Cornelius Fudge was noticeably dressed to impress. He was a short, rotund wizard, and today, his hair was styled in curls. He wore a sharply pressed pinstriped suit with a violet tie, a long black cloak draped dramatically around his shoulders, and silver pointed boots that gleamed under the lights of Malfoy Manor.
Moriarty watched the Minister approach. He understood that from this moment forward, every word he uttered had to be weighed and measured. These words, however, were not born of sincerity but were merely instruments crafted for manipulation—tools in the pursuit of influence.
As Fudge neared, Moriarty extended a hand for a brief, polite shake and withdrew just as quickly, stating with a tone of composed indifference, "I believe Mr. Fudge understands that our headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, has always stood firmly against students engaging in politics. And yet, here I am. Do you know why, Minister?"
The moment Moriarty mentioned "Dumbledore," Fudge visibly twitched. When he heard the question, he instinctively glanced at Lucius Malfoy, eyes wide with uncertainty.
Before Moriarty's arrival, they had rehearsed numerous conversational strategies. Yet the core issue Moriarty immediately raised was entirely outside their expectations.
How could one answer such a pointed inquiry?
Fudge stood awkwardly, unable to declare the truth: "Because if I become Minister for Magic, I can offer the Slytherin family enormous benefits—so please support me!"
He couldn't admit that. Fudge, despite his ambition, wasn't yet a polished politician. The pure-bloods were insatiable; their hunger for power and privilege had no end. Promising Moriarty rewards today meant promising Malfoy something greater tomorrow. At this rate, Fudge risked bankrupting his promises before he even took office.
Moriarty studied him and continued seamlessly, "The reason I'm here is because I believe Mr. Fudge might be capable of bringing transformation to the wizarding world."
His voice carried through the room.
"Every shift in the social structure creates new opportunities. The pure-blood families hold significant wealth, yet collectively, we cannot deny they are becoming detached from the era. The challenge is how to capitalize on these changes—how to expand our families and multiply our assets. That is the true question that we, as heirs and heads, must consider."
A ripple passed through the assembly. The pure-blood witches and wizards exchanged glances, whispering among themselves.
Moriarty, true to his reputation.
His meaning was clear: Whoever dares to change the wizarding world for the better earns his support as the next Minister for Magic.
This—this was the Slytherin way.
Though everyone in the room understood that "change" really meant "policies that favor pure-blood interests," no one dared voice it aloud.
The narrative was now: "We support Fudge not because he serves our interests, but because he will modernize the wizarding world!"
What an elegant slogan. What a noble justification.
Laughter rippled across the gathering. Many turned to Lucius and nodded, visibly reassured. What they feared most was Moriarty retreating into ambiguous silence. But now that he had a vision, a plan, Fudge's path forward was once again visible.
Lucius seized the moment with theatrical grace. Feigning irritation, he bellowed, "Dobby? Dobby! Begin the banquet at once! Must we allow our distinguished guests to remain standing?"
He placed himself between Moriarty and Fudge with practiced ease. "I've heard that Mr. Moriarty recently instructed the Hogwarts house-elves in several Chinese recipes. Tonight, Malfoy Manor presents a sampling of those delicacies—prepared, of course, under Dobby's careful guidance.
And Minister Fudge—your favorite Provençal snails are prepared just as you prefer."
"You're always so thoughtful," Fudge replied, visibly brightening. Mr. Parkinson approached just then and asked, "Lucius, will I find my usual pan-seared salmon steak with the crab-butter sauce?"
"My old friend," Lucius said warmly, "you know that Malfoy Manor always provides. Whatever you seek—you will find."
He addressed the room, offering a nod even to guests he personally disliked, including Arthur Weasley. Courtesy was king tonight.
Dobby and the other elves bustled from the kitchens with silver platters brimming with food and wine. The feast commenced in grandeur. Lucius took the head seat; Moriarty sat at his right, Fudge beside him. The rest of the pure-bloods filled the long table in order of influence.
As forks clinked and glasses lifted, the mood warmed considerably.
Moriarty sampled the dishes and gave an honest assessment: the Malfoy house-elves truly possessed remarkable culinary skill.
With the main course finished, guests began mingling. Clusters formed across the drawing room, their polished smiles concealing private ambitions. Lucius moved among them, proudly introducing Moriarty to his network.
Among the crowd, Moriarty spotted a striking woman—Mrs. Zabini.
She was well-known in the pure-blood circles, infamous even. As of 1989, she had buried five husbands—all wealthy, all leaving behind Galleons and libraries.
She now watched Moriarty with predatory admiration, lifting her glass in invitation.
Her son, Blaise Zabini, stood nearby, avoiding her gaze in shame. Draco Malfoy and the others teased him mercilessly.
"Another new stepdad?" one of them whispered with a chuckle.
Soldaya overheard and rolled his eyes. He leaned toward Draco, Pansy, Theodore Nott, and the rest, whispering something that quieted their laughter immediately.
Meanwhile, Moriarty neatly extricated himself from Mrs. Zabini. At that moment, Mr. McMillan appeared to introduce his companions, and the shift in grouping revealed a subtle truth: the Twenty-Eight Sacred Families had begun to split.
Moriarty deliberately signaled allegiance to families like the McMillans and the Weasleys—families closely aligned with Dumbledore.
Fudge, ever watchful, pulled Lucius aside.
"The Pilliwicks finally abandoned Barty Crouch, but Dumbledore was the loudest voice against it! Moriarty is clearly throwing support behind Dumbledore. I can't win—not if I alienate Europe's most powerful wizard and its oldest bloodlines simultaneously!"
"Moriarty's hedging his bets," Lucius said dryly, sipping his wine. "You'll need to show him some generosity if you want him on your side."
"What can I offer?" Fudge's tone was despairing. "What Dumbledore can give, I cannot. And what I can give, Dumbledore can't!"
Lucius didn't answer. He gestured, and Dobby cleared the table. In moments, it had transformed into a round black table with thirty evenly spaced chairs.
The noise in the room dropped.
One by one, the pure-bloods turned serious, stepping toward the table.
Lucius stood at the head, his voice ringing with pride. "The Sacred Twenty-Eight are united. Every previous Minister of Magic has risen from among us. Tonight shall be no different. The time has come for new leadership."
He tapped the floor with his cane and turned to the younger generation. "Now, kindly escort the children out. They may participate in such meetings when they are older."
Draco, lounging on a couch, looked up with defiance. The other heads echoed Lucius's instruction, but the children glanced at Moriarty. Seeing that he made no move to leave, their faces turned sullen.
Draco shot up. "Why does he get to stay? He's no older than us!"
Pansy immediately added, "If Slytherin's heir can attend, so can we!"
The Greengrass sisters, Crabbe, Goyle, and Theodore Nott all voiced agreement.
Moriarty silenced them with a single icy glare. Lucius tensed, but before he could explode, Narcissa grabbed Draco, dragging him out. Draco thrashed, trying to escape her grip.
Pansy and the others continued to protest. Across the room, Augusta Longbottom scoffed, noting to herself that her grandson Neville would never behave so disgracefully.
"Draco Malfoy!" Lucius snapped. "Narcissa, let him go. Dobby! Take him to his room. He is not to leave for three days!"
Then, turning to Moriarty, Lucius bowed apologetically. Moriarty said nothing. He looked past the protesting children, past the flushed and humiliated Blaise Zabini, and locked eyes with one boy—Soldaya.
Soldaya stood firm.
"You used Draco's need for attention to provoke a scene," Moriarty said, approaching him. "I'm standing before you now. Speak. What is it you wish to do?"
Old Selwyn emerged from the shadows, staring in disbelief. "Soldaya? Was this your doing? Why?"
"Why?" Soldaya sneered. "To sever ties with you! You're all waiting for Slytherin's heir to be the next Dark Lord?"
He turned to Moriarty.
"I am not like them. The Selwyn family was born noble—don't confuse me with my Death Eater father! I will rebuild our legacy from the ground up!"
Then, with burning resolve in his eyes, he addressed Moriarty.
"I've heard the tales. They call you a genius. Well, I enjoy nothing more than breaking geniuses. Draw your wand! Fifteen minutes! That's all I need—to give you a memory you'll never forget!"
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