At six o'clock sharp, a large delegation from the Ministry of Magic arrived at Hogwarts, surrounding the British Minister of Magic, Millison Bagno, alongside the French Minister of Magic, Vonville Capet.
The two ministers entered the castle together, where Dumbledore stood waiting to receive them with his usual genial demeanor. After courteous formalities, Vonville Capet promptly inquired, "Headmaster Dumbledore, where is Nicolas Flamel? I represent France and come bearing goodwill for the well-being of our national treasure."
Capet pronounced the words "national treasure" with particular emphasis, his tone imbued with both pride and authority, as if wary that Hogwarts might be detaining Flamel.
"I suggest you enjoy Hogwarts' hospitality first," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Traveling via International Portkey can be quite exhausting."
However, Capet's expression tightened, his gray eyes beginning to harden with restrained impatience.
Still smiling, Dumbledore continued, "Nicolas is presently in the alchemy laboratory. Perenelle is with him. He prefers not to be disturbed at this time, and I must ask that his wishes be respected.
Besides, the alchemy classroom is not only one of the most secure chambers in Hogwarts, but perhaps in all of Britain. I assure you, they are both perfectly safe."
Capet's posture relaxed marginally, and after a moment of contemplation, he gave a slight nod. Then, attempting to shift the mood, he said with a faint smile, "I'll have the Wellington steak, shepherd's pie—double portions, if I may—and just a bit of foie gras. That's my usual fare. Is that acceptable?"
"Everyone finds their ideal meal here," Dumbledore replied, motioning toward the nearby seating. "Our house-elves are quite accomplished. I recommend trying the Chinese dishes—our elves have taken great effort to master them recently."
Capet's expression turned contemplative; clearly, he had a budding interest in Chinese culture. Bagno joined in on the topic, and soon the three were engaged in a lively discussion in the Great Hall.
Meanwhile, word had already reached the Slytherin common room. The students knew what Capet's presence meant—Flamel's influence was officially recognized, and this was hardly welcome news for Moriarty.
But within the dormitory, word spread slowly. Keith and Ralbo stood guard outside Moriarty's room and firmly told every curious onlooker, "Moriarty has ordered no disturbances."
His authority was absolute, and none dared challenge it. Still, concern mounted, and several students rushed to seek Tonks' help. But Tonks was swamped. She and Penelope Clearwater were buried under towering piles of parchment on a sofa in the common room corner.
A few senior students shook their heads gravely. "This is no good! He's already missed lunch and dinner. That's two meals gone—and he's undergoing intense alchemy work. His body won't be able to take it."
Soldaya emerged from his dormitory and proclaimed, "Let's find Chairman Leon, Flint, Blanche, and Pilliwick! They're close to Mr. Moriarty—his trusted circle. Only they have the nerve to confront him!"
As the younger Slytherins dashed toward Hogsmeade, night had already fallen. By seven, the complimentary evening meal provided by Old Foley had arrived. Witches and wizards of all kinds, along with Hogwarts students, filled the area. The group found Lilith at the Hog's Head Inn.
She was engrossed in a stack of Transfiguration manuscripts and so absorbed she hadn't even touched her meal. No matter how urgently they explained the situation, she remained fixated.
"It's hopeless," muttered one of the younger students. "Mr. Moriarty's not himself, and now Lilith's like this too. Merlin help us—who's going to save them?"
"What did you just say?" Lilith bolted upright, her parchment scattering like leaves in a gust. "What's happened to Moriarty?"
They hastily explained, and she dashed out without even retrieving her notes.
By half-past seven, Lilith had returned, leading Moriarty's closest allies, who now gathered outside his dormitory door.
Keith sighed. "Please don't make this harder. Mr. Moriarty gave us direct orders. No one's allowed in. That's the agreement."
Lilith paced anxiously. "He's been locked in there for eight hours! Aren't you even a little worried?" She shot a look toward Tonks and Penelope, but both witches were in a trance-like state, transfixed on the notes they held.
Jericho was growing desperate. "Out of my way! I live here—I need to get to my bed!"
Keith and Ralbo exchanged a look, drew their wands, and cast a muting charm. "Switch off your ears and listen!" they muttered, making the hallway go eerily silent.
"You—" Jericho sputtered, stunned.
Just then, a younger student burst into the common room, shouting, "The Weird Sisters are coming to Hogsmeade! They're performing for free, just to support Mr. Moriarty! The whole village is celebrating!"
"Great," Jericho said flatly.
"Go enjoy the concert, and let us be," Leon muttered, frowning at the sealed door. "What should we do? Should we inform Headmaster Dumbledore?"
"It won't help," Lilith sighed. "That man doesn't change his mind—even if Merlin himself appeared."
"I admire Mister," Jericho said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "But staying up all night? Not even Nicolas Flamel can complete an overnight success!"
They all let out a collective sigh and curled up on the furniture, concern weighing them down.
Had Lockhart been present, he might have laughed and reassured them—Moriarty had once brewed potions nonstop for fourteen hours. Eight hours of alchemical work was nothing to him.
At eleven o'clock—eleven hours since Moriarty's wager with Flamel—the dormitory door creaked open from within.
Moriarty stepped out, closing the door behind him. Through the gap, one could see the floor was covered in scrawled manuscripts.
He paused, taking in the common room: Keith and Ralbo were asleep against the wall, nodding off. Lilith lay curled beneath a roll of parchment, recognizable by the faint scent of her shampoo. Leon and Marcus had collapsed on the floor, clearly exhausted from the day's events. Tonks and Penelope were still half-awake in the corner, clutching pages filled with complex notations.
Moriarty bent and picked up one sheet. It was covered in runes and Latin inscriptions—notes on wand mechanics.
"So, they've begun consolidating the wand's magic core runes," he muttered.
"Runes…" he sighed. "I can't escape runes and equations."
For eleven hours, Moriarty had searched for a shortcut—a clean, simple breakthrough. But the deeper he went, the more entangled he became.
His extensive knowledge had become a prison. Every rune and formula bound his thoughts like vines strangling a tree.
Even inquiries made to the system yielded no aid. "Alchemy," it said coldly, "is not part of this system's support."
He was on his own.
With a whisper, Moriarty levitated Tonks and the others and gently transported them to their respective dormitories. When he tried to lift Lilith, she stirred and opened her eyes.
"Moriarty? You're out!" she said, smiling sleepily. "That's great news. Any progress?"
He steadied her and smiled wryly. "Nothing. My head's filled with chaos. Spells, theories—like a hundred birds chirping at once."
Lilith moved to massage his temples, but he evaded her. "Go back to sleep. I'm heading to the Black Lake for a walk."
"I'll come too," she replied quickly. "Last time we did this, you promised to take me next time."
The memory of that last night tour brought a smile to Moriarty's face. "Where's Jericho?" he asked.
"No idea. He wandered off somewhere."
As they left the common room together, they nearly bumped into the Bloody Baron.
"Moriarty," the ghost said solemnly. "Peeves is waiting for you. He wishes to speak."
Moriarty raised an eyebrow. Of course—news of the wager had even roused the castle's spirits.
He began walking toward the corridor's end. Lilith followed, but the Baron blocked her path.
"Peeves only wants Moriarty," he said firmly.
Lilith gaped. "Did I hear you correctly? Since when do you take Peeves seriously?"
The Baron remained unyielding. "Peeves claims he can help Moriarty win the bet. If there's truth in that, I'll grant him this chance."
As Moriarty turned the corner and vanished, the Baron added quietly, "Oh, and that American boy? He's in the library."
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