Roman's expression turned peculiar as he spoke with amusement. "Captain Maxi, I'm honored to introduce to you, Mr. Cornelius Fudge."
"He's the leading candidate for the position of Minister for Magic in Britain," Roman added with a slight, sarcastic twist to his smile. "By the next time you see him, I wouldn't be surprised if he's already assumed the title officially."
"So this is Mr. Fudge—oh no," Maxie brightened up instantly, flashing his large, toothy grin at Fudge. "It's Minister Fudge. A pleasure to meet you."
Fudge was delighted by the shift in address, his face splitting into a broad smile.
It was August of 1999, and Millicent Bagnold was aged and set to retire. Fudge was poised to succeed her, his position all but confirmed.
In fact, Minister Bagnold had initially planned to step down in March, but the British national Quidditch team's surge to the final had changed her plans. She saw a final chance to garner acclaim before retiring.
To Bagnold, the success of the English team offered political capital, a dazzling send-off. She made a point of attending every one of England's matches, her presence seeming to bring luck and, more importantly, public admiration.
The inner workings of the Ministry were not blind to her intentions—and neither was Fudge.
He harbored envy for Bagnold's continued prominence. He believed she ought to vacate her post early and allow him the opportunity to bask in the admiration of the international magical community at Hyprosae.
Reality was less kind to Fudge. While Bagnold received praise from influential figures in Hyprosae's elite viewing stands and enjoyed broad wizarding support, Fudge remained stuck in the Ministry offices in London.
Bagnold, however, recognized Fudge's growing resentment. As a token gesture and to pacify him, she appointed Fudge as acting head of the Ministry during her absence from Britain.
Fudge didn't waste the opportunity. He performed his duties diligently, though he couldn't resist a few personal indulgences—like transferring his nephew, Rufus Fudge, to the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.
Despite wielding unofficial power, Fudge carefully avoided overt ambition. His courteous greeting to Moriarty was not mere politeness—it was part strategy, part necessity.
Moriarty noticed the game but chose not to address it. Instead, he responded with his usual calm, almost detached tone, "I'll take the team back to Slytherin Castle, Mr. Fudge. We're leaving now."
"Very well, sir. I won't detain you," Fudge replied smoothly. He respected Moriarty's preference for efficiency and did not press further. With a courteous bow, he added, "Good luck in the final match. I sincerely hope you bring home the championship trophy."
Moriarty nodded curtly. Fudge then signaled for a Ministry clerk to escort the group.
Roman and the rest of the team followed closely, chattering with excitement.
"Slytherin Castle—the oldest and most opulent ancestral home of the pure-blood families. We're about to visit it. What a dream come true."
"Remember, Jericho spent a Christmas there," Maxi said, a note of exaggerated resentment in his voice. "Since then, he's been unwilling to leave."
"Don't hold it against him. You'll fall for it too," Roman said knowingly, wearing the look of someone who had been changed by the experience.
With laughter echoing, the group Apparated to Slytherin Castle. Luke and Ingo were already waiting at the grand entrance.
"My master! My most respected, most magnificent young master! Ohh—" Luke wept with joy as he bounded toward Moriarty. "Half a year without seeing you! You've grown even more mature, more handsome, oh, my dear young master!"
Ingo, with more composure, stepped forward to report. "After Hogwarts went on holiday, Marcus, Jericho, and Leon took up residence in the castle. They've been here since, planning to attend the World Cup final from here."
"What? Jericho actually stayed here?" Maxie looked stunned.
"No letters home during the holidays, not even a note?" He cracked his knuckles ominously. "That brat! He's really my brother, alright!"
"Hehe... Where is he? Let me teach him some family values..."
Ingo offered up the information without a trace of guilt. "Room 66 on the third floor. He stayed up late playing last night."
"Room 66?" Maxie blinked. "Sir, are you sure your goblin steward hasn't turned this place into a wizarding hotel?"
"It's a fair observation," Moriarty admitted, faintly amused. "But no. Ingo hasn't converted the castle. There are just... a lot of rooms on that floor."
"Indeed!" Luke chimed in. "The old master wanted his descendants to have more children than there are gold bricks in the vaults! The Slytherin line must thrive!"
Moriarty twitched at the thought.
Diana having one hundred and eighty children? Or maybe chain Voldemort up and force him to breed?
After all, the Gaunt line—though diluted—still descended from Salazar Slytherin.
Poor Voldemort.
"Well, speaking of children, young master," Ingo said slyly, "Mrs. Tonks was planning to move into the castle after the term ended, but her parents came to fetch her from Hogsmeade."
"There's one more matter…"
Ingo hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses, and other pure-blood families have sent you tickets to their luxury World Cup boxes."
"Send them to the Tonks family," Moriarty instructed evenly.
He remembered that Andromeda Tonks, once a Black, had been cast out for marrying Ted Tonks. With that history, she was unlikely to approve of her daughter dating a pure-blood scion.
But Moriarty wasn't fazed. Tonks had made a promise to him—one not yet fulfilled. And, well, she was... a woman of particular charm.
Cough.
The real reason? Moriarty simply wouldn't allow Tonks to end up with Lupin like in the original timeline.
Narcissa was Tonks' aunt. Sirius was her cousin.
Lupin was Sirius' classmate, which would make a Tonks-Lupin pairing something akin to... familial madness!
He would win Tonks himself. With that in mind, inviting her family to watch him dominate in the final was a fine start.
"Understood, young master. I'll get right to it." Luke trotted off, nearly skipping with glee. "After half a year, I finally have a mission from the young master!"
Maxie overheard and looked baffled. "House-elves, huh... amazing."
"You don't have them in the Blanche family?"
"Barely. Just a few. And we don't assign them missions. Their main job is to go to town and buy groceries.
Jericho must've told you—we've got farms in the Western U.S. Most of our time is spent in the countryside."
Moriarty nodded thoughtfully, exchanging casual conversation with Maxie as Ingo opened the grand doors. The group entered the majestic castle, its grandeur captivating every eye.
Soon, Maxie, Roman, and the others were swallowed by the splendor and hospitality. Moriarty, meanwhile, took Ingo to the underground chamber.
Ingo had kept some matters confidential in the presence of guests.
Among them:
Hogwarts had arranged a make-up exam for Moriarty.
Rumor was that Mrs. Malfoy planned to take the entire Forever Shining fan club to the World Cup final—at her own expense.
Old Flint and Old Foley had withdrawn gold from the underground vaults.
And a pale, eerie young man had been asking around for the location of Slytherin Castle.
"The first three aren't surprising."
Moriarty sat in a high-backed chair in the secret chamber, steepling his fingers. "Hogwarts allows make-up exams for missed or failed attempts. Not that it matters—I could ace them in my sleep.
Second, Mrs. Malfoy? That woman has no intention of opposing me. She's probably trying to tether the Malfoy name to mine completely."
He chuckled.
"The third—yes, I authorized that gold withdrawal."
Ingo nodded bitterly. He had watched crates of gold being moved and felt every coin vanish like a stab to the heart.
Goblin instincts. They wanted gold hoarded forever, even if it wasn't theirs.
Moriarty shot him a pointed look. "As for the fourth... the pale young man—he's a vampire?"
"Yes, master," Ingo said with disdain. "Luke and I went to Hogsmeade. We tracked him. He's definitely a vampire. But oddly enough, he doesn't fear sunlight. He hasn't attacked anyone. He even shops in Diagon Alley like a regular wizard."
"A vampire who enjoys window-shopping?"
Moriarty smiled coldly.
He knew exactly who this was. Of all the vampires he'd ever met, only one had such flair.
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