Moriarty felt himself being swallowed whole by the serpent's maw. His body was instantly enveloped in a strange chill—an almost sticky, clinging cold, like thick flakes of snow infused with soul energy. It was not simply cold—it was soul cold, the kind that clung like melting ice cream to bare skin but never truly melted.
Soul power swirled around him—faint, ephemeral pulses like icy whispers. Mental energy—Tom Riddle's—washed over Moriarty's consciousness like a stream, persistent but far too gentle to cause harm.
An ordinary wizard would have already begun to break down. Tom's intent was clear: siphon the victim's vitality and spiritual strength within a matter of days.
But Moriarty didn't flinch. His Occlumency shielded him with absolute precision, and more than that—he had the Alchemy Matrix embedded deep in his magical core.
Tom's soul was dangerous, yes—but not formidable enough to truly threaten him.
Moriarty remained calm, even curious. The form Tom had taken—a serpent composed of soul essence—was more than mere Transfiguration. It was something else entirely.
Tom Riddle, even in fifth year, had shown exceptional skill in Transfiguration—something even Professor Dumbledore, who was teaching the subject at the time, had acknowledged with rare praise. Tom's ability had been noted as exceptional, perhaps even prodigious.
So this—this transformation—wasn't a surprise.
A Transfiguration of the Soul.
Perhaps it deserved its own magical category.
Moriarty attempted to probe it using elemental magic, weaving water and air to infiltrate the soul matrix.
But he failed.
"System," Moriarty called internally, "why can't I breach such a basic soul fragment with elemental detection?"
The system replied without pause: "The host's magical level is insufficient to analyze a high-grade fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul. Detection may become viable when host reaches Level 60."
Moriarty nodded, disappointed but not surprised.
He could shatter this construct easily. A storm of freezing spells, wind roars, and elemental surges could reduce this magic to shards.
But doing so would destroy the soul.
And Moriarty didn't want that.
This soul fragment—Soul Fragment No. 1—might still prove valuable to his future plans.
Nor could he risk harming Mrs. Malfoy, unconscious and vulnerable nearby.
"System," Moriarty said calmly, "solve this. Without harming Tom's soul."
The system quickly returned a recommendation: "Open the system shop and spend 50,000 points to redeem Bubble Guardian."
Bubble Guardian — A magical safeguard tied to passive elemental tides. Once the host layers a target with three waves of high tide, any subsequent spell cast will grant soul protection for 24 hours.
Perfect.
Moriarty confirmed the exchange. This spell would serve his purpose—to shield Tom's soul instead of destroy it.
Because even in his broken, fragmentary state, Tom might one day be useful.
He turned then, glancing at Mrs. Malfoy. She lay silently on the intangible soul-mist, her blonde hair cascading like moonlight. Her face was serene, but her magical aura flickered.
Moriarty raised his wand.
"Sanctificare."
A golden ripple flowed through Mrs. Malfoy, protecting her from soul-borne corruption, dark energy, or any effects the soul flakes could impose.
The spell, strengthened by Moriarty's rising power, cloaked her entirely.
Next came the passive magic tide. Elemental water began to pulse from Moriarty's body, weaving with the soul flakes and attaching themselves to Tom's essence.
Once the three high tides were in place, Moriarty cast Bubble Guardian.
A soft aqua shimmer wrapped itself around the soul fragments. Tom's soul was now shielded.
And so, Moriarty unleashed Frostbite Touch—a devastating burst of cryomagic.
From his core, freezing tendrils erupted, latching onto the soul mist. The temperature plummeted. Soul flakes hardened into frozen fragments, the soul plane shuddering from the pressure.
A scream echoed in the ether—Tom's.
Moriarty could feel the panic in the soul mist as fragments of Tom's essence began to spin chaotically, trying to escape the cold.
Moriarty turned, reached out, and pulled Mrs. Malfoy close, cradling her in his arms.
Everything went black.
With a thud, Moriarty collapsed onto the plush sofa of the Malfoy Manor drawing room.
They were back.
Mrs. Malfoy lay gently curled against his chest, still unconscious, but safe.
Moriarty took a moment to survey the room. All was still.
On the coffee table, Tom Riddle's Diary sat shut, its cover encased in a block of shimmering ice. A faint beam of aqua-blue light marked the first page—the location of the protected soul fragment.
Satisfied, Moriarty stored the diary in his system space, then gathered Mrs. Malfoy in his arms and carried her toward the grand staircase leading to the upper bedrooms.
"Ding Dong~ Congratulations, Host! You've successfully signed in and received: a set of Narcissa Malfoy's personal undergarments."
Note: Malfoy Manor's Master Bedroom is now a repeatable sign-in location. Check-in possible once per week.
With a poof, a floating set of elegant black lace lingerie materialized and landed directly on Moriarty's head.
A faint floral perfume tickled his senses. He stiffened.
Almost dropped her.
"System," Moriarty grumbled. "Be honest. Are you trying to turn me into some sort of pervert?"
He caught the garment and slipped it into the system space with a grumble.
Of all places to receive a reward, it wasn't even the hidden dark chambers of the Malfoys—but Narcissa's room?
He couldn't help but wonder—was the system secretly a Paro? A spirit who had a weakness for married women?
The system, naturally, offered no sensible explanation.
Moriarty shook his head. Not worth fighting over.
He gently laid Narcissa on the expansive bed, pulling the pristine white quilt over her. Her figure was temptingly outlined beneath the covers, but Moriarty merely adjusted the curtain around the four-poster and exited the room without another glance.
He had neither time nor interest in violating his ethics.
With a soft click, the door closed behind him.
Moriarty stepped outside and Apparated directly to Slytherin Castle.
Three days remained before the Quidditch World Cup Final, and he needed to return to Hyprosai.
---
The next morning, the household was abuzz.
Moriarty had long departed.
Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy stood outside his mother's bedroom, knocking furiously.
Knock knock knock!
"Mum! Mum!"
Knock knock knock!
"Muuum?!"
He pressed his ear to the door, frustrated. "I've searched everywhere in the house. Where are you? You promised to take me, Pansy, and Theo to the World Cup Final!"
Inside, Mrs. Malfoy stirred awake.
Her eyelids fluttered open slowly. Her face bore traces of a sweet, serene dream. A haze of warmth remained in her chest.
She stretched under the covers.
And froze.
A strange stickiness between her legs.
!
She jolted upright.
Looking around, she checked beneath the quilt, her face flushing.
Her clothes were still intact. Robes, skirt, even…
"Underwear too," she muttered with relief. "Didn't even take off my boots."
She leaned back with a wistful smile. "That must've all just been a dream..."
But it felt so real…
Her cheeks glowed red.
She turned to the wardrobe to change.
But the knocking on the door hadn't stopped.
"Coming, Draco!" she called.
She stepped toward her armoire and reached for her favorite set of black lace underwear—and gasped.
Gone.
She rummaged frantically.
Nothing.
"No way…"
She tried not to panic.
Was this the work of a mischievous house-elf? Dobby again?
No… he would've confessed immediately.
Draco?
No. She banished the thought. Her son would never violate boundaries like that.
Then it hit her.
Moriarty.
He had carried her to bed. And now her undergarments were mysteriously missing.
"…So that's your game, Mr. Slytherin," she muttered with narrowed eyes.
Her cheeks flushed deeper.
She couldn't help but recall the dream… and what they'd done…
An involuntary shiver ran down her spine.
With a dramatic sigh, she turned back to the wardrobe.
"Another day, another mystery," she whispered, selecting her next outfit.
But in her mind—Moriarty lingered.