When the ladies returned, they were not guided back to the dining hall.
A bastion Guard led them toward the drawing room instead. Fleur noticed the shift at once. So did her mother.
The moment they entered, a smile bloomed on Apolline's face.
It was the smile of a mother who was about to watch her daughter spread her wings and take one of the most important steps of her life.
The drawing room looked different now. Less like a place for polite tea, more like a chamber prepared for conclusion.
A parchment floated between Madame Rosier and her father. Arcturus sat in one of the armchairs with the patience of a man who had already decided the matter would end well. Compared to the process of the intention letter written by Elizaveta, this was peaceful. Corvus sat on a sofa, posture calm, one hand resting on the carved arm, the other on his knee.
Elizaveta crossed the room without hesitation and took the place to his right.
Fleur felt every instinct inside her pull in the same direction. Every part of her wanted to cross the room and take the space beside him, close enough that the pull in her chest would stop clawing for attention. She ignored the urge, swallowed, and chose discipline instead.
She moved with measured grace to her mother's side and sat with Gabrielle beside her. Her hands folded in her lap. Her posture remained perfect. She refused to give her own blood the satisfaction of seeing her fidget.
Corvus's gaze followed her movement.
When she settled and looked up, he gave her the smallest smile and a slight nod.
The gesture was modest in form and heartwarming in effect.
Fleur lowered her eyes before the heat reached her face and thanked every ancestor she had for the discipline beaten into her by her maman.
The parchment between Vinda and Minister Delacour shifted once, then steadied as the final lines were reviewed.
Vinda read the closing paragraph aloud in a tone that made even legal language sound ceremonial.
"By mutual consent of House Rosier and House Delacour, witnessed by House Black and entered under warded seal, the betrothal of Corvus Black, Lord of Rosier, and Fleur Delacour, eldest daughter of House Delacour, is hereby recognised. The handfasting shall be held at Beltane one year hence, on grounds agreed by the contracting heads, under magical witness and with all rites proper to noble standing."
Minister Delacour listened with the concentration of a man who had read the contract three times already and still intended to catch a fourth hidden knife if one existed.
Vinda continued.
"The dowry from House Delacour shall consist of two warded estates in France placed under a joint protection agreement, one vault transfer in gold and gemstones assessed to noble standard, and educational endowments assigned to the future issue of the match. House Rosier shall answer with reciprocal settlement, title recognition, and a marriage portion vested directly in the bride, free of later dispute."
Apolline's chin lifted slightly.
That clause pleased her.
Vinda's gaze did not move from the page. "House Delacour retains ceremonial rights of maternal visitation and seasonal hosting. House Rosier retains primary ritual authority over the handfasting itself. House Black stands witness to the honour of the agreement and to the legitimacy of every clause therein."
She finally looked at Minister Delacour.
"Do you require any final amendments?"
Minister Delacour exhaled through his nose, then shook his head once. "No amendment. The terms are worthy."
Vinda turned to Corvus. "And you."
Corvus's voice stayed even. "I accept the contract as written."
Vinda inclined her head and let the parchment descend to table height.
A box opened at her elbow. Two blood quills rose from within like obedient red birds.
She took one.
Minister Delacour took the other.
The room stood.
Arcturus rose first. Apolline and Gabrielle followed. Fleur stood with them, her pulse beating hard enough that she felt it in her throat.
Their names flared briefly in the parchment with old family magic before settling into dark ink edged with silver.
Arcturus created two more copies. The original stays with Delacours, while the copies will go to Black and Rosier vaults. He moved before anyone else and went to Corvus and embraced him with the brief, hard certainty of a patriarch who did not waste gestures. One large hand struck between Corvus's shoulders once.
"Congratulations, son."
Corvus accepted the embrace without resistance and stepped back with a small nod. "Thank you, Grandfather."
Apolline crossed to Fleur next and caught her daughter's face between both palms.
She held it there with reverence, with pride, and with the strain of a mother who had intended to stay elegant and was failing.
One tear escaped anyway.
It slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
"My flower."
Fleur's own eyes burned, but she held the line and kissed her mother's wrist in return.
Vinda waited until Apolline stepped aside.
Then she moved close enough that only Fleur could hear the next words.
"Welcome, my dear, to the family."
The sentence was quiet.
The weight behind it was not.
Minister Delacour approached Corvus after that and offered his hand.
Their handshake was firm, correct, and public in a way that made the contract real beyond parchment.
Arcturus repeated the gesture a breath later, sealing House Black's approval in the blunt language of men.
Elizaveta came to Fleur last.
She embraced her without hesitation, one arm around her shoulders, one hand at her back. When she pulled away, her voice dropped to a whisper only Fleur could hear.
"Welcome, sister."
That landed harder than the contract.
Fleur stared at her for the smallest second and realised Elizaveta meant it.
Gabrielle had been vibrating in place through all of it.
The moment there was a gap, she launched herself at Fleur with enough enthusiasm to count as a small attack.
"Now it is my turn."
Fleur laughed despite herself and bent to catch her.
Gabrielle hugged her sister fiercely, then stepped back with the solemnity of a child performing what she believed was a formal duty.
"I congratulate you very, very much."
Arcturus turned his face away to hide a smile. Apolline failed less elegantly.
When Gabrielle was done, Fleur drew a breath and crossed the room to stand before Corvus.
The drawing room had gone quiet again.
Even Tibby, somewhere beyond the doors, seemed to sense that timing mattered.
Fleur lowered into a curtsy that belonged in another century.
"My lord," she said, voice soft but steady, "I place my honour in your keeping and my future in your House's grace. May I prove worthy of the bond this day has wrought."
Corvus looked at her for a moment that felt longer than it was.
Then he inclined his head.
"Mademoiselle Fleur, you do not enter my House to prove your worth. You were chosen because your worth was already seen."
The answer was clean and precise, and what Wizarding Tradition demands.
Fleur's heart skipped hard enough to make the floor feel less reliable for half a second.
Corvus raised one hand.
A flame appeared above his palm.
Not large at first. A bright, steady core of fire hovering without smoke. It twisted upon itself, gained height, gained contour, then took shape under his will.
A Veela.
Not the pretty human likeness. The original form.
Wings and lean predatory grace shaped from living fire, each line precise, each curve elegant. At the edges of the flames, the colour shifted toward Fleur's eyes, pale blue with a green cast that brightened when the fire moved.
The room watched in silence.
The figure turned once inside the air above his palm and grew no larger than the nail of a thumb. Then clear glass formed around it in a seamless shell, trapping the fire without dimming it.
The tiny veela moved inside the glass as if still alive.
Corvus did not look away from Fleur.
"Tibby."
The elf appeared at once with a pop and a delighted gasp.
"Fire chicken, fire chicken," Tibby announced, nearly dancing from the joy of being correct again.
Corvus leaned down and murmured instructions into Tibby's ear.
Tibby nodded so hard his ears flapped and vanished.
He returned moments later with a chain laid across both palms. Gold links, fine but strong, set with sapphires that matched the cooler tones in Fleur's eyes.
At its centre waited a delicate setting shaped for a pendant.
Corvus took the chain and set the glass veela into the mount with careful fingers. The metal closed around it without obscuring the fire. The result was an amulet, elegant and dangerous in the Black way.
He released it into the air.
The piece floated toward Fleur.
She stood still, breath held, as the chain lifted itself, circled her neck, and fastened behind it with a quiet click.
The tiny fire veela settled at the hollow of her throat.
The pendant rested against her throat, a comforting warmth, alive with a steady heat that felt almost aware of her.
Corvus stepped closer then and raised his hand again.
Runes formed in the air between them with impossible speed. Ancient signs, moving, reordering, forming runic words as if the language itself was thinking. Fleur did not understand most of them. She appreciated the mastery behind it and wondered why he was not adding another to his list of masteries.
Corvus tilted his head.
Three of them shot forward in separate streaks of pale light and sank into the amulet.
The fire veela inside the glass brightened once, then calmed.
Corvus lowered his hand.
"It will shield you in the worst case," he said. "And will inform me of your location. The last enchantment will act as a portkey if the danger persists."
Fleur touched the pendant with her fingertips. The glass remained warm.
A gift was one thing.
A gift that watched over her was another.
Festivity broke the room after that.
Tibby began to jump in little circles, chanting, "A fire chicken for Master. A fire chicken."
House elves appeared with trays. Sparkling wine, elderflower cordial, spiced juices, crystal glasses that caught the room's light and doubled it.
The air softened.
Arcturus allowed himself satisfaction. Vinda looked pleased. Apolline held one hand to her chest now and then.
When the seats were taken again, the arrangement had changed.
Elizaveta sat at Corvus's right, Fleur sat to his left.
The symbolism was obvious enough that even Gabrielle noticed and beamed at it.
Elizaveta leaned toward Corvus and murmured under the rising voices, "I trust my own gift will not be neglected."
Corvus turned his head slightly, the answer pitched for her alone.
"I will make certain it is worthy of my little wolf." That satisfied her.
The manor settled into celebration.
Then an owl flew in.
It did not hesitate at the open upper vent. It crossed the room with the confidence of a creature used to carrying messages that mattered and landed straight before Corvus.
Black Mansion was not a place anyone freely sent letters to, nor was it a regular thing for an avian to go to the intended target instead of waiting for someone to receive it.
A small parchment was tied to its leg.
Corvus freed the avian from it with steady fingers.
"Would you like something?" he asked, gesturing toward the spread.
The owl turned its head, considered the room with professional contempt, then hopped toward a platter of carved roast quail set out among the celebratory dishes. It seized a strip neatly, swallowed, then took another and a third before deciding its work-to-appetite ratio remained acceptable.
The Delacours watched. Gabrielle chuckled.
Arcturus, Vinda, and Elizaveta gave no visible reaction at all. This was evidently normal in Black Mansion, which said enough about Blacks.
Corvus unrolled the parchment under the careful attention of everyone present.
His eyes moved once across the lines.
"Oh," he said.
That was all.
Then he looked up.
"It is from Manard. He is finished with the frigate and is inviting me to inspect it."
Arcturus set down his glass. "Finished in what sense?"
Corvus's mouth curved by a fraction. "That is exactly what I intend to discover."