Moriarty slowly folded the newspaper, his fingertips gliding across the crimson ink. A strange red line emerged, cutting across the headlines like blood against a black-and-white canvas—eerily symbolic.
The pureblood students surrounding him went still.
They believed it was an omen.
In that streak of red, they imagined the words: Blood for blood, and blood for blood.
A tense silence followed.
"Whoa—whoa—"
Moriarty crushed the paper with one hand. Water-element magic gathered in his palm, turning the Daily Prophet into frozen shards. With a flick of his wrist, the ice flew from his fingers like shattered glass, scattering across the Slytherin common room.
A cold aura settled in the hall. The air seemed to freeze, and even the candles flickered against the wave of chill. The students held their breath as Moriarty's voice rang out—calm, emotionless, deadly.
"Leon," he began, "who is Lucius Malfoy?"
Leon straightened up, visibly nervous but proud to be addressed. "He—he is the head of the Malfoy family, sir."
Moriarty nodded. "Correct. Marcus," he turned to another student. "Tell me about the Malfoy family."
Marcus stood tall and walked behind Moriarty, folding his hands respectfully. "Sir, the Malfoys are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families of Britain. Generations of them have been in Slytherin."
Moriarty's lips curled into a smile that chilled the room more than his magic ever could.
"Exactly. A pureblood. A proper Slytherin. Murdered by a vampire—without cause, without declaration."
He paused. His voice dropped, sharp as a dagger. "Boom!"
With a thunderous crack, Moriarty slammed the Slytherin staff into the floor.
"Who gave vampires the gall to murder a pureblood wizard?
They've declared war on the purebloods of Britain. Make no mistake."
His eyes scanned the room, catching students from every House who had unknowingly gathered behind him. His presence, his voice, his conviction—it pulled them in like a vortex.
"No signal. No treaty. No warning. Just blood.
And we—we—will not remain idle."
He stepped forward, magic pulsing with every footfall.
"For two years, I've played the dutiful Slytherin heir. I worked toward harmony, aimed to restore the peace from the era of the Founders.
But Slytherin was the purest of them all. A bloodline untainted. A house of cunning and legacy.
Now, those foreign wizards and beasts have forgotten the silver serpent that once dominated the skies! They've forgotten the battlefields where the Four Houses once stood united against the darkness!
We—we will make them remember!"
Moriarty marched toward the castle's entrance. Behind him, dozens of students followed in solemn silence. They hadn't realized when they stood up or why, only that something ancient had awakened in their blood.
"Students below fourth-year—stand down," Moriarty commanded. "This is no schoolyard duel. We're hunting vampires, not playing hide-and-seek in the Forbidden Forest."
Some reluctantly stepped aside. Among them, Lilith stood firm, her sharp eyes clashing with Moriarty's gaze.
"Stay," Moriarty said quietly.
Lilith hesitated but understood. The moment was too critical for personal attachments. She gave a nod and gently pulled Gemma and Penelope away.
"I'll be waiting. All of us will be," Lilith said softly. "Return victorious."
Then came Jericho, leaping into place beside Moriarty.
"I'm coming too, sir," he said, expression unusually serious. "As an American wizard, it's only right to support the Malfoys of England. Out of... humanitarian interest."
His sarcastic tone might've sparked laughter on another day—but not now. He stood behind Moriarty like a loyal soldier, straight-backed and focused.
"We're going too!" shouted the Weasley twins from somewhere in the back.
Before they could take a step, Percy intervened, dragging them away while offering an apologetic nod to Moriarty.
Moriarty didn't respond—his eyes fixed forward.
Then another voice rose.
"I'll come. One Weasley is enough."
Charlie emerged from the crowd, fierce and defiant. A faint scar marked his cheek—an old duel, perhaps a reckless experiment gone wrong. But he wore it like a badge.
"If this is about defending purebloods, I'll come too. Even if the Malfoys are... not my favorite people, I'm still a pureblood."
Moriarty met Charlie's steady gaze. He saw no hesitation. No politics. Only intent.
"Charlie, you finally did the right thing."
Tonks stepped out of the shadows on the first floor, smirking triumphantly. Her hair turned a bold blue, pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
Charlie sighed at her tone but didn't argue. He simply mirrored Marcus's stance and stood at attention.
"I'm fully recovered," Tonks declared. "And I have every reason to join this mission. Even if it's war, I'm going."
Moriarty nodded.
Leon rushed back, breathless. "Sir, too many people want to go—but their magic levels vary wildly."
Moriarty raised a hand. "Anyone who's not pureblood or can't Apparate—return to your seats."
There were murmurs of protest, but no one defied him. Quietly, they stepped aside.
Leon did a quick count. "Thirty-six, including us."
"Good," Moriarty said with a gleam in his eye. "Thirty-six is enough to find Lucius's killer and raze every obstacle—vampire or not. Do you agree?"
"AGREE!" the students roared as one.
"I do not agree!"
The thunderous voice silenced them instantly.
Dumbledore emerged with the professors, robes billowing behind him. His violet cloak shimmered with stars and moons, but his eyes were sharp—colder than ever before.
"Students! Return to your dormitories—immediately! This is not your concern. The Ministry will handle the Malfoy case. You are not to leave the castle."
Moriarty's voice was calm but unyielding. "Apologies, Headmaster. But we can't comply."
"The Ministry will—"
"Will what?" Moriarty snapped. "Avenge Lucius Malfoy? You believe that?"
Dumbledore's magic surged—an invisible storm pressing down on Moriarty alone, powerful but contained.
But Moriarty didn't flinch.
His Occlumency shielded his mind, his water magic surged outward, matching Dumbledore's intensity. The room pulsed with silent tension.
"I don't care about the Ministry," Moriarty said, stepping closer.
"And I never knew Lucius personally. But that's not why I'm doing this."
He turned to face his army of students.
"I'm doing this because I must."
He glared back at Dumbledore. "The Ministry is useless. You know it. I know it. Everyone here knows it.
If the French stand their ground, will Millicent Bagnold storm their stronghold? Will Scrimgeour?
No.
Lucius's death will go unpunished. The Malfoy family will be looted. And no one will say a word."
His laughter was bitter. "Tell me—how many secretly cheered his death?
The vultures are already circling, waiting for the Malfoy estate to crumble."
Moriarty paused. "This world is cruel. We all know it."
Dumbledore looked away.
Moriarty lowered his voice. "You know why I'm doing this... but you don't want me to. Because if I succeed—if I do what the Ministry won't—your entire system falls apart."
His words were a whisper only Dumbledore could hear. "Today it's Lucius. Tomorrow it's the Parkinsons. The next day—the Weasleys. Then me.
You call me dangerous, but I'm your only line of defense."
He raised his staff.
"This is the moment when we draw the line."
"For blood."
"For legacy."
"For the magical world that should be."
The students behind him stood taller. United.
Dumbledore said nothing.
And the castle doors slowly opened.
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