister Grigori Volkov, fiancée of Corvus Black, she stood as a model of composure. Ravenclaw's exemplar and half the school's quiet rebuke when it came to study habits. Her calm carried the kind of weight that made others feel clumsy in comparison. She had graduated from Durmstrang with perfect marks and eight electives. Then advanced to complete masteries in Potions, Charms, and Healing.
Heir Black had changed as well. He had been tall and bulky; now he was a giant.
Elizaveta barely reached his chest, and she carried that fact like a private joke. Their arms stayed linked. Corvus moved as if the aisle belonged to him, and the size of him made the space feel smaller. It was not only height. It was density. He looked like one of the new Aurors had been dressed in expensive robes and set loose among children.
Harry's eyes tracked him and caught the other difference.
Heir Black carried a weight that did not belong in a school. His eyes had a strange glow and heaviness to them, the sort that made you think twice before speaking, even if you had the right to. When he turned his head, Harry felt the pressure of the gaze like a hand at the back of his neck.
Corvus gave him a simple nod and moved on.
Headmistress Rosier rose to meet him. She hugged him lightly, as much as she could with the difference in size. Aurors along the walls saluted at the same time. The reverence in their eyes was shocking. They did not show it to Minister Arcturus Black. They showed it to Corvus Black. It was more than loyalty.
Vinda greeted Elizaveta with the ease and warmth of a mother and guided both of them to the dais. Professors joined in. Greengrass first, Morozova then Flitwick, and a few others who kept their expressions polite and their eyes careful.
Students tried to continue eating while watching.
Harry started to stand. He wanted to talk with heir Black, and only Mother Magic knew when he would encounter him again.
A voice slid into his mind with the same calm used for a lesson.
Sit down, Potter. This is not the time nor the place.
Harry froze. His eyes widened. His mouth opened and then closed again.
Neville's hand clamped on his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Neville kept his voice low.
Harry nodded because explaining would make him look mad. The hall carried on, plates moved, conversations resumed, and nobody else reacted. Not a soul.
Harry ate without tasting and watched Corvus on the dais. The feeling that settled in his stomach did not move with food.
Later, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat with a book in his hands. Neville sat to his right. Ronald Weasley sat with the twins at a corner, loud in that particular way of people who mistake volume for position.
The Weasleys were one of the families who took the worst of the changes in Magical Britain. They were Progressives to the bone and staunch supporters of Dumbledore. With the fall of those pillars, the family's remaining social credit vanished.
The government paying tuition fees kept them from bankruptcy, and it was the only thing keeping them afloat. Molly tried to find work on multiple occasions, yet her character and name made it hard for any place to accept her. No one wanted the gaze of House Black aimed at them, especially not in a negative way.
The twins had done their own damage. Years of pranks turned into years of enemies, and their last attempt at Corvus was the final drop. Add Ronald and his mythical idiocy, Arthur's unfortunate attempt to talk with Arcturus and Corvus, and Molly's attitude, and the coffin had been nailed shut.
Ginny paid for it with her own social standing.
Harry watched the corner for a moment and weighed whether dealing with Ronald about the Great Hall was worth his time. He closed the book instead and stood.
Neville's gaze followed him, confused. Harry left the common room without a word.
The etiquette book Corvus gave him in his first year played in his head as he walked. The lesson was clear. You do not intervene in another's chambers without informing and asking for a rendezvous. Harry kept walking anyway, and he needed to talk with him, and it was urgent enough to dismiss some of the rules.
The corridor outside the chambers felt different. They were new and clean. The air carried pressure, like the stone had rules and expected obedience. The torches burned steadily without flicker, and the silence sat in the seams between footsteps.
Harry stopped at the door and hesitated. His hand hovered long enough to admit he knew better. He knocked anyway.
The door opened without anyone touching it. Harry stepped inside. He knew these chambers from the time heir Black's private lessons. It was the same place. He walked to the sitting room.
Parchments were stacked on a side table in neat piles that meant someone cared about order. A quill scratched across a page on its own. Corvus sat in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other. Elizaveta and Headmistress Rosier sat opposite him, their conversation hushed and pleasant until Harry's presence broke it.
Harry stayed near the threshold and realised how badly he had failed the first lesson.
Corvus did not look up. He let Harry wait.
When the quill stopped, Corvus finished the parchment, placed it on the stack, and raised his head. His gaze locked onto Harry and held.
"Heir Potter."
The title landed like a door closing.
"To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"
Harry swallowed.
He turned to the ladies first and bowed. "Headmistress Rosier. Miss Volkova."
Then he faced Corvus and bowed again. "Heir Black. I apologise for intruding without a rendezvous."
Corvus's eyes did not soften. A thought ran through him with tired patience.
Harry Potter was a character written and given life as a reckless and naive. He was a lost cause. Even after all the private lectures, this character is destined to be a poster child of everything wrong in Wizarding Britain. Forgiving enemies who attempted to kill him, naming his children after people who used and abused him. Definitely a lost cause.
Harry forced his voice steady. "I wanted to ask about the witches and wizards who were found and rejoined their families. Many magical households, which were destined to be erased due to a lack of new blood, were saved thanks to these individuals. There are many of them in Hogwarts as we speak. I was hoping to see if anyone was found from House Potter."
Corvus kept his gaze on him and let the silence bite first.
"Before that, Heir Potter. I would like you to know that coming to me for such a matter will cost you. For I do not recall the moment when I agreed to be your personal assistant or secretary."
Vinda's mouth curved. She knew Corvus enough to recognise a lesson in the making. Elizaveta closed her eyes for a moment, already resigned.
Corvus leaned back slightly. "You ought to know my time is extremely valuable. If I am to work as your personal assistant, the payment should be worth it."
Harry felt his face burn. The real humiliation was not the barb. It was that Corvus was right.
He should have thought. He should not have walked up here like a child with an open mouth.
With a thought, Corvus lifted an empty parchment from the desk. It floated to him. A quill followed.
"The first thing to be done is to write an official letter to the Ministry. The Archives, to be precise."
The quill started to scratch, neat and fast.
Harry watched the words take shape, and the thought struck him with a chill: why had he ever assumed anyone owed him such service? Since when was he this entitled snob?
"Next, this letter should be signed by you with a blood quill to ensure identity."
A blood quill hovered near Harry.
Harry took the parchment, read it, and signed. The sting was small. His embarrassment was not. At least he showed that he learned not to sign anything without reading it first.
"Lastly, we send the inquiry."
The parchment folded itself.
Umbra arrived with a loud caw and landed near Corvus. The bird's clever eyes roamed the people and landed on the ladies. He flew to Elizaveta and pressed his head to her cheek.
Elizaveta's fingers moved through the feathers with practised ease.
Corvus turned back at Harry.
"Now, about the payment." His tone darkened.
"Thirty thousand galleons should suffice for my time, and another five thousand will be fair for Umbra's service."
Vinda's eyebrow rose at the number. This was an absurd amount. Considering a senior Auror earns four hundred galleons a month, Potter will not forget this lesson.
Elizaveta kept her composure, tied the folded parchment to Umbra's leg, then looked at Harry.
"Do not worry, Heir Potter. I will not charge you for this service. Consider it a goodwill gift from House Volkov."
Harry nodded meekly. Umbra launched from the room. Corvus's gaze remained on Harry. He was aware of the boy's financial situation. Thirty-five thousand was a fortune, yet it would not hurt Potter Vaults ...much.
There was a reason this harsh lesson had to be both embarrassing and costly. Societies that respect their members are built upon individuals who know how to act, when, and why. Put more simply, there was a reason for an etiquette class, and Potter, as the Boy‑Who‑Lived, was a public figure.
"Anything else I can help you with, Heir Potter?"
Harry bowed, deeper this time. "Thank you, sir. I extend my apologies again and wish you a pleasant evening."
He backed out with control, because at least he could manage that.
The door closed.
Harry walked away with his question turned into proper procedure, and his pride bruised enough to remember the lesson for a lifetime.