After the accounting delegation's departure, Jericho and Moriarty resided together in Slytherin Castle. Shortly after, Marcus and Leon joined them, forming a close-knit Hogwarts circle centered around Moriarty.
In mid-August, Moriarty formally extended an invitation to James Blanche and Ludo Bagman, requesting their presence at Slytherin Castle as esteemed guests.
During their visit, Moriarty informed the two officials of his decision to represent the British national Quidditch team. Ludo was elated by the news, while James bore an expression of thinly veiled disappointment.
"Don't be disheartened, Mr. James," Moriarty said, his voice calm yet persuasive. "No guest who enters this castle leaves burdened by gloom."
James waited silently, expecting more. Moriarty continued, "Next year's Quidditch World Cup will be hosted in Canada. As is well known, the Canadian Ministry of Magic closely aligns itself with the policies of the United States Ministry."
A subtle glint appeared in James's eyes. Moriarty leaned back, composed. "The World Cup presents a tremendous business opportunity. Given your standing in the magical sports world, you hold considerable sway. Isn't the prospect even slightly enticing?"
"Of course, it is," James admitted candidly. "But that sort of opportunity attracts more eyes than just mine."
"Which is precisely why you'll need my cooperation," Moriarty said with a knowing smile, turning toward Ludo. "And I'll require both your support and that of the British Ministry of Magic."
Ludo, already envisioning glittering stacks of Galleons, leaned in, eager. "Mr. Moriarty, just tell us how we should collaborate!"
"To be frank, wizarding profits are even more elusive than Muggle riches. So this time, I plan to handle things myself," Moriarty replied solemnly. Clearly, he had mapped out another grand scheme. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the 'Star-Making Plan.'"
"I will represent the British team and lead them to win the World Cup with an undefeated record. Imagine the commercial possibilities. You'll know exactly how to work with me when you realize just how much gold is in that idea."
Both Ludo and James were momentarily stunned by Moriarty's boundless confidence. After a pause, they exchanged incredulous looks. Though they acknowledged Moriarty's talent, the notion of a child leading the national team seemed preposterous. Surely, even Merlin wouldn't dare such madness!
A teenager—barely thirteen—leading seasoned professionals? Ludo thought the world had gone mad.
James, more personal in thought, scoffed inwardly: There's no way he could defeat my nephew, Maxi Blanche III.
"I know you're skeptical, but it doesn't matter," Moriarty said coolly. "I've made extensive preparations. Mr. Ludo, keep an eye on my movements throughout the year. And Mr. James—Jericho will fill you in on my World Cup efforts."
He smiled—assured, confident, unbothered. That confidence seeped into the directors, slowly chipping away at their disbelief. They began to imagine the possibility, to see the plan not as folly but as calculated ambition. Soon, they reached a unanimous conclusion: even if the plan had only a slim chance of success, the profits it could generate would sustain them through multiple lifetimes.
Ludo and James exchanged another glance and nodded—tentatively, but with a spark of belief. If Moriarty failed, they'd lose nothing but a touch of credibility.
After their departure, Moriarty locked himself in his lab, focused intently on developing a revolutionary new broomstick—one that would make the Nimbus 1700 obsolete.
Jericho and Marcus, both passionate about Quidditch, assisted when possible. Yet time always slipped by, and soon, the lazy days of summer came to a close. The new school year loomed large on the horizon.
Moriarty entered his second year at Hogwarts.
He, Jericho, and Marcus arrived at King's Cross Station in a sleek unicorn-drawn carriage. Ingo had enchanted it with goblin-specific magic that rendered it invisible to Muggles but fully visible to wizards.
Jericho basked in the envious glances of passersby. "Prefect Leon really missed out," he said with a smug grin. "He'd have loved the way everyone's staring! When was the last time his family got this kind of admiration?"
"I actually favor William over Leon," Moriarty mused as he stepped down. "But William's ambitions run wild and uncontrolled."
The iconic Slytherin staff reappeared in Moriarty's hand.
Marcus, still munching a toffee, followed suit. As they approached the Hogwarts Express, they noticed a peculiar sight—all the young witches and wizards were gathered near the front of the train, whispering excitedly.
"Is the School Governors' carriage up front?" Jericho speculated. "Are we getting a new prodigy this year?"
"What's going on?" Marcus asked, stopping a younger Slytherin boy. "Why's everyone crowding forward?"
"You didn't hear?" the boy shouted over his shoulder, running toward the train. "There's a gorgeous woman in the Governor's compartment! Everyone's rushing to see her!"
Jericho scoffed. "Have they never seen a witch before? Or has this entire train never seen a woman?"
"Where's Professor Piliwick?" Marcus glanced around. "She usually waits here to receive Mr. Moriarty. She'd definitely know what's going on."
"We'll get answers inside." Moriarty led them aboard. The corridors were teeming with boys—no girls in sight—all pushing to catch a glimpse.
A fifth-year Slytherin noticed Moriarty. "Mr. Moriarty! Over here!" he yelled.
Leon, flushed and struggling, emerged from the crowd. "I saved you a spot in the School Governors' Box!"
He tried making his way through, but the congestion held him back. "Move! I'm a prefect! I'm here to escort Mr. Moriarty—what do you mean you're here to see beauty? Step aside!"
Eventually, Leon reached Moriarty. "Who's inside the compartment?" Moriarty asked.
"No clue," Leon replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "They're all talking about seeing some beautiful woman. Maybe Dumbledore invited the Weird Sisters?"
"Beautiful woman…" Moriarty echoed the phrase, and a thought surfaced—an image of snow-white skin and ethereal grace. Could it be her?
An elf? No—the elf.
He recalled the vampire elder's words: "Our clan's recent attention toward elves stems from the legend of a headless vampire ancestor."
A first-year vampire professor… now, a second-year elf professor…
Moriarty's eyes narrowed. "Leon, clear the way. I want a look at her."
Leon immediately complied, sending prefects to create a path. The younger students, now convinced that Moriarty was the president of the Boys' Student Council, reluctantly stepped aside.
Some whispered with amusement, "If anyone's qualified to assess beauty, it's Mr. Moriarty."
Leon returned with a hushed tone. "Sir, Box No. 1 has only one occupant."
Moriarty nodded and made his way to the front of the train. A minute later, he knocked softly on the sliding nanmu door of Box 1.
It slid open slowly.
Diana sat poised on a leather sofa, legs crossed. Her skin was as pale as the upholstery, and her demeanor had transformed entirely since that day in the headmaster's office. She now wore a khaki Muggle-style suit that softened her elven features. Her pointed ears, once conspicuous, now appeared charming and refined.
She can control her presence, her aura. She's mastered Muggle aesthetics… No wonder the boys are mesmerized.
Diana didn't speak. Moriarty entered, closed the door behind him, and seated himself across from her.
"I was expecting to see Nicolas Flamel in this box," he said lightly. "Imagine my surprise."
"You liar," Diana said with a playful smirk. "You knew exactly who was in here. Elven ears hear more than most."
Moriarty realized she must have overheard his entire conversation with Leon.
Her smile brightened as she observed him. With her delicate features, she looked radiant—bewitching. "So even the famed Moriarty gets nervous around women?"
He gave a slight chuckle. "It's hard to forget that seated before me is an elf who looks youthful but has lived longer than Dumbledore."
"What's wrong with elves?" she asked, pouting. "Aren't we beautiful?"
Moriarty blinked. Her playful, almost coquettish tone was unexpected. She's a handful.
"Are you saying elves aren't attractive?" Diana lifted her chin proudly. At that moment, the train lurched into motion, and the sudden jolt emphasized the curves of her form—bright and blinding like twin lumos charms. The compartment filled with the subtle scent of warm milk.
"Or maybe…" she teased, hands on hips, "Mr. Moriarty doesn't think elves are powerful?"
"I am your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," she added smugly. "I'm more than qualified to teach a few cheeky second-years."
She plopped down beside him and sighed. "Though I imagine you'll realize that soon enough."
Moriarty's expression shifted. Without another word, he stood and exited the compartment.
Diana's eyes followed his retreating form. Her smile lingered—sly and enigmatic.
JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 55+ CHAPTERS
patreon.com/HACKDWORLD