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"Lucius... Malfoy."
Moriarty spoke slowly and deliberately.
"The host has confirmed the choice of Lucius. Once the selection is made, it cannot be changed."
"Yes, I confirm. It's him."
Moriarty's tone was resolute. If magical creatures dared to act out so brazenly, then it was time a wizard stepped up and asserted his position.
Lucius cared more about meeting the Jewish Marquis.
No, this wasn't about Narcissa.
"Alright, please complete the task promptly."
Although the system didn't impose a deadline, Moriarty knew it was imperative to visit the Jewish Marquis as soon as possible.
Now that he had chosen his candidate, a smirk formed on Moriarty's lips.
He informed Dumbledore that he intended to make the visit, but he would need to use the fireplace in the headmaster's office to reach Diagon Alley.
"Of course," Dumbledore said, nodding. "What time?"
Moriarty considered for a moment. "Tomorrow at three o'clock. I wouldn't want to miss lunch or dinner today. You know... today's breakfast was absolutely dreadful."
Dumbledore chuckled and accepted that. He reached out, grabbing a handful of toffees and offered them to Moriarty, who declined. With a hint of regret in his eyes, Dumbledore watched as Moriarty turned and exited the office.
"Hey~ hey~ Mr. Slytherin!"
Just outside the door, the familiar cheerful voice of Paro rang out, and Moriarty looked over to see the stone beast beckoning.
Paro grinned, winking. "A gorgeous elf just passed by—yes, that one from before. Walked out like her legs were made of jelly again!"
"Paro, are you getting bored standing guard all alone up here?" Moriarty raised a brow with a sly smirk. "Say the word, and I'll find you a companion."
Paro sighed dramatically. "Hmm... companionship? Never really thought about it. I've been here for thousands of years, you know. But I wouldn't mind being cradled in the arms of a curvy woman... or maybe riding on her back?"
Moriarty laughed, shaking his head. So the little stone beast harbored such lofty dreams? A woman? No—he wanted a voluptuous woman?
There was a Cao thief hiding right beside him this whole time!
Moriarty made a mental note to be cautious of this perverted gargoyle in the future and left without another word.
Paro, still deep in thought, closed his eyes and mused, "You don't know how to appreciate a good wife when you're young, and you treat girls like they're treasures... Mr. Slytherin? Slytherin, sir?"
Opening his eyes again, Paro realized Moriarty had long since vanished.
Moriarty returned to the Slytherin common room, which was unusually quiet. The little snakes had all retired to their dormitories, seemingly at peace. Taking advantage of the stillness, Moriarty penned a letter to Lucius Malfoy, requesting a meeting at Malfoy Manor tomorrow at three in the afternoon.
The British aristocracy had long held the custom of afternoon tea at three. Lucius had no valid excuse to decline.
By noon, after indulging in a satisfying meal, Moriarty made his way to the library. There, he pulled out a copy of The Complete Broomstick from the section dedicated to sports and magical movement.
"Moriarty?" came a surprised voice.
Penelope Clearwater walked over from a nearby aisle, clearly shocked to find Moriarty browsing the library.
"Word about what happened this morning is all over the school," she said. "I thought you'd be in the infirmary with Tonks."
She tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity as she looked at him.
"Tonks is fine," Moriarty replied calmly. "Between the hospital wing and her dorm, I agreed with the professors—the dormitory is better for her recovery."
Penelope nodded thoughtfully. Moriarty noticed she was holding a massive book. She extended it to him.
"Broom Care Manual. I took three part-time jobs over the holidays—now I can afford a new broom!"
She beamed proudly.
"I'm a second year now. I think I can try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Any position but Keeper, and I'll be fine!"
Her excitement bubbled over as she shared her dream. But then she noticed Moriarty staring silently at her, making her blush. She quickly added in a quieter voice, "I mean… I'm flexible with positions."
"Of course you are," Moriarty said, smiling gently. Her cheeks turned even redder. "You'll do great for Ravenclaw. The tryouts are only a few weeks away—have you bought the broom already?"
"I ordered a Sweeping Seven-Star. It's arriving tomorrow." Her face lit up but then fell slightly. "Our captain scheduled a trial this afternoon, but my broom's not here yet. I might borrow Daisy's."
She knew Moriarty had a Nimbus 1700 but didn't ask to borrow it. Penelope also knew he had wealth beyond measure, but if she asked for help now, she would lose her sense of pride—and any hope of standing as his equal. What then would be the point of her working hard for Quidditch?
Penelope looked down quietly.
"…What?" She raised her head again. "You're reading a broom book? Want to go sit together? It's unusually quiet in here—everyone's in their dorms."
Moriarty agreed. He wasn't reading the book to boost his flying skills but to evaluate a potential business opportunity.
With his current standing, Lucius Malfoy would never abandon his wife and son to seek out the Jewish Marquis. But Lucius was a businessman, and when it came to lucrative deals, his instincts were sharper than a hound's.
Moriarty needed only to create an irresistible opportunity—one no intelligent merchant could ignore.
If the right message reached Lucius through subtle channels, he would come running like a starving dog catching the scent of fresh bones.
It was far more efficient to lure Lucius with interests than to try persuading him.
And the opportunity? It lay in broomsticks.
The Nimbus 1700 was outdated. Brands like Comet and Sweep were nearing obsolescence. In the not-so-distant future, a broom called the Firebolt would be released, revolutionizing the sport and dominating the global Quidditch scene.
Moriarty planned to build the Firebolt first.
He had once bet against Nicolas Flamel. With the alchemist's help, Moriarty believed he could create a broom even better than the Firebolt.
As plans formed in his mind, he flipped through the book swiftly. Every broom he looked at—its design, structure, and flaws—was etched into his memory.
Penelope looked on, awed and envious. She wished for the same memory skills. Moriarty casually explained that it wasn't true memory—it was a shorthand technique anyone could learn with practice.
At that moment, a lanky boy stumbled toward them with a towering stack of Quidditch books.
The books blocked his view. Straining, he placed them on the table.
"Oliver Wood?" Penelope blinked. "Eleven Quidditch books?"
"Uh, yeah," Wood mumbled. "Thought I'd brush up on a few things."
He looked embarrassed. Expecting the library to be empty, he was surprised to find Moriarty and Penelope here—especially Moriarty, who'd practically destroyed three House teams last year to win Slytherin the Cup.
Wood sat down nervously, unsure how to react. Every time he asked a question about professional tactics, he felt like a clueless peasant asking a royal scholar for help.
It was like two geniuses arguing whether the answer to a problem was A or C while he circled B with trembling hands.
Thankfully, the pressure didn't last. After more than an hour, Moriarty and Penelope parted ways. Moriarty returned to his dorm, wrote a letter to his house-elf Luke, and instructed him to visit Diagon Alley and purchase several broomsticks.
When dinner rolled around, Moriarty and the Slytherins arrived at the Great Hall on time. The atmosphere had returned to normal; students were lively again. Only the Hufflepuffs were being cold-shouldered by the other Houses.
Moriarty noted this as he munched on a slice of pizza, shaking his head.
The divide among the four Houses was never what the Founders wanted. But now even the great Four had no solutions—after all, Salazar had once left over such tensions.
Still, Moriarty set the thought aside.
A flurry of owls swooped into the Hall—fifteen or sixteen of them—each with a bulky package tied to its legs. Judging by the shape, they all carried long rectangular boxes.
Whispers spread among the students. It was rare for Hogwarts owls to deliver anything this late.
Then they spotted Poseidon, Moriarty's owl, leading the flock—and everything became clear.
Without hesitation, all the owls descended on the Slytherin table. In unison, they released their packages in front of Moriarty.
A pot of grape juice spilled. Lilith, seated next to Moriarty, shrieked. One bag dropped onto a steak, and Jericho winced. "I hope the meat's still clean."
"Reparo."
With a calm flick of his cedar wand, Moriarty restored the scene. The juice vanished. The steak reappeared pristine.
And the owls? They had already flown off.
"Why didn't Tonks blast those owls to bits? These Hogwarts owls have no discipline," Moriarty muttered, scratching Poseidon under the beak. The owl had dropped its parcel neatly at his feet and now puffed out its chest proudly.
Lilith wiped the juice off her cheek. "Forget the owls—what's in all these boxes?"
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