Chapter 12: The Human Capital Initiative

The Archimedes Principle

Chapter 12: The Human Capital Initiative

October, 1885

The Lestrange-Greengrass empire operated with the silent, frictionless efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Their commercial ventures had crushed all competition, their political influence within the Wizengamot was a quiet stranglehold, and their son, Orion, was a healthy, magically potent toddler—the living embodiment of their successful merger. The Ark, the hidden world beneath their manor, was a thriving ecosystem, a near-complete library of magical life awaiting its exodus. But as Cassian reviewed the quarterly projections with Isadora in his private study, a single, glaring inefficiency remained.

"Our assets are secure, our wealth is growing exponentially, and the Ark is viable," he stated, gesturing to a magically animated chart that detailed their holdings. "But we have a critical resource bottleneck. A population."

Isadora, elegant and sharp as ever, looked up from a report on their new security contracts. "The pure-blood families are a liability. Their traditions are archaic, their loyalties are fickle, and their gene pool is a stagnant puddle. They are not suitable colonists. They are the world we are leaving behind."

"Precisely," Cassian agreed. "We cannot build a new world with old minds. We need a population forged in our image. Loyal, skilled, and utterly indebted to us. We need to cultivate our own citizens."

He laid out his plan, a two-pronged strategy so audacious in its scope and cynical in its execution that it could only have been born from his unique perspective. It was a social engineering project on a generational scale.

"The wizarding world, for all its power, has no social safety net," he began, the data from Prometheus flowing through his mind. "Orphans are a footnote, passed to reluctant relatives or, like Tom Riddle, abandoned to the Muggles. Muggle-borns are tolerated but disadvantaged, entering our world with no connections, no wealth, and no support system. They are the disenfranchised. The forgotten. And therefore, they are the perfect raw material."

His plan was simple. First, they would create an orphanage. Not a grim, Dickensian workhouse, but a state-of-the-art institution that would be the envy of the wizarding world. Second, they would establish a scholastic fund for impoverished Muggle-borns, covering all their expenses at Hogwarts. 

"The public face of this initiative will be philanthropy," Cassian explained. "We will be seen as progressive patrons, saviors of the unfortunate. It will generate immense political capital and disarm our rivals. Who would dare criticize the man who builds a home for orphans?"

Isadora's eyes lit up with the cold fire of understanding. "And the private reality?"

"The private reality," Cassian said, "is that we will be creating a private army. A population of loyalists who owe their lives, their education, and their futures to us and us alone. They will be the engineers, the healers, the soldiers, and the administrators of our new world. Their loyalty will not be to the Ministry or to some abstract notion of blood purity, but to the House of Lestrange-Greengrass."

The first move was a carefully placed article in the Daily Prophet. Under the headline, "LESTRANGE-GREENGRASS HEIR ANNOUNCES HISTORIC PHILANTHROPIC INITIATIVE," the piece detailed Cassian's plan to establish the "Corvus Institute for Magical Foundlings." The name was a deliberate choice, linking the project directly to his own name and the Lestrange family crest. The article quoted him extensively, speaking of a "sacred duty" to care for the most vulnerable members of their society and decrying the Ministry's long-standing neglect.

The reaction was immediate and precisely as predicted. The old guard pure-bloods were baffled, the Ministry was embarrassed into offering public support, and the more progressive elements of society hailed him as a visionary.

The Corvus Institute was established in a sprawling, defunct manor in the north of England, acquired by Lestrange Capital after its previous owners, the Fawley family, had been driven into bankruptcy. Using the same spatial expansion charms that formed the basis of the Ark, the interior was transformed. It was not a dormitory; it was a campus. There were bright, airy living quarters, advanced educational facilities that went far beyond the standard Hogwarts curriculum, state-of-the-art potion labs, and extensive grounds for recreation and magical practice.

The first residents were acquired with surgical precision. House-elves, operating under cloaks of invisibility, retrieved magical orphans from Muggle institutions across Britain. They were children whose accidental magic had marked them as strange or dangerous, children who had been forgotten by the wizarding world. They arrived scared and bewildered and were met with clean clothes, hot meals, and a level of care and attention they had never known. Their curriculum, designed by Isadora and Prometheus, was a subtle form of indoctrination. They were taught history, but it was a history that emphasized the wisdom and benevolence of their benefactor, Cassian Lestrange. They were taught loyalty, not to abstract ideals, but to the institution that had saved them.

Simultaneously, the "Prometheus Endowment for Magical Advancement" was announced. It offered full scholarships to Hogwarts for Muggle-born students of exceptional talent and dire financial need. The selection process was rigorous, managed by a board that was, of course, controlled by Cassian. They weren't just looking for intelligence; they were looking for ambition, resilience, and a lack of strong family ties to the Muggle world.

The first recipient was a girl named Elara Vance. She was brilliant, a magical prodigy living with her widowed mother in a cramped London flat. Her Hogwarts letter had been a source of terror rather than joy, an invitation to a world they could not possibly afford. Then, a representative from the Prometheus Endowment arrived. He offered not just to cover her books and robes, but to provide a generous stipend that would lift her mother out of poverty.

The contract Elara's mother signed was a marvel of magical legalese. On the surface, it was a simple scholarship agreement. But woven into the magical fabric of the parchment were clauses of fealty, binding Elara to a lifetime of service to the Lestrange-Greengrass Holding Company upon her graduation. She would be given a prestigious job, a generous salary, and a life of comfort. In return, her loyalty—and her magic—would belong to Cassian. She was the first of many.

One crisp autumn evening, Cassian and Isadora stood on a balcony at the Corvus Institute, watching the children below. They were playing a game of tag on the perfectly manicured lawns, their laughter echoing in the twilight. They were healthy, happy, and utterly unaware that they were the first generation of colonists for a new world.

"Look at them," Isadora said, her voice a soft murmur. "They see you as a savior. A god."

"They are an investment," Cassian corrected, though he understood her point. "The most important one we will ever make. The Ark holds the flora and fauna of our world. These children… they hold its future."

He was not merely building an empire of gold and land. He was building an empire of people, shaping their minds and souls to his purpose. The conflicts of Grindelwald and Dumbledore, which were already beginning to brew on the continent, seemed more distant and pathetic than ever. They were fighting over the ashes of the past. He was forging the steel of the future.