Moriarty stepped out of the underground exchange, the Polyjuice transformation fading as he returned to his true form. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his long black coat and his silver-gray eyes half-lidded, he strode toward the northwestern subway station, his figure that of a lone wanderer heading toward his next destination in the grand game of fate.
Indeed, Moriarty's next destination was Swan Castle.
His lead concerning the werewolves had dried up, and he now turned to Mrs. Swan for answers. The conversation ahead was likely to be contentious—tense, even explosive—so Moriarty made sure to brace himself accordingly.
Yet, the vampires had no intention of allowing Moriarty to pass unchallenged. Having been previously repelled by Professor Flitwick, a small group now reappeared, blocking Moriarty's path at the subway station.
A fierce skirmish erupted between the two sides in the dimly lit station, the echoes of curses and hexes reverberating through the underground. The chaos drew the attention of Madame Maxime, Professor Flitwick, and others nearby.
Flitwick was visibly stunned to see Moriarty in France, but the old Charms Master wasted no time. Fulfilling his responsibilities as a professor and protector, he joined the fray on Moriarty's side, flinging hexes with terrifying precision.
"Mr. Moriarty! Mr. Moriarty!" Flitwick shouted, ducking a wild Blood Curse. Several vampires had already fallen under Moriarty's wand, their blood staining the tiled walls. It was fortunate the station was in a remote district; had a Muggle wandered in, the Statute of Secrecy would've been in utter ruins.
"Stop! This is France, not Knockturn Alley!" Flitwick urged him. "Hand over the surviving vampires to the French Aurors!"
Moriarty sneered, his wand twirling lazily yet menacingly in his fingers.
"French vampires are just as brainless as their Greek counterparts. Maybe weaker," he muttered. "And the Aurors... when have they ever been able to control the vampire clans?"
Charlie Weasley, Madame Maxime, and the Delacours—father and daughter—watched in stunned silence as the crimson gore sprayed across the platform. Each vampire's blood burst forth like a sinful blossom upon death.
Crack! Crack!
The unmistakable sound of Apparition filled the air. A squad of French Aurors arrived in a swirl of robes and haste, quickly sealing off the station and capturing the remaining two vampires.
Among them was a stout wizard—the same Ministry official who had spoken with Monsieur Delacour earlier. He scurried toward Madame Maxime, red-faced and trembling, dabbing his brow with a floral handkerchief.
"What happened here?! Sweet Circe, what level of Restoration and Obliviation Charms will this take? And... who is that child?" he asked, staring wide-eyed at Moriarty.
Madame Maxime recognized the young wizard at once—the signature silver-gray hair and piercing eyes of the Slytherin heir were unmistakable. Yet, choosing discretion, she replied, "Director, it seems you'll be working late tonight."
Flitwick leaned toward Moriarty, whispering quickly, "Say nothing. I'll handle the Ministry. If they threaten Veritaserum, say you're here on Dumbledore's orders."
But Moriarty wouldn't accept Flitwick's protection. He could not allow vampires who had seen his face to survive. In front of the French Aurors, Madame Maxime, the Delacours, and even Flitwick, he raised his wand—and fired two Killing Curses in succession.
Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!
The green light exploded forth, and silence fell.
A twelve-year-old had just executed two vampires with the Unforgivable Curse before a squadron of twenty-two Aurors and their commanding officer.
Was this a crime?
If so, what charge could justify trying a child who had just eliminated Dark creatures?
And if it wasn't a crime, then what was the role of the French Aurors that night?
Nobody stepped forward to challenge him. The authority and composure Moriarty wielded had overwhelmed even the seasoned enforcers. His cold gaze swept over the crowd, then settled on the portly official.
"Slater Lindandai's household was attacked without provocation by vampires under your jurisdiction," Moriarty stated icily. "I demand that the French Ministry file a formal complaint to the vampire High Council. Let those decrepit bloodsuckers in their crypts give me an explanation."
The wizard blanched and collapsed backward in fright.
Moriarty strode past him, heading for the exit. No one dared block his path. It was several seconds before Professor Flitwick snapped out of his stupor and tugged Charlie's sleeve.
"We need to follow him. Now."
"Moriarty! Wait!" Flitwick floated to his side, ignoring the stares of those present, and offered him a glass vial. "Using the Killing Curse, even against vampires... it drains your soul. Drink this."
Moriarty paused. His fierce expression softened a fraction as he accepted the soul-restoration potion. He knew the cost of such magic—the ache behind his eyes was proof enough.
He took a sip, then another, and gradually, the splitting pain in his head began to recede.
Flitwick exhaled in relief. The boy's arrival had been a shock, but more than that, Flitwick feared for the path Moriarty was choosing. One steeped in blood.
Later that night, Monsieur Delacour hosted an impromptu dinner at his estate to thank those involved. For reasons even he couldn't explain, Moriarty had been invited as well.
During dessert, Flitwick tried to broach conversation again, but his thoughts had already been sent by owl—he had written to Dumbledore as soon as the subway battle ended.
It was a night no one in the French Ministry would soon forget. As Madame Maxime had said, their plump Auror director was likely scribbling reports until dawn.
Feng Wei Capet, the Minister for Magic, was livid. Within hours, all of Paris was in upheaval: riots in the underground exchange, a magical fire at the Scarlet Cloak shop, and a deadly altercation in a subway station.
All involving werewolves, vampires, rogue wizards, the Delacours, representatives of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts—oh, and a twelve-year-old prodigy who had mastered the Killing Curse.
The rumors spread like Fiendfyre.
By morning, Albus Dumbledore himself had arrived in France, his robes dusty and face drawn. The instant he laid eyes on Moriarty, the boy knew: the Headmaster had considered using Legilimency.
Instead, Dumbledore asked to speak with him privately—but before they could retreat, a notice arrived from the French Ministry.
A heavy, jewel-encrusted coffin had been delivered, addressed personally to Moriarty Slytherin.
"This gift comes from our House to Mr. Moriarty Slytherin. It must be opened by him alone. P.S.: If Mr. Moriarty returns to France, use utmost caution." The plump official read the message aloud at the Delacour estate, then turned and left without another word.
The coffin was of enchanted white-gold, laced with blue filigree. No keyhole. Moriarty simply pressed his fingers against the lid and pushed.
Inside was a plush bed of blood-red velvet, atop which lay a letter.
Silver ink shimmered across its surface:
"Our family's recent pursuit of the elves stems from a legend… the tale of a headless vampire ancestor—Old Jew."
Beneath, in blood:
"If Moriarty Slytherin never steps foot outside Britain again, he may escape the coming storm. But if you return to France, visit me in Chilaner Gorge. — Quinlan."
Moriarty stared at the letter, then incinerated both it and the coffin with a single sweep of his wand.
The situation was growing far more tangled than he had imagined. He hadn't anticipated infighting among the vampires—or the legend of a headless progenitor.
"System," Moriarty murmured, "are there any missions related to vampires?"
"No," came the cold reply.
He chuckled bitterly. So much chaos, and yet not even a task reward.
Still, the vampire clan had handled things tidily. The French Ministry no longer interfered with Moriarty's movements.
As he debated whether to continue digging into this dark underworld, Dumbledore and Flitwick found him together and extended an unexpected invitation.
They wanted Moriarty to represent Hogwarts—alongside Charlie and Fleur Delacour—in the upcoming All-European Wizarding Duel Tournament.
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