Chapter 10: The Ark Project

The Archimedes Principle

Chapter 10: The Ark Project

Spring, 1883

The first year of their marriage was a period of aggressive consolidation. The Lestrange-Greengrass Holding Company, a revolutionary corporate structure in a world that still thought in terms of feudal land ownership, had become a leviathan. Aethelred Provisions, fueled by the Greengrass trade routes, had systematically dismantled the Apothecary's monopoly, driving prices down for consumers while routing all profits to their own vaults. Lestrange Capital had become the silent, unseen master of half a dozen "Sacred Twenty-Eight" families, their Wizengamot seats and ancestral loyalties now assets on Cassian's balance sheet.

Isadora had proven to be everything he had calculated and more. She was not merely a partner; she was a force multiplier. Her new venture, Lestrange-Greengrass Arcane Security, was a resounding success, selling bespoke warding systems to paranoid pure-bloods and, in the process, giving Cassian and Prometheus an intimate understanding of the defenses of every major house in Britain. She was also, as of three months ago, pregnant. The heir was secured, the final clause of their merger fulfilled.

With the foundations of his terrestrial empire firmly established, Cassian turned his attention to the true work. The long-term objective that underpinned every decision he made: the migration.

He led Isadora down into the sub-basement laboratory, the sterile, magically-powered heart of his operations. The central plasma sphere pulsed with contained energy, casting shifting shadows across the room. In the center of the far wall, where there had once been solid stone, now stood a simple, unadorned door of polished ironwood.

"Our terrestrial operations are proceeding ahead of schedule," Cassian began, his tone that of a CEO addressing his board. "Our wealth is growing at a geometric rate, and our political influence is approaching a critical mass. It is time to begin Phase Two."

Isadora, her hand resting lightly on her slightly swollen abdomen, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Phase Two? I was under the impression we were still executing Phase One."

"Phase One was the acquisition of capital and terrestrial power," Cassian corrected. "It was merely the means to an end. This," he gestured to the ironwood door, "is the end."

He placed his palm on the door. Runes, invisible a moment before, flared to life in a web of silver light. The door swung inward silently, revealing not a room, but an impossible vista.

Before them stretched a vast, artificially illuminated landscape under a sky of enchanted, glowing crystal. To the left, a dense, temperate forest floor was carpeted with moss and ferns. To the right, a humid, sweltering swamp bubbled with murky water. In the distance, the foothills of a rugged mountain range rose towards the glowing ceiling. The air was a complex mixture of a dozen different climates, yet each zone remained distinct, held in place by shimmering, almost invisible walls of pure magic.

PROJECT DESIGNATION: THE ARK. STATUS: PRIMARY CONTAINMENT FIELD STABLE. ATMOSPHERIC AND ECOLOGICAL SUB-SYSTEMS ONLINE. AWAITING BIOLOGICAL SEEDING.

Isadora stepped forward, her composure finally breaking as she took in the sheer scale of the space contained within the walls of their manor. It was a world in a bottle, an application of spatial magic so advanced it bordered on the divine. "Cassian… what is this?"

"This is our future," he said, his voice resonating with the quiet fanaticism of his ultimate ambition. "The wizarding world is doomed. It is a small, stagnant pond, ignorant of the industrial and technological ocean rising around it. The Statute of Secrecy is a parchment shield that will inevitably break. When it does, the Muggles will come for us, and they will win through sheer numbers and firepower. The squabbles between Dumbledore and whatever Dark Lord rises to challenge him are irrelevant. They are fighting over the captaincy of a sinking ship."

He turned to face her, his eyes burning with cold intensity. "I do not intend to go down with the ship. I intend to build a new one. This… this is the lifeboat. A self-sustaining world that will house the genetic legacy of magical life. When the time comes, we will not be here. We will be among the stars, on a new world of our own making, with our children and their children, safe and supreme. This is the Ark Project."

Isadora was silent for a long moment, her sharp mind processing the audacity, the sheer, magnificent arrogance of his plan. She walked to the edge of the forest biome, the scent of damp earth and pine filling her senses. She was a pragmatist. And while the idea of interstellar travel was the stuff of fantasy, the immediate implications of what stood before her were very, very real.

"A complete monopoly," she whispered, the thought taking shape. "Every magical plant. Every magical creature. The entire supply chain for every potion, every wand, every enchanted object in the world… would be in this room. It would be ours."

"Precisely," Cassian affirmed, pleased that she had immediately grasped the short-term strategic value. "The migration is the ultimate goal. The total domination of the wizarding economy is a pleasant side effect."

Her initial shock solidified into the cool, calculating ambition he so admired. "The Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will be an obstacle. The Ban on Experimental Breeding, the classification of dangerous creatures… they are restrictive." 

"The Ministry is a bureaucracy, and a corrupt one at that," Cassian said dismissively. "It runs on gold and influence, both of which we have in abundance. Permits will be acquired, regulations will be amended, and inspectors will be bought. For everything else, there are our house-elves, who can bypass nearly any ward or security measure."

The plan was already in motion. He had divided the acquisition into two branches: Flora and Fauna.

The Flora division was already well underway, operating under the legitimate cover of Aethelred Provisions and the Greengrass family's existing import/export licenses. Crates of rare magical plants arrived weekly from contacts across the globe—Asphodel from Greece, Belladonna from European apothecaries, even cuttings of the endangered Fluxweed. Isadora herself was overseeing the cultivation within the Ark, using her extensive knowledge of Herbology to ensure each plant thrived in its custom-designed habitat.

The Fauna division was more delicate. He had started with the mundane and the easily concealed. His network of house-elves, led by the ever-efficient Pip, had begun the systematic collection of breeding pairs of lesser magical creatures. They had acquired Jobberknolls from North America, Puffskeins from cottage gardens, and a small herd of Mooncalves captured during a full moon in the Scottish Highlands. 

"The next stage is the acquisition of X-class and XX-class creatures," Cassian continued, a projection of lists and classifications appearing on a slate he held. "Then we move to the more… restricted assets. Unicorns, Thestrals, Hippogriffs. I have already opened channels with black market breeders in Eastern Europe. They will be expensive, but the return on investment will be infinite." 

"And Dragons?" Isadora asked, the single word hanging in the air. Dragon breeding had been outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709. They were the ultimate magical creature, a living weapon of immense power.

"A problem for another day," Cassian conceded. "But one that will be solved. We will have them all. A complete, living library of magical life. Our own private Eden, ready for transport."

He looked at his wife, his partner, the queen for his nascent kingdom. "This is the true work of our house, Isadora. To build a legacy that will outlast nations, worlds, and even the stars themselves. Are you with me?"

Isadora looked from the impossible, manufactured world before her to the cold, brilliant man beside her. She thought of the child growing within her, an heir not just to a name and a fortune, but to an ambition that sought to conquer reality itself. A slow, predatory smile touched her lips.

"A self-sustaining, genetically diverse portfolio of unique biological assets with infinite potential for monetization," she said, translating his grand vision into the language of commerce. "Of course I'm with you, Cassian. This is the best business proposal I have ever heard."

As if on cue, a house-elf popped into existence at the entrance to the Ark, bowing low. It was Pip.

"Young Master, the first special consignment has arrived. The package from the Welsh Preserve is secure."

Cassian nodded. "Bring it in."

Pip vanished and reappeared moments later, levitating a large, heavily warded crate. He opened it carefully. Inside, nestled in magically cooled straw, was a clutch of six iridescent green eggs. Isadora drew a sharp breath.

"Common Welsh Green," she identified instantly. "How?"

"The preserve's director has a rather significant gambling debt," Cassian said simply. "Lestrange Capital was happy to offer him a creative repayment plan."

He looked at the eggs, the first of the XXXXX-class creatures to enter his collection. They were not just creatures. They were assets. They were data points. They were the building blocks of a new world, his world. The Ark had its first serpents.