Three days had passed since the whirlwind surrounding the new book launch subsided.
In that time, Gilderoy Lockhart had not only captivated the French wizarding community but had also received the Order of Merlin, Second Class, from the British Ministry of Magic—an honor rarely handed out and a clear endorsement of his role in diffusing the delicate diplomatic tension between the British and French ministries.
Though many celebrated the announcement, Fonway Capet, the French Minister of Magic, was fuming. He despised Lockhart, yet it seemed even his own staff had fallen under the man's spell—figuratively, at least.
Lockhart's version of events had been accepted not just by the French wizarding public, but also by the International Confederation of Wizards and the European Magical Congress. It was almost laughable: while Capet tried to discredit him, Lockhart was being toasted as a modern-day hero.
Back in Britain, the Daily Prophet featured him on the front page daily. In bold script, it read:
> "Lockhart's Triumphant Launch: Over 60% of French Wizards Express Admiration!"
At the Slytherin table, Lilith Moon flipped open that morning's Prophet and read aloud with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"Apparently, the French think it's completely reasonable that Lockhart froze the Eiffel Tower out of 'love and principle.' The vampire angle made it more romantic."
Across the Great Hall, most students had their noses buried in the latest issue of the newspaper as if it were their Transfiguration homework.
"Ninety percent of witches surveyed thought Lockhart did nothing wrong," Lilith continued. "They said he acted out of love. As for the last Quinlan vampire he dueled... apparently no one cares."
She laughed, tossing the newspaper down. "Lockhart even said that only wizards should govern the magical world. Vampires? Not part of that future."
She read on. "A senior vampire apparently threatened to turn Lockhart into a toad and force him to eat—well, unmentionables—every day."
Moriarty arched an eyebrow, his spoon pausing halfway to his mouth.
"Was that a threat from the vampire nobility?" he asked.
Lilith nodded. "Probably. The paper says he's one of the last Quinlans. He's been ranting in the vampire underworld."
Jericho snorted. "Sounds like Isaac Jude, that desperate pureblood vamp trying to impress his elders."
"Licking dog?" Lilith frowned at the term.
Moriarty nodded slowly. "Leon called him that. Grandson of the old vampire merchant. Harmless. I doubt he's capable of anything serious."
Still, the whole incident left Moriarty contemplative. He had a nagging feeling this wouldn't be the last time he'd cross paths with vampire nobility.
"Let's see what other accolades Lockhart's managed to collect," Moriarty said, his voice tinged with amusement.
Lilith rolled her eyes and passed the paper to Jericho with a dramatic huff. "I'm not your servant, you know!"
Jericho pouted. "What, now I'm your errand boy?" Still, he passed the paper with a flick to Leon, who pretended to examine it with the disdain of a judge.
"Jericho, that's a point off for disrespect," Leon said in mock-seriousness. "Slytherin values discipline!"
He didn't dare deduct a real point. The Church of Slytherin would see to it he was doused in potions that made his hair grow feathers—or worse.
Leon tossed the paper to Soldaya, the eager first-year, who began reading aloud with practiced enthusiasm.
"It's reported that Mr. Lockhart's Order of Merlin, Second Class, will be awarded formally after the Minister of Magic steps down," Soldaya read. "And... his new book has been added to the proposed reading list for next year's Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum!"
The Slytherin table burst into astonished murmurs.
Soldaya continued, "Also, Ilvermorny School in America is considering inviting him to join as a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
There was a pause. Then Soldaya's voice dropped theatrically. "In short, Lockhart is currently the most sought-after wizard in Europe."
Before anyone could comment, the sound of benches scraping echoed. Moriarty stood up, prompting the other Slytherins to do the same. Breakfast was clearly over.
"October starts today," Jericho said cheerfully, clapping Soldaya on the back with such force the younger boy winced. "And Monday's first class is—guess what? Alchemy."
Soldaya groaned. "So you're going to nap again, yeah?"
"On the contrary," Jericho said with exaggerated dignity. "After the Dracula debacle, I realize I must strengthen my weaknesses. Alchemy, my dear Soldaya, might save my life one day."
Moriarty nodded approvingly. "A wise realization."
He turned and strode out of the hall toward the secret chamber beyond the castle walls. As he walked, he casually added, "To assist you all... I've prepared a gift."
Jericho froze mid-step. "Did you say gift?"
Lilith perked up. "Like, actual gift? Galleons?"
"Wait, for all of us?" came a shout from the rear.
Even students from other houses turned their heads, listening with undisguised curiosity.
Moriarty smiled faintly, the kind of smile that meant business. "A wand set. Developed alongside Professor Nicholas Flamel."
Gasps erupted across the hall.
A wand set—tailored? Crafted by Flamel and Moriarty?
The chatter grew to a deafening buzz. The students' admiration for Lockhart had completely vanished, replaced with speculation: how powerful would the wand set be? Would it outperform a regular wand? Could it be used to outduel someone like Percy Weasley?
That last question came from Fred and George, who shouted across the hall.
By the time the breakfast table emptied, Moriarty had already reached the chamber. Inside, Nicholas Flamel and Perenelle greeted him with warm smiles.
"You've mastered the Merlin brain-dimension space," Nicholas said with a hint of mock annoyance. "You could've told me earlier. No wonder you always manage to win."
Moriarty gave a mock-glare. "You knew about it before Dracula showed up! I even asked you if there was a simpler method than formulas. You said no!"
He gave a dramatic pout that had even Perenelle laughing.
"Well," Nicholas said, waving off the complaint, "I only knew of it by name. I thought it was a myth. But clearly, it's real—and you've cracked it."
"Right," Moriarty said, raising his wand and flipping open a small, glowing case. Inside sat a prototype wand set.
"It's ready. Time to take it to market. We'll produce one hundred for the British Ministry of Magic within three days."
He paused. "Then we go public. Shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade will carry it. I'll assign production rights to pureblood families."
Nicholas and Perenelle shared a glance.
"Production isn't a problem," Nicholas said. "With your mastery of the brain-dimension and our help, a hundred sets in a day is possible."
"We just want the price kept reasonable," Perenelle added. "Alchemy should serve the people. Let every wizard benefit from this."
Their eyes pleaded for moderation.
Moriarty considered this. The warmth in their eyes reminded him why he trusted them.
"Done," he said. "Every British wizard will get one. I'll see to it."
Nicholas and Perenelle nodded, their smiles warm.
Of course, Moriarty had no intention of running at a loss. This was only the opening gambit. The wand set was merely the first of many ventures. Once wizards grew dependent on his tools, more advanced—and costly—items would follow.
It was a strategy as old as time: invest first, profit later.
Three days later, the fruits of his efforts were unveiled.
Two new shops opened simultaneously—one in Diagon Alley, the other in Hogsmeade. Above each door gleamed a gold-trimmed sign:
"Magic Revival Item Shop"
And with that, a new chapter in magical innovation began.
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