January 23rd, 1978, Lestrange Manor
The orange light of the sun poured through the tall window, bathing the room in a molten glow. By that window sat a boy, sometimes scribbling furiously in a notebook, sometimes striking through entire pages, sometimes chewing the end of his pencil as though it had personally offended him. Every so often, he muttered to himself, arguments and counterarguments spilling from his lips, though no one else was present.
Had anyone witnessed the scene, they might have concluded the boy had lost his mind, or worse, that something had taken hold of him. After all, the Wizarding World was no stranger to horror stories.
But Corvus Marvolo Lestrange was not mad.
If anything, he was too logical.
That, ironically, was the problem.
Days ago, his anxiety had revolved around a far more primal concern: whether he would be executed for lacking magic. Today, that fear had been replaced by something almost absurd in comparison. He was struggling to decide which path of power he should choose.
Logic, intellect, calculation, all the things he prided himself on, were failing him. Every option had merit. Every choice demanded sacrifice. And Corvus hated inefficiency, especially when it came in the form of uncertainty.
A sharp plop broke the silence.
"Little Master," came a high-pitched voice. "Big Master calls Little Master to the study. Big Master wishes to have tea."
Corvus blinked, dragged out of his thoughts.
"Huh? Oh. Cherry, you mean Grandfather?" he asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes were restless, bright with the same tension as a child holding an unopened gift, knowing something wonderful waited inside but unsure how to reach it. "Now?"
"Yes, Little Master." Cherry nodded enthusiastically.
"…Alright," Corvus sighed. "Could you fetch me a towel soaked in warm water? I should at least look presentable before seeing him."
"Okay, Little Master!" Plop.
'Siri, I'm afraid we'll have to continue this later,' Corvus thought, irritation laced with reluctance. 'I've been summoned for tea.'
Siri: Host, you have been circling the same decision repeatedly. There is something you must accept: to gain something, you must forgo something else. You cannot have everything. You are experiencing decision paralysis caused by an excess of optimal choices.
'Oh, thank you,' Corvus replied dryly. 'I had absolutely no idea.'
'Give me three best options,' he continued. 'Affinity and template. You analyze. I'll deal with my grandfather.'
Siri: Understood, Host.
Plop.
"Little Master! Cherry brought towel!"
"Oh, thank you, Cherry," Corvus said absently.
"Little Master thanked me! Cherry is happy!" the elf exclaimed, visibly vibrating with joy.
Corvus sometimes found that enthusiasm exhausting. Sometimes amusing. Today, he simply smiled, handed the towel back, and made his way to the study.
His grandfather sat by the tea table, cup in hand, the Daily Prophet folded neatly before him.
"Ah, there you are," Old Lestrange said, lowering the paper. A rare smile tugged at his lips. "Happy birthday, my boy."
"Thank you, Grandpa," Corvus replied politely. "You called for me?"
"Indeed. Seven years old already. Time does move quickly," the old man mused. His gaze sharpened slightly. "But tell me, why does my grandson look so gloomy on such a day?"
"It's nothing," Corvus lied smoothly. "Just bored."
"Oh? How fortunate. I was bored as well." The old man chuckled. "So I went to Diagon Alley to fetch you an owl. And then…"
He paused.
"I saw a raven."
As if on cue, Cherry appeared, carefully presenting the bird.
The moment Corvus saw it, his attention locked.
Its feathers were pitch black, yet shimmered faintly with violet under the light. Its eyes were pale, almost white, with a faint blue ring around the pupil. The raven regarded him with unnerving intelligence, head tilted slightly, as though judging him.
It was larger than any raven Corvus had ever seen.
Magnificent.
"Every Lestrange child receives a crow or a raven at seven," Old Lestrange continued. "They say we are incomplete without one."
Corvus didn't answer. He couldn't look away.
"This one," the old man said, sipping his tea, "is… special. The shopkeeper claimed it is part augurey. Temperamental. The only raven of its kind he ever managed to tame. I thought it suited my unique grandson."
"…Have you named it?" Corvus asked quietly.
"Not yet. That honor is yours."
"How about… Tom?"
The air shifted.
Old Lestrange's eyes widened for the briefest instant before his expression smoothed. "No," he said calmly. "Tom is not an appropriate name for a companion. Try again."
Corvus smiled. Of course. He knew exactly why.
"Then… Albus? Or Geralt?"
This time, his grandfather raised a brow, scrutinizing him closely.
"I'm joking," Corvus said quickly. "I've already decided. Rook."
"That," Old Lestrange nodded, "is a good name."
"Thank you for the gift," Corvus said sincerely.
"You're welcome. Now, humor an old man," his grandfather said, gesturing to the chessboard. "A game?"
"I'd like to freshen up and spend some time with Rook first," Corvus replied. "Perhaps in an hour?"
"That will do."
Back in his room, Corvus placed Rook gently by the window.
Earlier, the moment his grandfather had presented the raven, something had clicked. A faint, instinctive understanding had flowed between them. Not words. Not thoughts.
Recognition.
At the time, Corvus had kept his expression carefully neutral. Too much curiosity invited scrutiny. But inwardly, he had been buzzing with excitement, and that excitement had made him careless. Foolish things slipped out of his mouth. Names like Tom. Albus. Geralt.
He was certain now that the old coot, his grandfather, had noticed. The man had masked it well, but Corvus knew better. He had tried to laugh it off as a joke, yet the damage was already done.
I should have been more careful, Corvus thought bitterly. That was stupid. Completely unnecessary.
But what was done was done. Time did not rewind for regrets.
Lord Voldemort and his merry band of followers, his parents included, never left his thoughts. They haunted his dreams, twisted into nightmarish silhouettes. Yet the sudden activation of the system had given him something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Relief.
Confidence.
Hope.
At the very least, it gave him a path to survive until the first fall of Moldyshorts. After that… after that, perhaps he could finally breathe.
And yet, the same question gnawed at him, relentless as ever.
His parents.
Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.
Die-hard followers.
Fanatics.
Once proud nobles, now little more than Voldemort's most enthusiastic hounds. Corvus didn't know whether Moldyshorts had brainwashed them, subtly twisted their minds, or outright controlled them.
But weren't nobles supposed to be shrewd? Self-interested? Calculating?
Then why had his parents reduced themselves to glorified lackeys?
Staring at Rook's pale, watchful eyes reflected in the glass, Corvus clenched his fists.
Is there…
Is there anything I can do to fix this?
The question lingered in the room, unanswered, but, Corvus suddenly brightened up.
'Siri,' he thought, 'I know what I want.'
Siri: State your selection.
"Shisui Uchiha. Age seven. Illusion affinity."
Siri: Are you certain, Host?
"Yes. Will I awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan?"
Siri: You will awaken a three-tomoe Sharingan. At present, you lack the capacity to sustain its use.
"And the Mangekyō conditions?"
Siri: Unchanged. However, the system will integrate Shisui Uchiha's genetic template into your body, modified to utilize magic rather than chakra. The burden will be manageable.
"What were your other recommendations?"
Siri:
Itachi Uchiha with Mind Arts affinity
Aizen Sōsuke (Academy period) with Illusion affinity
Bran Stark with Animal Control affinity
"…You're really testing my resolve," Corvus muttered.
Siri: If you explain your reasoning, I may assist.
Corvus exhaled slowly. "Kotoamatsukami. If Voldemort falls, my parents will go after the Longbottoms. If I can subtly alter their perspective, prevent that…" He hesitated, then continued evenly. "They won't be arrested. The Ministry can be handled. Bribery. Coercion. Blackmail. All valid tools."
Siri: Logically sound. However, the probability of awakening the Mangekyō before that event remains low.
"I know," Corvus said quietly. "But Shisui is still the optimal choice. At the very least, I want to try."
He paused.
"Waking up in this body… living here with them for these past few years… I didn't plan for it, but I grew attached." His tone was steady at first, touched with faint nostalgia. "They weren't always like this. The changes came slowly. A little here. A little there."
His fingers curled, nails pressing into his palm.
"And then one day, they weren't the same people anymore. I don't know if it was prolonged exposure to the Dark Arts, or if someone is actively twisting their minds. Maybe both." His voice dipped, tight now. "But they're my parents. If there's even a chance to stop this… I won't ignore it."
Silence followed, heavy with resolve.
Siri: In that case, confirmation accepted.
Would the host like to get the Novice gift pack now or later ?
Later please, I have got to my grandfather again , replied Corvus, By the way, coukd you please tell me, what powers and all would I get because of my choice?
Siri:
Fire and Wind affinities would stabilize at level One. Lightning Affinity at level Zero. Illusion would rise to level two. Minor Mind Arts activation. Physical enhancement. Latent warg ability unlocked, pending adaptation.
Corvus shivered slightly.
"Good. Begin initial merging tonight. Delay full synchronization. Sudden changes invite Legilimency, Death Eaters and Voldemort."
Siri: Acknowledged.
He glanced at Rook, perched silently by the window.
"…You and the system," he murmured, "both birthday gifts. I really should be more careful." And Grateful..
With that, Corvus turned toward the bathroom, his mind already arranging the future into neat, ruthless lines.
Once, he had been nothing more than a pawn, placed on the board to be either as seen fit or sacrificed without ceremony.
But the system had lifted him from that role and set him near the far end of the board, among the pieces that decided the game.
Now, all he had to do was wait.
A few years. A few calculated moves. He could chose to evolve into A Rook, A knight, A bishop or the Queen.
If he played his cards correctly, he could become anything he wished.
And perhaps, if he played them perfectly, he would no longer be a piece at all.
He would be a player.