Lucius hurriedly invited Moriarty into the house. The afternoon tea party was arranged on the second floor of the grand Malfoy Manor. As Moriarty and Lucius ascended the marble staircase side by side, a luxurious tea lounge unfolded before them, bathed in gentle sunlight that spilled in through the arched windows.
A set of meticulously polished tea furniture came into view: a gilded table with pearl-encrusted legs and beechwood chairs draped in enchanted fox fur, warming anyone who sat. Moriarty sat gracefully, letting the comfort of the seat envelope him.
"Dear Moriarty, Mr. Slytherin," Narcissa Malfoy greeted warmly, a fine tablecloth in her hand. She glided across the room, her smile bright and dignified. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."
Moriarty rose politely, and Lucius and Draco did the same, even though they had just sat. All eyes turned as Narcissa delicately spread the tablecloth herself.
A pure-blood hostess personally arranging the tea table was considered the highest show of respect to a guest. Moriarty stood silently, leaning on his cane with both hands. Lucius stood tall beside him, his chest slightly puffed with pride, silently boasting about his elegant and capable wife.
He had reason to be proud. Narcissa, wearing subtle makeup, radiated with an ethereal glow. Her snow-pale complexion rivaled the finest china, and her elegant white off-shoulder dress accentuated her refined posture and noble presence.
As she leaned forward, her snow-white arms gracefully extended to unfurl the cloth across the table. Her movements were fluid and practiced, the curves of her back, waist, and hips visible from Moriarty's vantage point.
Moriarty courteously turned his eyes away and instead noticed the khaki round hat adorning Narcissa's golden locks. A delicate lace silver flower rested on the brim, her long curls cascading like liquid gold over her shoulders.
She had just finished when she turned with a graceful spin and gestured, "Please, be seated."
Moriarty returned to his chair, admiring the intricate embroidery on the beaded lace tablecloth. Lucius gave a brief nod of approval while Narcissa summoned a pot of daffodils, placing them at the center of the table. A charming family photograph of the Malfoys was positioned beside the blooms, completing the refined setting.
All of this was done manually, without a single spell — a mark of pureblood sophistication and hospitality.
"You honor your name, Ms. Narcissa," Moriarty praised, his voice laced with genuine appreciation. "In Greek mythology, 'Narcissa' is derived from the narcissus flower — a symbol of purity and beauty. Your grace is no less radiant."
Narcissa offered a gracious smile, folding the tablecloth in front of Moriarty three times before stepping back. The gesture, part of traditional tea etiquette, was a sign of care and formality — not a secret message, though Moriarty, well-versed in European customs, knew such gestures had historical connotations.
While Moriarty didn't particularly care for such rituals, nor likely did the Malfoys, they all embraced the tradition for the sake of appearances and courtesy.
Moments later, Narcissa returned carrying a silver tray adorned with a pristine tea service — fine bone china teacups with golden trim, silver strainers and spoons, a crystal-clear pot, and precise measuring tools — all sparkling under the afternoon light.
"Mr. Moriarty, do you know why silver is used in traditional British tea service?" Lucius asked, stroking the curve of his silver teapot with reverence.
"In a land often deprived of sunlight," Moriarty replied with mild amusement, "silver reflects light, symbolizing the people's yearning for brightness and warmth."
Lucius chuckled in agreement. The conversation remained light, awaiting the formal serving of tea — which, according to tradition, must be done by the hostess herself.
"Mr. Moriarty," Narcissa returned with another silver tray, "I've prepared three selections: Keemun black tea, Earl Grey, and Ceylon. Which would you prefer?"
"Keemun black tea," Moriarty responded, his eyes flickering with nostalgia.
Narcissa leaned in slightly, noting the glint in his expression. "Milk? Sugar? Lemon? Coffee?"
"None, thank you," he said softly.
"None?" she asked curiously. "Has Mr. Moriarty tasted Keemun in Huaxia?"
Moriarty shook his head. "During my ten years in China, I dwelled in the remote cold of Eastern Tibet — a place where the wind was my drink and snow my meal. Keemun tea wasn't a luxury I could afford."
The Malfoys exchanged subtle glances. They had read Gilderoy Lockhart's books and mistook parts of Moriarty's life for exaggeration.
"But," Moriarty continued, "I had heard of Keemun. It hails from Qimen County near Huangshan in Anhui Province. The leaves are tightly rolled, the color deep and dark — what locals call 'Baoguang.' Its aroma carries notes of honey, and top-tier leaves offer a floral scent akin to orchids. They call it the 'Keemun fragrance.'"
Lucius looked visibly surprised, nodding slowly while Narcissa smiled, shaking her head.
"You describe it so poetically, Mr. Moriarty," she said. "I now wonder if my brewing can match your expectations."
"I spoke too soon," Moriarty said with a graceful nod. "Let me taste before I praise."
He handed her the tray, and Narcissa, her fingers deft and swift, began to brew. Her delicate hands worked in harmony with the tools — heating the pot, breaking the tea leaves, pouring water with a practiced swirl.
Moriarty watched, enchanted. The way she brewed tea reminded him of potion-making: every movement elegant, precise, and beautiful to behold.
At last, she served Moriarty first, then Lucius, Draco, and finally herself.
"Please enjoy," Lucius gestured formally.
Moriarty took a sip. The rich, slightly bitter aroma unfolded on his tongue. "You asked before," he said, setting down the cup, "about a broom that guarantees safety?"
Everyone paused.
"I can now tell you — the broom I've developed not only ensures safety, but delivers unmatched speed. It's faster than any broomstick in existence."
"Cough! Cough!" Draco choked on his tea, spraying droplets onto the tablecloth. Narcissa rushed to his side, pressing a napkin to his lips.
"You're too careless, darling," she said fondly, patting his back.
"You spoil him too much," Lucius muttered sternly, shooting Draco a sharp look before turning back to Moriarty.
Though skeptical, Lucius knew Moriarty had no reason to lie. A broom that solved the two most significant concerns in broomstick design? It sounded too good to be true.
Seeing the doubt in Lucius' eyes, Moriarty leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. "Nicole Flamel and I postponed wand research to develop this broom. With the 1990 Quidditch World Cup set for Canada, our goal is to launch before it begins."
The conviction in his tone and the mention of Flamel made Lucius' expression shift from disbelief to cautious excitement.
Draco, however, was already convinced. He stood up, accidentally knocking over his cup.
"Father! You promised me a broom! You said if it was safe—!"
"Oh dear!" Narcissa quickly caught the cup, but the tea had already stained the fine tablecloth.
"I'll clean—" Moriarty offered, reaching for his wand.
But Narcissa shook her head, determined to uphold tradition. "I'll replace it myself."
Moriarty simply sighed, not in frustration, but because he feared these small interludes would delay his true business with Lucius.
Lucius turned toward his son, face red and voice cold. "Draco... Malfoy!"
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