"Mr. Fudge," said old Mr. Flint graciously, placing a plate of lemon pie before the Minister, "please, have some."
"Oh? Oh—oh!" Fudge flinched, hastily withdrawing his hand into his cloak sleeve before awkwardly accepting the plate. He gave old Flint a sheepish smile. "Thank you. Wait—aren't you... Mr. Flint? There's been some tension between you and Lucius Malfoy lately, hasn't there? Oh, dear, did I say something wrong? Merlin's beard…"
Fudge, clearly flustered, had made the grave mistake of bringing up a sensitive conflict in front of an audience of pure-blood aristocrats—many of whom now eyed him disapprovingly.
But old Mr. Flint remained composed. "Whatever disagreements we may have had," he said coolly, "the Flint family will always support you, Minister."
"You're being serious?" Fudge's voice trembled with hope. The silverware on his plate clattered from his shaking hands.
Old Flint's demeanor turned solemn. "Of course. The Flint family does not speak in falsehoods."
Then his expression hardened. "Lockhart is a novelist. Talented, no doubt, but unqualified to lead the Ministry. It is time for the pure-bloods to reclaim their place. As such, the Flint family formally and publicly endorses Cornelius Fudge for Minister of Magic."
The proclamation sent a murmur through the gathered crowd. Many of the pure-bloods hadn't heard a word from old Flint all evening, and for him to speak now—so decisively—was both sudden and significant.
Once his statement had been made, old Flint returned to his seat, notably avoiding eye contact or communication with Moriarty.
Old Mr. Foley then stood up, his movements deliberate. "I must take issue with what Flint has said. That Mr. Lockhart is just a novelist? I disagree. I've worked closely with both Lockhart and Mr. Moriarty."
He smiled and gave Moriarty a subtle wink. "Mr. Lockhart's insights are invaluable. Therefore, I, and the Foley family, declare our full support for Albus Dumbledore's candidacy for Minister of Magic!"
"What?" Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened. He glared at Foley, his expression screaming betrayal.
Everyone knew the Foley family's long-standing ties to the Death Eaters.
And yet, What of the Death Eaters? What of the Dark Lord? Old Foley thought with disdain.
He sat back down with a calculated glance at Moriarty. His instincts told him Lockhart's influence came directly from Moriarty—this move, therefore, was not just support, but an investment in favor with the rising power.
As the opposing statements from the two ancient families echoed in the hall, the banquet slowly wound down. Fudge departed Malfoy Manor in a daze, overcome with mixed emotions. He was already imagining the letter he'd pen to the Piliwick family that very night.
Meanwhile, Lucius was focused on old Flint. According to Slytherin students, Marcus Flint had aligned himself with Moriarty, so Lucius and others had assumed the Flint family would follow suit. But old Flint's declaration had disrupted that narrative.
Soon, Lucius received confirmation.
The Hogwarts Board of Governors had received a letter—from Marcus Flint himself.
In it, Marcus expressed his admiration for Dumbledore and voiced support for his candidacy. He even urged Hogwarts' staff and students to rally behind Dumbledore's leadership.
"Have the students all lost their minds to a pack of Winged Demons?" Lucius roared, slamming a pile of parchment onto the carved mahogany table in his study. "These are all letters from students! Even Slytherins! What are they thinking?"
Narcissa rubbed her temple. "Marcus is loyal to Moriarty. He's not leading support for Dumbledore per se, but aligning students to Moriarty's will. The Slytherins aren't betraying pure-blood tradition—they're avoiding offending Moriarty."
Lucius fumed. "Of course! Moriarty knows we'll never support Dumbledore. This is his way of pressuring us through Fudge! And Fudge, the fool—why can't he see that giving Moriarty what he wants is the only path forward?"
"Perhaps it's not all bad," Narcissa offered thoughtfully. "Old Flint remains loyal to the pure-blood cause. It may only be Marcus who's defected."
Lucius nodded reluctantly, staring down at the heap of letters with a heavy sigh.
When Fudge finally learned of the events unfolding at Hogwarts, he was thrown into a panic. Without delay, he Apparated to the Piliwick estate in London.
But the door remained closed to him.
Unknown to Fudge, the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Justus Piliwick, patriarch of the Piliwick family—was in a private meeting with Moriarty.
Lilith Piliwick had enthusiastically introduced her grandfather to Moriarty, prompting a visit to the manor. The two men spoke at length behind closed doors.
No one knew what passed between them.
What was certain, however, was that at the upcoming Gathering of Powers held at Fudge Manor at the end of July, Moriarty and the entire Piliwick family arrived together.
Fudge, standing at the manor's entrance to receive guests, plastered a smile on his face when he saw them, though his legs nearly gave way from shock.
Before he could greet them, Moriarty remarked casually, "You've lost weight, Minister. These past few weeks must have been exhausting."
Fudge stammered before Justus chuckled, "Reminds me of my own internship days in Magical Law Enforcement. Nothing wrong with a bit of hard work in one's youth."
"I've lost weight because of politics," Fudge added with a forced laugh.
Lilith smirked. "You hear that, Moriarty? Maybe I should intern at the Ministry to lose weight."
Dressed in an elegant white lace dress, Lilith was hardly fat. She squinted at Moriarty mischievously. "Are you saying I'm fat, then?"
"I said no such thing," Moriarty replied smoothly. "You're the one reading into it."
With a shrug, he strolled inside, Lilith mock-glared and followed, only to hear a familiar voice call out.
"Moriarty! Miss Piliwick! I knew you'd be here!"
It was Jericho. He had grown taller in the month they'd been apart.
Lilith was surprised to see him at such a high-level gathering. "What's this American cowboy doing here?" she whispered, following his gaze to a tall, broad-shouldered wizard engaged in conversation nearby.
"James Blanche," she muttered. "Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at MACUSA."
"My father," Jericho grinned. "When Marcus wrote me about Britain's shifting politics, I convinced Dad to visit under the pretense of Quidditch World Cup negotiations with Ludo Bagman."
"And of course," Lilith said knowingly, "Fudge would invite him to show off his international connections."
Jericho winked. "Exactly."
He turned to Moriarty. "So—will Fudge comply?"
"He has no alternative," Moriarty replied coolly. "He took my gift. The return I expect is more than fair."
"Understood," Jericho whispered. "Truth be told, my father didn't just come because I asked. He's eager to meet you, Sir. I request you grant him an audience."
"I will," Moriarty nodded. "Your family has my interest. The Quidditch World Cup starts next year—if we cooperate, we'll earn quite the fortune, and more importantly, influence."
"Fantastic!" Jericho grinned, throwing a fist in the air before catching Lilith's glare.
"You're still too wild," came a crisp voice.
James Blanche approached, tall and commanding, his accent distinctly American. He extended a calloused hand toward Moriarty. "James Blanche. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moriarty."
Moriarty returned the handshake, noting the broom-calluses with interest.
"My son has spoken about your Quidditch talent," James continued. "I'd like to offer you a place on the American national team for next year's World Cup. With training, you'll be a star. I swear it on the honor of my house."
"An invitation to the World Cup?" Moriarty's eyes sparkled.
But Ludo Bagman cut in. "Mr. Blanche! You can't poach talent right in front of me. Mr. Moriarty's a Slytherin—he belongs to our national team!"
Bagman practically leapt forward, eyes shining. "Mr. Moriarty, I'm sure you could qualify for the British national team! Please, allow me to meet you after the banquet—we can discuss the details!"
Hearing the word "visit," James remembered his own agenda and quickly added, "Yes! I'd be honored to be a guest at Slytherin Castle, if you'll have me, Mr. Moriarty."
Moriarty nodded once more, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
The power game had only just begun.
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