Moriarty exited the Headmaster's office with Lilith and Jericho, heading in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room's side hall where meals were occasionally served.
Lilith cast a worried glance at Moriarty. "Are you sure you're alright? That armor said your mind was drained—I don't think it was lying."
She wasn't wrong. The suit of enchanted armor hadn't exaggerated. Moriarty's mind had indeed been pushed to its limit. At one point, he had gone completely blank, unable to form coherent thoughts.
But the system had intervened just in time.
"Congratulations to the host for successfully checking in. You have obtained: Mental Power of Former Headmaster Armando Dippet x1.
Note: The Headmaster's Office is a repeatable check-in location. The host may check in once per day."
With his mental faculties replenished, Moriarty felt revitalized, far more alert than before. However, this was not something he could easily explain to Lilith, so he deftly redirected the conversation.
"What did you think about the school motto the armor mentioned before it left?"
"'Don't disturb the sleeping dragon?'" Lilith repeated nonchalantly. "Moriarty, are you absolutely sure you're okay? Will there be side effects? I don't mean to nag, but you really should be cautious."
Not wanting her to press further, Moriarty gave a vague, reassuring reply about his mental recovery, which seemed to satisfy her—for now.
The three of them entered the Hufflepuff hall. Upon hearing that Moriarty wanted dragon meat, several house-elves excitedly swarmed around him. Their eyes gleamed as they chattered enthusiastically.
"The castle hasn't prepared dragon soup in nearly a thousand years," one exclaimed, "but don't worry, young master! Our cooking skills have been passed down through generations. We promise you won't be disappointed! The only question is—where's the dragon meat?"
"There's a live Norwegian Ridgeback in Hogsmeade," Moriarty explained, gesturing toward the window. "Go and collect it quickly."
Then he turned to the elf who had spoken, "There's a history of dragon soup being made here before?"
"Yes, young master," the elf beamed. "Legend has it that the year the Bloody Baron graduated, the Forbidden Forest was overrun by a swarm of black dragons. The four founders—er, excuse me, the four headmasters of that era—ventured into the forest and hunted down several. My great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was the one who made the original dragon soup. Many dishes can be made from dragon meat, but I only prepare the soup."
"How is something that dramatic not recorded in Hogwarts: A History?" Lilith asked incredulously. She was halfway through devouring a hot dog as she spoke, apparently needing something to hold her over until the dragon soup was ready.
"I've never heard of it either," Moriarty admitted, his interest clearly piqued. He questioned a few other house-elves. The answers varied wildly, but certain elements repeated: "black dragons," "graduation," and "Forbidden Forest."
"I feel like I'm attending a completely different Hogwarts," Jericho muttered. His stomach growled, but he didn't move to eat. "Between alchemical disturbances, the possibly gay Headless Horseman, and a mythical dragon soup banquet—what is happening this year?"
"Do you remember what the Horseman said about the school motto?" Moriarty asked. He leaned closer to Lilith and Jericho, lowering his voice. "Don't disturb the sleeping dragon. There's got to be a connection between that and the so-called Dragon Soup Banquet."
"Merlin's beard…" Lilith sighed. "Moriarty, your train of thought is impossible to keep up with! One moment you're struggling with alchemy, the next you're holding philosophical debates with talking portraits, and now you've jumped to interpreting school mottos?"
"That's the charm of the Mister!" Jericho finally smiled. "With Mr. Moriarty, we're always in the middle of some grand adventure!"
Lilith shook her head with a helpless smile. Boys truly thought differently. It was hard to keep up with Moriarty's pace. Perhaps that was the point. Maybe that was why Tonks and Gemma had clicked with him too?
They were still asleep, though. Lilith yawned. The motion spread to Jericho, who also yawned.
"Not tired?" he asked.
"Not at all," Moriarty replied calmly. "The house-elves will be back from Hogsmeade soon."
Thanks to their unique magic, the house-elves could apparate even within Hogwarts. Before long, they returned, levitating slabs of dragon meat into the kitchen behind the hall.
"Whoa, an army of ants in action?" Jericho was suddenly wide awake, blinking as the elves swarmed in. "Looks like the dragon soup's almost ready! Someone hand me the spice rack—I want sweet, sour, bitter, and salty all at once!"
Moriarty exchanged a glance with Lilith, who laughed. "Cowboy, wipe your mouth. You're drooling."
While they waited for the dragon soup to finish, an explosive rumor swept through Hogsmeade.
Moriarty, one of the central figures in the publicized bet, had emerged from the Slytherin common room—apparently just to eat dragon meat!
The story quickly evolved into "Moriarty seems to have found a way to win the bet!"
Then it escalated further: "Moriarty plans to slay all fire dragons in the UK because their existence interferes with his thought process!"
Of course, it was all ridiculous gossip. Still, it was undeniable that wizards had seen streaks in the sky above Hogsmeade around five that morning—caused by house-elves returning with fresh dragon meat.
In the Forbidden Forest, the centaurs watched the stars. Firenze raised his bow and loosed an arrow at the brightest star overhead.
"The Morning Star shines," he murmured, "a sign of death—and rebirth."
His hooves struck the ground with agitation. This reading was so clear, he didn't even need to burn sage or hibiscus to interpret it. He already knew the result.
By six o'clock, Moriarty, Lilith, and Jericho emerged from the side hall, bellies full. As they passed the entrance to the Great Hall, they noticed that Dumbledore had returned, accompanied by the two Ministers and a small entourage of notable wizards.
They saw board members, professors, Ministry officials, journalists, a few elderly wizards, several magical scholars—and Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons.
The towering French witch was accompanied by a few of her students, all of them elegant young witches. Among them stood Fleur Delacour, who had met Moriarty before.
All the Hogwarts students gawked at Fleur—her silvery-white hair, her porcelain skin, her ethereal beauty. She was dazzling. Nine out of ten boys were instantly captivated.
The tenth was Moriarty.
Fleur walked directly toward him with a smile. She passed Lilith and Jericho without acknowledgment, as if they didn't exist.
This made Lilith bristle with annoyance. "Again?"
"Yes, again," Fleur said with a raised brow. She let out a soft laugh, causing nearby wizards to sigh dreamily. Jericho gaped, entranced. Fleur ignored him, her gaze drifting between Lilith and Moriarty.
She finally winked at Moriarty. "Remember what I told you about Micah's intuition? Madame Maxime and I came to support Professor Nicolas Flamel, but my Veela instincts tell me—you're going to win that bet."
The crowd murmured in awe. Despite being adults, many were visibly shaken. The younger students snapped out of their dazes as they realized Fleur was part-Veela—a charm being.
Several witches glared daggers at their boyfriends, who were still staring slack-jawed.
Jericho shook his head as if waking from a trance. "Your magic is insane! You actually bewitched me!"
Lilith glowered at him. "Did you really have to say that out loud?"
Fleur's smile only widened. She turned back to Moriarty. "After that incident, I awakened the unique magic of my Veela heritage. But clearly, it doesn't affect you?"
"To be honest, I don't know much about Veela magic," Moriarty replied, glancing at Fleur before shifting his gaze to Dumbledore and the other wizards. His tone grew measured. "But one thing you're right about—your intuition is accurate. I did win the bet."
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