Mrs. Malfoy had assumed that Moriarty, being the nobleman he appeared to be, would wait politely on the sofa in the parlour, exhibiting the manners befitting someone of his supposed breeding.
Unexpectedly, Moriarty slowly shook his head.
"I'm afraid that won't work," he said calmly.
Mrs. Malfoy's expression stiffened, her tone taking a sharper edge. "This is my home. Please respect that. I don't think I've relinquished the right to make decisions within it."
"It is precisely because I respect you that I cannot allow you to handle Voldemort's diary on your own," Moriarty replied solemnly.
"A Horcrux is an advanced, sinister form of dark magic. To ensure you aren't bewitched by its influence, I will remain by your side from the moment you come into contact with it."
His expression was noble and principled—almost too noble.
In truth, Moriarty had his own reasons.
If he was correct, the diary should be secured in the darkroom basement of Malfoy Manor. And Moriarty had long been curious about that darkroom.
Of course, money wasn't the goal—he was the master of Slytherin Castle, wealthier than a hundred Malfoy or Black fortunes combined.
What he sought were the hidden relics within—specifically, the lottery function his magical system granted him.
The Saints of the Polish National Quidditch Team and the Eastern Ying magical delegation had both given him unsettling vibes. With the final approaching, he wanted to exchange lottery points for elemental magic.
And what better place to harvest rare magical artefacts than Malfoy Manor's secret vaults?
Guided by this intention, Moriarty naturally led Mrs. Malfoy deeper into the villa.
"Honestly," Mrs. Malfoy muttered under her breath, observing Moriarty's familiarity with her home, "this is supposed to be my manor, and yet it feels like it's yours."
"Ask your house-elf, Dobby," Moriarty replied with a slight shrug, offering a grin that was equal parts amused and cunning. "Lucius had Dobby visit Slytherin Castle to teach my house-elf, Luke, how to modernize the manor's interior design—you were there, remember?"
He gave her a knowing glance.
"Dobby followed Lucius's instructions and did his job dutifully. Luke, in turn, learned a great deal about modern manor aesthetics. But whether intentional or not, Dobby gave Luke a complete tour of the manor."
Moriarty smiled faintly.
"And of course, Luke reported everything back to me—everything about the manor, except for the underground darkroom."
He raised a hand to silence her before she could protest.
"Don't look at me like that. I swear on the Slytherin name, I have no spies in Malfoy Manor. But perhaps you should be more concerned with Dobby."
His eyes twinkled with subtle mischief.
"I warned Lucius about that elf. Dobby dislikes your family—he's only bound by the magic of servitude. If it weren't for that, I suspect he might have acted against you already."
Each sentence from Moriarty's mouth darkened Mrs. Malfoy's expression. She found herself unsettled.
The security of her home—and more importantly, her son Draco—was her primary concern. The notion that Dobby, a creature within her walls, harbored resentment, disturbed her deeply.
She could never have guessed that Dobby had misinterpreted Lucius's instructions and inadvertently allowed Luke access to the entire manor.
In Moriarty's mind, Malfoy Manor must now lie exposed, like a vulnerable maiden stripped bare.
Merlin forbid—
Mrs. Malfoy's eyes widened suddenly. A realization struck her.
This time last year… a bathrobe had gone missing. She'd chalked it up to house-elf carelessness at the time.
But now?
Could it have been Moriarty?
She glanced sideways at him.
His profile was serious, contemplative—focused entirely on the mission at hand. He didn't seem like a thief, much less a pervert.
What am I thinking?! she scolded herself. He's concerned with the Horcrux, and I'm letting suspicion cloud my mind.
Still, a treacherous voice in her head whispered: Is Moriarty truly a child? Do you believe that?
She shook off the thought, offering herself weak rationalizations. Yet the seed of doubt remained.
They arrived at the entrance to the darkroom, both silently lost in their own thoughts.
"Ding Dong~ Host has discovered the underground darkroom of the Malfoy family. Two exploration draws awarded," chimed Moriarty's system, though only he could hear it.
He stored the reward without hesitation.
Mrs. Malfoy led the way, moving toward a sealed box deep within the chamber. With a simple incantation and a graceful flick of her wand, it opened, revealing a thin, black-covered diary.
"This is the Horcrux?" she asked cautiously, retrieving the diary and approaching Moriarty. "It doesn't seem dangerous… I don't feel its influence."
"That's because you're standing beside me. Voldemort wouldn't dare," Moriarty replied with a grin, eyes locked on the book.
She hesitated, then handed it over. "Here. It's yours."
"A wise choice," Moriarty said smoothly, extending a gloved hand to take the diary.
The leather binding was cracked and worn; the aged material bore the patina of something ancient, nearly forgotten.
"Ding Dong~ Host has touched Voldemort's diary. Two exploration draws awarded."
Moriarty flipped open the front page.
The paper was yellowed, fragile with age. Scrawled in faded ink was a name—almost illegible.
"TomMarvoloRiddle."
Mrs. Malfoy leaned in, letting out a short gasp. "Tom Marvolo Riddle…"
"You recognize the name?" Moriarty arched a brow.
"The late Lord Malfoy and the Dark Lord were once… close," she said delicately. Then, as if regretting the implication, she added, "Once."
Moriarty nodded, eyes still fixed on the name. Mrs. Malfoy peered closer, pressing a white-gloved finger to the page.
"See? It's handwritten in ink. If this really is a Horcrux, there must be a fragment of his soul inside it."
"Clever." Moriarty offered her a nod of approval. "But only partially correct. What Voldemort placed in the diary isn't just a soul fragment—it's a memory."
"A memory?" she echoed.
"Yes. Fifty years of memory. It's how he opened the Chamber of Secrets for the first time, released the basilisk, and killed Myrtle."
Mrs. Malfoy fell silent, visibly disturbed.
"I want to see you destroy it," she said at last, firm and resolute. "I've seen what Horcruxes can do."
"I can't destroy it here," Moriarty said simply. "It takes more than fire or brute force."
He tucked the diary under his arm. "Come on. Let's return upstairs."
Now that he'd triggered the exploration rewards, there was no reason to remain.
She nodded, visibly relieved to leave the gloom of the darkroom behind. Together, they made their way back to the parlour.
Mrs. Malfoy offered morning tea, but Moriarty declined.
"I have matters to attend to. If you have something to say, please get to the point."
Mrs. Malfoy sat beside him. "It's about the Horcrux. I'm worried you'll fall under its influence."
Moriarty gave a soft chuckle. "Then let's meet Voldemort from fifty years ago."
He placed the diary on the table.
"Can you fetch a quill and some fresh ink?"
"Of course," she replied, hurrying to comply.
Once she returned, Moriarty dipped the quill and began slashing thick lines across the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, as though striking it out.
Then, with a grin full of mischief, he scrawled something in bold letters above the name.
Rubber Hagrid.
Mrs. Malfoy blinked. "Rubber... Hagrid?"
Moriarty leaned back, satisfied. "Let's see how the Dark Lord reacts to that."