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Surprisingly, before Moriarty could find Keith, Keith arrived first.
During dinner in the Great Hall, Moriarty speared a slice of Angus roast beef with a silver fork. The noble meat, sourced from magical cattle raised in the Scottish Highlands, was indeed more delicious than the mundane fare—tender, juicy, and infused with subtle charms to enhance flavor.
But Moriarty had no appetite. A student had insulted a professor. In Slytherin House, this was unheard of—blatant insubordination toward a member of the Hogwarts faculty, and no less than the Head of Slytherin himself!
Worse, the culprit was his own roommate. And the target of the offense—Professor Severus Snape.
For the first time, Moriarty was seriously tempted to use Legilimency on Keith to verify if his brain was truly sloshing with flobberworm mucus, as one of the Pure-Blood traditions mockingly suggested.
Just then, Keith entered the Great Hall with the support of Ralbo, limping and clearly ashamed. His eyes darted toward the Slytherin table before he froze, hesitated, and stepped back.
The atmosphere at the table turned glacial. Dozens of Slytherins turned to stare at Keith with narrowed eyes, their disdain palpable. Word of his outburst in Potions had spread like Fiendfyre. It would not be long before Headmaster Dumbledore was forced to intervene.
Moriarty's eyes narrowed. Keith's right arm was wrapped in thick bandages, visibly swollen despite the magical salve. But it was the raw panic in Keith's eyes that caught Moriarty's attention. He nodded at Marcus Flint, who immediately strode over and escorted Keith to the Slytherin table.
As soon as he sat down, Keith burst into desperate sobs, mucus streaming down his face. "Sir, please—please help me!" he whimpered, his voice cracking with terror. "I can't be expelled! Professor Snape sent a letter to my grandfather—he'll go mad! Please, sir, only you can help me!"
The other Slytherins watched him with cold indifference. Not one extended sympathy. Even among snakes, there were rules—and Keith had crossed a sacred line.
Jericho hesitated, then reached out a hand to comfort him, but Moriarty's gaze stopped him short.
"I heard you mention 'Professor Snape,'" Moriarty said quietly, putting down his fork. "But that's not what you called him in class, is it?"
Keith's breath hitched. He covered his face with his left hand, dragging it down slowly, wiping away the snot and tears. "Oh, Merlin—Sir, I swear on the Big Four and on your name—I don't know what came over me! I don't remember saying any of that! Ralbo told me everything after, but it's blank to me! I didn't mean it—I swear!"
He broke into fresh sobs, his shoulders shaking.
Leon scoffed. "You think a few tears will excuse treason?" His voice was sharp as a cursed blade. "You insult the Head of our House and expect forgiveness because you're suddenly forgetful? Pathetic. You're better off in the Muggle world—maybe you'd be good at unclogging toilets."
"Enough, Prefect Leon," Jericho said, casting a sympathetic look toward Keith. "I don't think he's faking."
"Oh, Jericho…" Keith gasped, clutching Jericho's hand as if it were a lifeline. "I'm telling the truth."
"I'll be the judge of that," Moriarty said evenly. "Look at me, Keith. Relax. Let go of your guard. Breathe…"
Keith's eyes met Moriarty's. The storm of panic behind them began to still as Moriarty's Legilimency took hold. A rush of images followed: Keith standing outside Moriarty's door, being turned away by Marcus. Keith in the Potions dungeon, diligently preparing ingredients. The cauldron bubbling. Then the explosion—followed by Keith jumping up and unleashing a furious stream of insults at Snape.
Moriarty ended the Legilimency and leaned back. "He's not lying."
Keith exhaled in relief, offering a tearful, rambling thank-you, but Moriarty waved to Ralbo. "Take him to the Hospital Wing."
Leon frowned. "He's not lying, but he did insult Professor Snape. So what explains that?"
"That's the mystery," Moriarty said, rising. "There was no Imperius Curse, no mental manipulation. Nothing. It was as if Keith snapped—without reason or warning."
That night, the Slytherin common room was unusually quiet. Even the usual laughter from the older years died out. No one spoke of what had happened.
The next morning, Moriarty rose early. Entering the Room of Requirement, he immediately noticed Tonks hadn't arrived.
"Congratulations, host. Check-in successful. Reward: Proficient Wizard's Chess skills.
Note: The Room of Requirement is a repeatable sign-in location. Host may check in once per day."
"Wizard's chess," Moriarty mused. It was among the few games wizards considered a real sport. Lockhart played it constantly, though he was infamous for being terrible at it.
After waiting ten minutes with no sign of Tonks, Moriarty shrugged. She'd been up until one or two the past few nights—no doubt she overslept. He summoned some old books and transfigured them into a standard 8x8 wizard's chessboard, then spent an hour honing his new skills.
Finished, Moriarty exited the room and made his way to the Great Hall. But on the first-floor corridor, he ran into Soldaya and a younger student in Hufflepuff robes with a black-and-yellow scarf. Cedric Diggory.
"Sir!" Soldaya beamed. "Great timing. Cedric's got something urgent to tell you."
Moriarty nodded, and Cedric blurted, "This morning around six, there was a commotion in the Hufflepuff common room. I came out and saw Sister Tonks standing on the couch—book in hand, everyone crowding around her. It was a cookbook, sir. She said she was going to lead us to the kitchens—to cook!"
Moriarty's brow lifted. That explained her absence.
"Sounds like Tonks," he said, smiling faintly.
"But—but when I got to the kitchens—snakes, sir. Snakes everywhere!"
"Snakes?"
"Yes! And owls—owls flying around screaming! One owl was plucked bald in a pot, and Sister Tonks was trying to stuff it back in to boil it!"
"That's preposterous." Moriarty changed direction and headed toward the kitchens. Cedric and Soldaya followed quickly.
"I know it sounds mad, sir," Cedric said nervously. "But some owls were stewed. Judging by their feathers—they were the West Tower's delivery owls."
Moriarty walked faster.
"You didn't stop her?" he snapped. "You let her cook owls?"
"The older students were cheering her on! At first, she said she wanted to make a Chinese dish—braised lionhead meatballs. But then she took out a sharp knife and said she wanted to cook snake soup. For you, sir!"
Cedric looked even more flustered. "They summoned real snakes with 'Serpensortia' and everything! We ran to Dean Sprout, but I knew Soldaya was looking for you, so I came too.
As for the owls—Tonks said she was making chicken soup for you. But there were no chickens, so she went to the Owlery and said the owls were Scottish round-faced fat chickens!"
When they reached the Great Hall, it was chaos.
Breakfast had devolved into bedlam. Students were shouting, tables were overturned, and, strangely, no professors were present.
Moriarty drew his wand. "Quietus Maxima!"
His magically amplified voice boomed through the hall. The students froze and turned toward him.
He spotted Leon near the front. "Leon. Report."
Leon strode forward and flicked his wand. Three dishes floated to Moriarty.
"Snake soup, braised lionhead, and roasted owls," he said dryly. "Apparently, today's breakfast. The house-elves said the recipes came from Hufflepuff students. Specifically, Tonks."
Moriarty examined the snake meat. Blackened, with twitching nerves still spasming. The lionhead was just a massive undercooked meatball—blood still seeping from within. The roasted owl had been plucked cleanly, but a crimson Howler envelope remained tied to its leg.
Who, Moriarty wondered grimly, would roast an owl with a Howler?
The students had reached the boiling point...
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