A biting wind howled across the plateau.
Outside the wooden cabin, Gilderoy Lockhart stood with a suitcase in hand, his golden hair perfectly styled despite the harsh weather.
On his face was that signature smile—
The same dazzling, practiced expression he showed to the public, to fans, to anyone worth impressing.
Before arriving, Lockhart had confirmed one thing:
The owner of this cabin was a wizard.
And not just any wizard—
A powerful one.
He still remembered the beam of magic that had pierced the sky earlier. That kind of raw power was far beyond ordinary spellcasting.
So naturally, Lockhart chose the safest approach:
Be charming.
After all, in his experience, no wizard—man or woman—could resist him.
Especially women, he thought with a hint of amusement.
If the owner happened to be a witch… well, spending the night here wouldn't be so bad.
The cold wind suddenly cut through his robes.
"…Right. Focus."
Even with enchanted clothing, the temperature made him uncomfortable.
He knocked again.
No response.
His smile twitched slightly.
"Hello? I'm Gilderoy Lockhart—perhaps you've heard of me?"
Silence.
He knocked once more, louder this time.
"Is anyone home?"
Still nothing.
Just as his patience—and his carefully maintained smile—began to crack—
Creaaak…
The door slowly opened.
Lockhart instantly straightened and flashed his brightest smile.
But it froze on his face almost immediately.
"…You're… a child?"
Standing at the doorway was a young boy.
Wrapped in a thick wool blanket, pale from the cold, leaning slightly on a silver staff.
Lockhart blinked.
Then his gaze shifted—
And locked onto the staff.
His pupils shrank.
That… is no ordinary magical item.
In fact, it was easily the most refined and ancient-looking staff he had ever seen.
For a brief moment—
He forgot to breathe.
Moriarty watched the entire shift in expression.
Surprise → curiosity → greed.
It was almost funny.
He smiled calmly.
"Everything is exactly as you see, Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart."
"Welcome to my home."
"My home…?" Lockhart repeated, still slightly stunned. "You live here alone?"
Moriarty didn't answer directly.
Instead, he stepped aside, opening the door wider.
"Didn't you notice? I'm English—just like you."
"I've been living here for years. I call this place… Igloo."
The name was clearly made up.
But Moriarty delivered it so naturally that it sounded believable.
"…Ah. I see."
Lockhart adjusted his expression and walked inside, masking his confusion with a polite smile.
Fluent English. Strange background. Powerful magic item.
This child… was not simple.
As soon as Lockhart entered, Moriarty's eyes flickered slightly.
Perfect.
Just as he had been thinking about how to enter the British wizarding world—
Opportunity had walked right up to his door.
Might as well use it.
Behind him, the wooden door shut with a dull thud.
For some reason, Lockhart felt a faint chill run down his spine.
He forced a laugh.
"So… first time in Eastern Tibet for me. Quite cold, wouldn't you say?"
"Have you always lived here?"
Moriarty nodded slightly.
"Yes. Aside from the weather, it's quite peaceful."
A brief pause.
"Especially useful… for avoiding disasters."
Lockhart's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Disasters?
His mind immediately jumped to one name—
The Dark Lord.
He quickly forced a smile.
"Ah, yes. Quite right… quite right."
"To be fair, not many European wizards come this far east."
Moriarty tilted his head slightly.
"Then why did you come, Mr. Lockhart?"
That question lit him up instantly.
"Oh! That reminds me—my work!"
Lockhart eagerly opened his suitcase and pulled out a stack of newspapers.
"Take a look! The Daily Prophet has written extensively about me—my adventures, my discoveries—"
Before he could continue—
A newspaper suddenly floated up into the air and drifted toward Moriarty.
Lockhart blinked.
"…Wandless levitation?"
He laughed lightly, but there was a trace of stiffness in it.
"Impressive. Very impressive."
Moriarty glanced at the paper, then shook his head.
"I'm afraid I can't read it."
"Oh—well—" Lockhart coughed awkwardly, quickly gathering the papers back.
"As I said, I'm a writer. An adventurer as well."
"This time, I've come in search of the Eastern Tibetan snowman!"
His tone became dramatic, as if narrating his own legend.
"Every year, I travel the world, encountering dangerous magical creatures… documenting my experiences…"
Moriarty listened with interest, occasionally nodding.
But internally—
He knew the truth.
Everything this man claimed… belonged to someone else.
Memories modified.
Stories stolen.
A fraud wrapped in charm.
But—
Useful.
Very useful.
Moriarty's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Mr. Lockhart… your stories are truly fascinating."
He leaned forward slightly, excitement in his voice.
"You mentioned the Eastern Tibetan snowman?"
"I happen to know quite a bit about them."
Lockhart's eyes lit up instantly.
"Oh?"
Moriarty continued smoothly:
"If you don't mind… perhaps I could assist you."
"Even… accompany you?"
He looked exactly like an eager young wizard seeking adventure.
Lockhart relaxed immediately.
Just a child.
His confidence returned.
"Of course!" he said with a wide smile. "If you're helpful, I might even include you in my book!"
"Tell me—what's your name?"
"Moriarty."
"Wonderful! Now then—"
Moriarty raised his staff.
With a flick—
Light gathered in the air, forming a three-dimensional image.
A massive creature took shape.
Towering, white, monstrous.
Lockhart's smile faltered.
"…That's… rather large."
"Eastern Tibetan snowmen," Moriarty explained calmly,
"possess immense strength, high resistance to magic, and surprising speed."
He paused slightly.
"They can also use ice-based magic."
Lockhart swallowed.
"…I see."
He suddenly wasn't so enthusiastic anymore.
Then—
Moriarty added casually:
"But they have a weakness."
Lockhart's eyes snapped back.
"A weakness?"
Moriarty nodded, completely serious.
"Music."
"Music?"
"Yes."
"Beautiful melodies can lull them into a deep sleep."
He folded his arms.
"Few people know this. Music is rare in this region, after all."
Lockhart froze.
Then—
His face lit up.
"That's brilliant!"
"I brought a violin!"
He excitedly pulled out a polished brown violin from his suitcase.
Moriarty's smile deepened.
Hooked.
"In that case," Moriarty said, stepping toward the door,
"we shouldn't waste time."
"At night, younger snowmen are more likely to appear."
"The perfect target."
Lockhart hesitated for half a second—
Then straightened confidently.
"Of course!"
He picked up his suitcase.
"I've already thought of a title…"
He grinned.
"Playing the Violin with the Eastern Tibetan Snowman!"
Moriarty turned, hiding the faint curve of a cold smile.
"Let's go, then."
The door opened.
Snow and darkness awaited.
And somewhere in the mountains—
A hunt was about to begin.