Corvus turned toward the Delacours, his posture relaxed but attentive. The festive warmth of the Black Mansion still lingered in the drawing room, yet his thoughts had already moved toward the next matter waiting beyond polite conversation.
"Would you like to visit the Alliance shipyard?" He asked, speaking as though he were offering a short walk rather than a journey to one of the most infamous islands in magical Europe.
Arcturus answered first. The older wizard leaned back in his armchair, fingers resting on the carved wood of the armrest while interest sharpened his gaze.
"Yes," he said. "It will be a good opportunity to inspect the new carriers."
Vinda did not share the enthusiasm. She shook her head slowly, her expression calm but firm.
"I do not think the shipyard is a family-friendly place to visit," she replied with dry precision.
Arcturus, Elizaveta and Corvus understood what she meant without further explanation. The shipyard was on Azkaban Island. After borrowing several naval vessels from France, Spain and Portugal, Corvus had turned the northern coast of the prison island into a magically assisted shipyard. The prison itself still stood where it always had. The Dementors still guarded it as they had for centuries. The only difference was that they did not approach the construction yards unless Corvus summoned them.
"Nonsense," Arcturus said, waving one dismissive hand as if the matter had already been decided. "It is an excellent opportunity."
Corvus turned toward Minister Delacour.
"It is on the northern shore of Azkaban," he said evenly. "The Dementors do not approach the yard itself. You and your family will be safe. Still, you are welcome to refuse."
Apolline's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Dementors. The reaction was understandable. Even experienced witches and wizards rarely encountered them willingly. Their reputation reached deeper than reason and into deep instinctive fear.
Minister Delacour did not answer immediately. His gaze shifted toward Gabrielle.
Corvus noticed the movement at once and understood the concern behind it. He lifted two fingers.
Two Bastion Guards stepped forward with silent precision. Their armour reflected the drawing room light in faint lines of steel and runic etching.
"They will make sure no Dementors approach her," Corvus said.
The statement settled the matter more effectively than a longer reassurance could have done.
Apolline glanced toward her husband. Minister Delacour studied the guards for a moment, then nodded.
"If you guarantee our safety, Lord Rosier, we would like to join you."
Arcturus inclined his head in approval. Corvus mirrored the gesture.
Fleur moved closer to Elizaveta and lowered her voice.
"Is it really safe to be near those demons?" She asked.
Elizaveta's expression did not change.
"They are as docile as Puffskeins," she replied calmly. "You do not need to worry."
Fleur searched her face for a moment before nodding. She was not sure if Elizaveta was being sarcastic or serious.
When everyone stood, Corvus closed his eyes for the briefest instant.
Space bent.
There was no portkey, no apparition crack, no gathering of magic that could be sensed in advance.
The world simply changed.
They stumbled slightly as the ground beneath their feet shifted from polished mansion stone to reinforced dock plating. Cold sea wind replaced the warmth of the drawing room in an instant, carrying the sharp scent of salt and metal.
Before anyone could question the transition, the two Bastion Guards assigned to Gabrielle stepped into position behind Apolline and the young girl.
Across the enormous dockyard, Bastion Guards stationed along the platforms snapped into rigid salutes the moment Corvus appeared.
Corvus acknowledged them with a slight nod and began walking.
The shipyard stretched across the northern shoreline of Azkaban in a vast complex of magically expanded docks, floating work platforms and towering construction frames. Sections of ocean had been enclosed by massive rune-anchored barriers that calmed the waves within the yard while the open sea crashed violently against the cliffs beyond. Steel walkways connected dozens of hovering dry docks suspended several meters above the water by layered levitation arrays.
Everywhere, witches and wizards worked in coordinated teams. Some groups carved stabilising runes directly into armour plating the size of houses before sealing the engravings with molten silver. Others assembled propulsion cores surrounded by rotating rings of enchanted metal that pulsed with controlled magical pressure. Enchanted cranes moved slowly through the air, carrying entire hull sections while levitation teams guided the structures into position with precise wand movements. The work never paused. Spellwork clashed against steel while runes flashed in controlled bursts along the platforms.
Floating command towers overlooked the entire operation, each one guarded by Bastion units stationed on rotating watch. Patrol groups marched across the connecting bridges while dragon riders circled high above the yard, their mounts gliding through the cold northern air like living siege engines waiting for battle.
Behind the shipyard rose the prison of Azkaban.
The dark towers cut into the grey sky like broken teeth. The upper levels were surrounded by drifting shapes that moved slowly through the wind.
Dementors.
The moment Corvus appeared on the docks, more than three dozen of them changed direction and began gliding toward the shipyard.
The reaction from the Delacours was immediate.
Apolline stiffened. Fleur instinctively moved closer to Gabrielle. Even Minister Delacour's hand shifted toward his wand before he forced it still.
Corvus raised one hand casually and focused on the nearest Dementor.
He did not speak.
The command travelled through thought alone.
Wait.
The creatures halted in midair.
They hovered along the invisible boundary of the shipyard wards, their long, tattered robes drifting silently in the wind.
To them, Corvus was not simply another wizard.
After devouring hundreds of souls through the skills he replicated from the Shroud of Mictlan, the aura surrounding him had changed. The cold hunger of death and soul magic wrapped around him in layers that resonated with the very nature of the Dementors themselves.
They did not see prey. They recognised something closer to a sovereign and obeyed.
The tour continued.
After several minutes, a familiar figure approached across one of the central platforms, moving with surprising speed despite the chaos of the shipyard.
Father Manard, the master enchanter's robes stained with soot and rune chalk. His beard carried several sparks of magical residue that had burned tiny holes through the fabric near his collar. None of it seemed to bother him. His eyes shone with unmistakable pride as he reached the group.
"You are here," he said with a grin that bordered on triumph. "You arrived at the perfect moment."
He gestured toward a single vessel moored slightly apart from the others.
The frigate dwarfed its original form.
It floated several meters above the sea rather than resting upon it. The hull had been rebuilt with layered armour plating etched with defensive runes that glowed faintly beneath the grey light of the northern sky. Thick reinforcement ribs ran along the length of the vessel, each one engraved with stabilising wards that hummed quietly with restrained power.
"Come," Manard said, already moving toward the boarding ramp. "You must see what we have done."
They followed him across the brow and onto the deck.
The moment Corvus stepped onto the vessel he felt the ward network react to his presence. Layers of defensive magic brushed against his senses like overlapping waves before settling into recognition.
Manard noticed the reaction immediately.
"Did you feel that?" He asked with obvious satisfaction. "Thirteen new wardstones installed along the primary ward grid. Each one connected through a rotating anchor matrix so no single point failure can collapse the barrier network."
He began walking along the deck while speaking, gesturing toward different sections of the vessel with the enthusiasm of a craftsman explaining his masterpiece.
"In addition to the fifty dragons and their riders already assigned to the vessel, I have installed three new artillery arrays along the forward hull. Each cannon can channel a Bombarda pattern capable of flattening a fortress wall in a single volley. We also integrated long range curse projection systems along both sides of the ship. Range increased dramatically."
He stopped beside one of the raised gun housings and tapped the metal plating.
"And that is before we discuss the flight system," he added.
Manard stamped the deck once with his boot.
"She can fly now," he continued proudly. "Not simply hover. True sustained flight. She can also dive beneath the sea if you prefer a spectacle, though not as deep as I want."
His tone shifted slightly when he gestured toward the interior hatch leading below deck.
"I also doubled the living quarters," he said.
His gaze slid toward the Bastion Guard commander standing near the entrance.
"Apparently, the vessel needed more guards. At least this is what your guard commander insisted on, something about honour guard," Manard continued with dry sarcasm. "Personally, I had intended to use that volume for additional armour plating and perhaps another artillery bank, but certain individuals claimed the crew would perform better if their numbers were doubled."
The commander looked directly ahead as though he had not heard the remark.
Corvus rested a hand on Manard's shoulder.
"You have overachieved as usual, my friend."
Manard straightened slightly at the praise.
Corvus allowed a faint smile to appear.
"I would offer you anything within my power," he added, "but you would only ask for more nuclear reactors. I am not convinced the planet would survive your enthusiasm."
Manard looked scandalised.
"I would never request something so irresponsible," he replied before adding thoughtfully, "without first calculating the acceptable explosion radius."
Arcturus laughed quietly.
When the inspection ended, Corvus turned toward the group again.
Beyond the ward boundary the Dementors still waited.
Their numbers had increased dramatically. The sky between the prison towers and the shipyard now held a dense gathering of dark shapes drifting silently in expectation.
"I will speak with them," Corvus said.
He glanced toward Elizaveta.
"Kindly entertain our guests in one of the drawing rooms."
His gaze softened slightly.
"My little wolf."
Then he lifted from the deck.
Shadow tendrils unfolded behind him.
They stretched outward and upward, forming immense wings of shifting darkness that carried him toward the sky.
When he reached the waiting Dementors, the creatures surged around him in slow spirals, drifting closer as though drawn by instinct.
The entire shipyard watched.
Workers stopped casting spells. Guards paused mid-patrol. Even the dragons circling above slowed their flight as the strange scene unfolded.
Arcturus spoke first.
"What are those wings," he asked quietly.
Manard shook his head slowly.
"I have built weapons capable of shattering mountains," he said, "and I still do not know what I am looking at."
Elizaveta folded her arms calmly.
"They are new to me as well," she replied.
Vinda observed the sky for a moment before making a practical decision.
"Tibby," she called.
The elf appeared instantly with a small pop.
"Dark Mistress calls," he said.
"What are those wings behind Corvus," she asked.
Tibby looked upward, nodded thoughtfully, and answered with complete confidence.
"Shadow chicken wings. Master is the supreme chicken."
Fleur barely heard the comment.
Her attention remained fixed on the sky.
High above them, one of the most feared creatures in the wizarding world floated around Corvus like obedient companions.
Exactly as Elizaveta had promised.
As docile as Puffskeins.