The frigate flew high above the North Sea, far above any shipping lane and far above the clouds that hid the coastline from Muggle eyes. Enchantments wrapped the hull in layers of subtle magic, and complex runic arrays distorted sight, instruments, and satellites alike. To the mundane world, the sky above Scotland held nothing but weather.
Below them, Edinburgh spread along the coast in grey stone and winter light.
Corvus stood on the open deck while the wards adjusted the vessel's position. The frigate did not hover near the water as ordinary craft might. It moved through the sky with calm certainty, held aloft by layered enchantments that turned mass and gravity into negotiable suggestions.
The Delacours gathered near the rail.
Apolline offered a gracious farewell to Elizaveta while Minister Delacour shook Corvus's hand with firm courtesy. Somehow, he looked as if he was in a hurry to leave the vessel and get away from him. Gabrielle waved enthusiastically at nearly everyone in sight, including two Bastion Guards who returned the gesture with disciplined nods that somehow made the child even more delighted.
Vinda stood beside them, her posture composed, waiting for the moment the frigate reached the correct point above Edinburgh.
The wards signalled the position.
Vinda inclined her head once toward Corvus.
"Until the tournament," she said.
Corvus returned the gesture. "Safe travels."
The Delacours and Vinda stepped toward the edge of the deck.
Magic gathered around them with the familiar tightening of space.
Then they apparated.
The air snapped softly as five figures vanished and reappeared somewhere within the city below.
The deck felt noticeably quieter once they were gone.
Arcturus remained aboard.
He watched the place where the group had disappeared for a moment, then turned toward Corvus.
"Come," he said. "The drawing room will do."
They moved inside.
The drawing room had the restrained elegance expected of House Black. Dark wood panels lined the walls, charmed windows displayed the sky beneath the frigate's wards, and a long table occupied the centre of the chamber.
Arcturus waited until the door sealed behind them.
"The ministries are the only known locations to the Muggles. We could use these carriers instead," he said.
Corvus already understood the direction of the conversation.
Arcturus rested one hand on the back of a chair and spoke with the calm certainty of a man planning something inevitable.
"The current ministry buildings are liabilities. Static targets. Even if the Muggles cannot see them directly, the wards can be broken through many means."
Corvus nodded. "Correct, but we have defanged many of the Muggle organisations. Still, I will inform Manard to contact you. We will have it for our ministry and see.
Arcturus smiled; it seemed he wanted a vessel he could command after travelling in his.
"Flying administrative platforms that fly. No fixed buildings. No permanent address. If the structure moves, no Muggle intelligence service will ever find it."
"No one can find it, Grandfather, including Magicals, unless you anchor the floo."
He let it pass.
"Oh, Grigori will..." Arctrus started to murmur to himself while looking down from the enchanted windows.
Corvus summoned a parchment, a quill and began writing. The letter to Manard took shape in clean, precise script explaining the real reason behind it.
Arcturus watched with clear satisfaction while the instructions formed across the page. The request outlined the construction of a carrier platform designed to house the entire magical ministry. Administrative chambers, security wings, diplomatic halls, archive vaults, and transportation arrays would all be integrated into vessels that could move constantly across controlled skies.
When Corvus finished, he folded the parchment and sealed it with a simple sigil.
He summoned Umbra.
The raven emerged from the corner of the room with silent efficiency.
Corvus handed over the letter.
"Deliver this to Manard, please," he said.
Umbra inclined his head and flew away.
Their business concluded, Arcturus departed a short while later, leaving the frigate near London before apparating away. The hectic day ended in silence.
Corvus returned to his office on the vessel the day after. He went to check the shroud and renew the wards around it. With each replication, it was becoming more docile and after the feast he had, he felt the same familiarity towards it as well.
His study had grown with the additions. What had begun as a private study had gradually expanded into a command centre capable of processing reports from half the world. Enchanted shelves carried stacked parchments sorted by region and priority. Maps of magical territories covered one wall while communication mirrors rested along another.
Elizaveta was already working on some reports when he entered.
She stood beside the main table, reading a parchment with quiet concentration. A second stack of documents rested nearby, neatly ordered.
Without looking up, she spoke.
"Your foundations, radio networks, and newspapers are amplifying the Danish proposal throughout the Alliance," she said. "Public discussion has moved from curiosity to support."
Corvus joined her at the table.
He slid into the chair beside her and pulled her gently into his lap with casual ease. Elizaveta adjusted without protest, continuing to review the reports while resting comfortably against him.
She placed one parchment aside and lifted another.
"Population reports," she said. "Magical settlements remain stable. The new cities GAIA is building in Africa are progressing ahead of schedule, though the engineers want reinforcement for two water systems before the wet season begins."
Corvus nodded and reached for the book resting near the reports.
Relación de las cosas de Yucatán.
Elizaveta glanced at the title.
"The writings of Diego de Landa," she noted. "An unfortunate source."
Corvus opened the book carefully.
"An unpleasant man recorded useful symbols," he replied.
Diego de Landa had destroyed nearly every Mayan text he could find, convinced that burning knowledge served his religion. Over fifteen thousand Mayan were killed by his direct actions. The devastation erased centuries of culture and history, leaving only fragments in its wake.
One fragment remained in the inquisitor's own notes. The irony of the situation was that his own book was the Rosetta Stone to the Mayan language. A rapist, murderer and torturer who made it his life's work to destroy the heretics made sure it would live. While his name was only known by certain circles, the Mayan Civilisation was known to all.
He mistook the Mayan Runes for an alphabet and recorded them.
Corvus studied the sketches with focused interest. Even partial recordings could reveal structural patterns in magical writing systems, and ancient cultures often hid complex enchantments within their symbols. While most of the Mayan Runes were known to the Magicals, there was no harm in doing more research.
The Magical population of Yucatán had long since abandoned the region when foreign religions and inquisitorial violence spread across the land. Muggle communities had suffered under the same campaigns that destroyed the artefacts.
Corvus read quietly for some time while Elizaveta sorted reports for him.
The work slowed after a while.
Elizaveta set one parchment aside and rested her hand lightly against his chest as she leaned back into him. Corvus closed the book and placed it on the table. The movement brought their faces close enough that neither pretended not to notice.
Her pale hair brushed his jaw when she turned toward him.
"You are thinking about Brazil again," she said softly.
Corvus studied her expression for a moment before answering. "I am thinking about what waits there."
Elizaveta watched him with the quiet focus she reserved for very few people. The reports, the politics, the endless planning that surrounded them all faded for a moment while the frigate moved silently through the sky.
Her fingers slid along the front of his shirt. The touch was deliberate rather than absent-minded. Corvus responded by drawing her closer against him, one hand settling firmly at her waist.
Elizaveta tilted her head slightly and studied him with open curiosity.
"I hope you will find what you are looking for," she added.
Corvus lifted his hand and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment along the side of her neck. The contact drew a quiet breath from her.
She answered by closing the small distance between them.
Their kiss was slow and unhurried, the sort that grew naturally from familiarity rather than surprise. Elizaveta rested one hand against his shoulder while the other slipped behind his neck. Corvus held her firmly as she shifted in his lap, the movement bringing her closer still.
The frigate continued its steady flight above the clouds while the office remained silent around them.
After a moment, she pulled back slightly, her eyes bright with quiet amusement.
"If the Bastion Guards knew their commander spent his work hours like this," she said, "their discipline might suffer."
Corvus answered with a calm confidence that made her smile widen.
"The Guards know better than to interrupt their lord."
She leaned forward again and pressed another kiss against his lips, shorter this time but warmer.
When she finally settled back against him, the earlier tension had softened into something calmer. Her fingers rested loosely over his hand while the reports waited patiently on the table.
Only then did she reach for the folded newspapers.
"The press has covered the engagement," she said.
Corvus glanced at the headlines.
The magical newspapers across Europe had reacted immediately.
Le Cri Magique
LA FLEUR DE FRANCE PROMISED TO LORD ROSIER
The Evening Owl
DELACOUR ALLIANCE CONFIRMED
The Continental Spell
RUSSIA AND FRANCE UNITED THROUGH CORVUS BLACK
Naturally, the Daily Prophet had printed the most enthusiastic version.
The Daily Prophet
WHEN COURTSHIP MEETS STATECRAFT
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Congratulations are due.
No, dear readers, do not alarm yourselves. The congratulations are not for the progressives for starting to see reason. That would require either Mother Magic's direct intervention or a personality transplant, and this reporter is saddened that neither has occurred.
The congratulations are directed toward the formal engagement of Miss Fleur Delacour, champion of Beauxbatons and daughter of the French Minister for Magic, to Corvus Black, heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and Lord of the Noble House of Rosier in Magical Britain. Readers will recognise the name immediately. It tends to appear whenever governments are reorganised or the Bastion Guards knock on your door.
Miss Delacour enters a household already promised once. The heir of House Black is already pledged to Miss Elizaveta Volkova, who is expected to become Lady Black after their marriage and who stands in direct line to the magical government of Russia. Miss Delacour arrives from France and will become Lady Rosier.
This reporter cannot help noticing a developing pattern.
Young witches who have spent the past year gazing wistfully in the direction of Corvus Black may wish to reconsider their strategy. Beauty and charm are useful. Noble upbringing is another repeating consistency. The last quality appears to be the tactical advantage of being closely related to a Minister for Magic.
If the arithmetic continues in this fashion, the daughters of magical governments would do well to begin planning early. A polite and entirely innocent glance may therefore be directed toward Portugal and Japan, whose ministerial daughters are reportedly close enough in age to enter the discussion.
Whether they possess the necessary nerve is another matter entirely.
This reporter can already imagine the conversations taking place across the continent.
"Father, I have met a very interesting man."
"How delightful, darling. What does he do?"
"He reorganises the world. Would you mind taking over the government before summer?"
One may safely expect editorials praising unity, reconciliation, and the healing power of aristocratic matrimony from the same voices that would have described noble contracts as outdated if the winning side had been less obvious.
Still, cynicism aside, the match is sound.
Miss Delacour is not a decorative ornament but a champion, and House Delacour has managed the difficult achievement of remaining both elegant and politically relevant. House Rosier, meanwhile, shows no signs of becoming irrelevant before the sun itself grows bored.
The handfasting is scheduled for Beltane next year. That leaves magical society with ample time to gossip, flatter, calculate, and produce at least three dozen imaginary scandals before the first goblet is raised.
This reporter therefore offers congratulations to House Black, to House Rosier, and to the Delacours. Congratulations are also extended to every ambitious mother in magical Europe who will now insist that this outcome was obvious from the beginning.
Corvus finished the article and returned the newspaper to the table.
Elizaveta allowed herself a small smile.
"She writes with increasing boldness."
Corvus turned another page in the book of Mayan symbols.
"True, someone needs to inform her Uncle Grigori was not even a candidate for the minister's seat when we wrote the intention letter," he replied.