"Your expressions are so funny. What did the headless vampire ancestor do to you?" the Headless Knight asked meaningfully, arms folded across his armored chest.
"It's nothing," Moriarty replied quickly, stepping slightly in front of Dumbledore and Diana.
"Mr. Armor, you seem to know quite a lot about vampires?"
"So-so," the Headless Horseman muttered, before seating himself again. His tone deepened, echoing within the hollow chamber of his helmet. "King Arthur had many enemies, but vampires weren't among them. Merlin, though… Merlin had a knack for attracting trouble. Or perhaps it's better to say trouble always found him."
He paused, folding his arms again.
"According to Merlin," he went on, "the headless vampire ancestor could be traced all the way back to the ancient Roman Empire—when a certain vampire named Dracula rose to prominence. Not as a noble or aristocrat, but as a war general of unmatched cruelty."
The air in the room seemed to thicken, and Moriarty noticed even Diana had stopped tapping her foot.
"He was infamous for a barbaric method of execution—impaling enemies and traitors alike. A long wooden stake, driven through the lower abdomen, exiting from the mouth. Their bodies were then hoisted high for all to see, left to rot in the sun as a message."
Disgust flickered across Diana's face, and even Dumbledore's expression darkened.
"Eventually, rebellion came. Dracula, in his arrogance, underestimated the rebels. When they finally captured him, they used his own methods of torture against him. But what they didn't know… what they couldn't know… was that Dracula wasn't just a cruel man. He was a vampire. And a powerful one at that."
The knight's voice grew lower, almost reverent.
"When they discovered his true nature, the rebels panicked. They beheaded him, hoping that without his head, he'd be rendered harmless."
Moriarty furrowed his brows. "But he wasn't?"
"No," the knight said grimly. "The decapitation weakened him, yes. But it didn't kill him. In fact, it made him even more savage. Deprived of sight and speech, he became a primal force of vengeance."
He leaned forward slightly, metal groaning with the motion.
"When Arthur finally expelled the invaders from Britain, Dracula redirected his fury. His new target: King Arthur. He attacked repeatedly, but was thwarted each time by Merlin. And when Arthur received the Sword in the Lake, he finally had the strength to stand beside the wizard."
The Headless Horseman made a slicing gesture.
"During a final confrontation, Arthur severed Dracula's left arm with the lake's sword. With that, Merlin and Arthur joined forces to end Dracula's rampage. They struck him down… and sealed his soul."
"Sealed it... where?" Moriarty asked, though he had already guessed.
"In this armor," the knight replied simply.
"In your armor?" Moriarty echoed, his voice a whisper. "Then… are we speaking to the Headless Knight? Or Dracula himself?"
"The Headless Horseman, of course."
He stood abruptly and pointed to his wrists and ankles, where glowing runes shimmered with residual magic.
"Strictly speaking, I am the knight's armor. Before the knight died, Merlin transferred his mind and consciousness into the armor using powerful alchemy. That way, Dracula's soul would be sealed inside a vessel too resilient to break—and too righteous to be corrupted."
He let that hang in the air before adding, "Look closely at these runes. They prevent the contamination of my soul. Little Slytherin… you're familiar with this kind of magic, aren't you? Think carefully. What's the foundation of such a seal?"
Moriarty's heart jumped. Alchemy Matrix.
Of course. It had to be. The runes, the structure, the binding… it was alchemy of the highest caliber.
The Headless Horseman nodded. "To ensure the seal endured through the centuries, Merlin collaborated with Salazar Slytherin. Together, they created a portrait of me to house this armor. That's why I don't have a mural like the others—because my 'portrait' is actually part of the seal. A living piece of art."
He chuckled, the sound echoing metallically.
"But then you—you, little Slytherin—threaten to destroy the frescoes of the entire castle. Imagine what old Slytherin would say if he saw the bare stone beneath!"
He attempted to mimic an old man's voice, presumably Salazar's, but it was terrible. Still, it lightened the mood.
Dumbledore, however, remained focused.
"Mr. Headless Horseman," he asked, "do you believe the recent events at Hogwarts—particularly the four disturbances—could be connected to Dracula's soul?"
The knight tilted his head.
"You're suggesting his soul has somehow influenced the students. Just say it plainly, Headmaster—I won't take offense."
He turned away slightly.
"When I agreed to be the vessel… I accepted that I would be forgotten. Misunderstood. I asked Arthur to pierce my throat with the Sword in the Lake so that I could better contain Dracula. I asked Merlin to erase my history, to ensure no one would interfere."
His voice grew faint.
"I've wandered the frescoes of Hogwarts for a millennium. Bound by magic, sealed from the world, just so that no one would ever discover what lies within."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed thoughtfully.
"Makes sense. If Merlin and the Founders wanted to hide something, Hogwarts was the perfect place."
"Indeed," the knight said.
"But we're not here to reminisce," Dumbledore replied. "You didn't answer my question. Did you see the fire phoenixes in the castle?"
The knight hesitated.
"If you can't answer directly," Dumbledore warned, "those flaming phoenixes might start flying into the murals. Yes, I know—they're protected by the Four's enchantments. But let me ask you something. You know ancient magic well, but do you understand modern magic?"
He stepped closer.
"Can you say with certainty that a wizard in this age—an age of innovation, wandless casting, and layered enchantments—cannot breach the fresco's protections?"
Moriarty stepped beside him, voice calm but firm. "The strength of magic isn't in its age. It's in the one who wields it."
The Headless Horseman clapped his gauntlets together with a sharp clang.
"Very well. Listen closely—I'll say this only once. The events currently unfolding at Hogwarts have nothing to do with Dracula's soul."
"Hmph," Diana scoffed. "What a convenient claim."
The knight turned his back to her.
"If you don't believe me, investigate all you like. I cannot leave the mural. I cannot lie about Dracula, not with these runes in place."
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
"I'll take your word for it—for now. But we will keep investigating. Until we know the truth."
He turned, and Moriarty and Diana followed. As they left, the tension that had gripped the room began to ease.
Outside, Dumbledore waved his wand to disperse the phoenix flames and cast a spell to resume his magical surveillance.
"So," he asked, "what did you think of the Horseman's story?"
"He mentioned the vampire ancestor," Moriarty replied. "Let's wait. Lucius will return in five days with the information we need."
Diana peeled off from them, striding toward the grand staircase.
"I'm sending word to the clan," she said over her shoulder. "That monster mentioned the Sword in the Lake. If he's telling the truth, they'll have records."
Her long blond hair whipped behind her as she turned down a corridor, her presence fading with the echo of her steps.
Moriarty shrugged, then made his way to the Headmaster's office to lift the protective enchantments. Only then did he return to the Slytherin dormitory, head filled with conflicting thoughts.
---
The Next Morning
Moriarty didn't stir until eight. When he entered the Great Hall for breakfast, it was already buzzing with chatter. The long tables were filled—except for a noticeable number of empty seats, nearly a fifth of them.
Lilith waved him over.
He had barely taken his seat when a familiar screech pierced the air.
Poseidon, his majestic owl, swooped through the rafters with a tightly bound newspaper tied to his talons.
He landed gracefully on Moriarty's arm.
Students murmured as more owls poured in behind him. The morning edition of the Daily Prophet seemed to be running late. Several curious students leaned in to glance at the headlines as the owls scattered scrolls and letters.
Moriarty untied the newspaper from Poseidon's leg and unfolded it lazily.
Then his eyes widened.
Crash!
He stood up suddenly, the bench scraping across the floor. With a sharp slam, he slapped the newspaper onto the table, drawing startled glances from nearby students.
His eyes were locked on the front page.
A photograph—haunting and inescapable.
A headless body lay sprawled across a stretch of dew-covered grass. The corpse wore an opulent robe, its fabric embroidered with sigils of the Malfoy lineage. The crest on the collar gleamed like mockery.
Beside the body, nestled in a bed of green leaves, sat a severed human head.
Even through the smudged ink of the photo, Moriarty could see the pale, golden hair.
Lucius Malfoy.
Dead.
Beheaded.
The headline burned across the page in bold, cruel letters.
"LUCIUS MALFOY FOUND DEAD — BEHEADED IN MYSTERIOUS ATTACK!"
Moriarty's fists clenched.
Lucius… was dead.
And someone had made it a message.
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