"..."
Hermione pressed her palm to her forehead, expression long-suffering. This family was truly too much.
The other twin, George, looked at Harry. "Want to hear it, Harry? It's about your favourite person — Professor Moriarty."
Harry spun toward him immediately. "What?"
"Remember what we said at the start of term — about finding records of Professor Moriarty being expelled from Hogwarts, in Snape's office?"
"That's right. The record said it was for fighting. But what kind of fight earns you an expulsion? That's what we wanted to know."
Ron said, "Just get to the point, will you!"
Fred shrugged. "After two weeks of thorough investigation and a great many interviews, we've managed to piece together a rough picture of what happened."
George's voice dropped. "This was three years after You-Know-Who's downfall. With the threat gone, the pure-blood families who'd been his lapdogs were growing bold again — especially the students from those families, who started throwing their weight around at school, trading on the last of You-Know-Who's lingering terror to bully Muggle-borns."
"Now, as you all know, Professor Moriarty is of Chinese descent and half-blood. His parents were heroes who fought Death Eaters — personally capturing quite a few of them, some of whom had family among these very students. That made him a marked man."
Ron's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell — but the Professor was in Slytherin, and pure-blood families are mostly from Slytherin..."
Harry pressed forward: "What happened next?"
"Apparently he'd gone to Snape for help. Snape intervened a few times, but seemed content to leave it mostly alone — unsurprising, given that Snape was rather a pure-blood supremacist himself."
"Didn't Dumbledore do anything?"
"Dumbledore stepped in, of course — but only managed to push things from out in the open to behind closed doors."
"So for those two years, Professor Moriarty had a thoroughly miserable time." George suddenly fixed Neville with a look. "You find one Snape breathing down your neck unbearable — well, every single person around him was a 'Snape.' And Snape merely docks points, hands out detentions, and occasionally poisons you with his words. What those students did was another matter entirely..."
He gave a small shudder. "Just thinking about it is terrifying."
Neville went sheet-white. "Gran was right," he said quietly. "Everyone in Slytherin is rotten to the core."
Fred picked up the story: "Eventually, what the records call a 'fight' took place. But calling it a fight is generous — it was a one-sided act of revenge."
Hermione looked surprised. "Professor Moriarty was that capable? But if he was that capable, surely he wouldn't have been bullied in the first place?"
"Exactly — and here's the crux of it. Professor Moriarty managed to get hold of a vial of poison from somewhere. Using some method or other, he contaminated Slytherin's food and water supply. It triggered mass poisoning across the entire house."
Fred's eyes shone with glee. "And this was real poison, mind you — not a prank like the sort George and I put together. This was Hogwarts' biggest crisis in living memory. Professor Moriarty, single-handedly, nearly wiped out the entire Slytherin house!"
Harry was dumbstruck. That was... completely mad. He couldn't begin to picture Professor Moriarty doing something like this — but then he thought about what those Slytherin lot had done, and immediately decided they'd had it coming.
"Snape and Madam Pomfrey intervened in time, so there were no fatalities. Even so, the pure-blood families were absolutely furious. One after another they stormed into Hogwarts demanding Professor Moriarty be sent to Azkaban."
"Dumbledore refused outright. He insisted the whole thing was an accident, and the matter was settled by having the Professor expelled."
"And now..."
The Weasley twins spread their arms wide with theatrical glee. "Years later, Professor Moriarty has returned — in an entirely different capacity! Do you think the families who were poisoned back then, and their relatives, are just going to let that slide?"
"So last week, several school governors came to sit in on his class under the pretence of evaluating teaching standards. They were clearly there to cause trouble. But the result?" One of them grinned. "I've never seen a Lumos spell that bright in my life. May Satan himself preserve their eyesight — with any luck, they'll go permanently blind."
Harry's face fell with worry. "Does this mean Professor Moriarty is in danger?"
"Ha! I'd say those pure-blood families are the ones in danger."
The world of Lord of the Mysteries.
Backlund Docklands.
Hugh ran with her back bent low and darted into a warehouse. She knew perfectly well she was no match for the man in pursuit — her only option was to stall for time and wait for Lady Natasha to arrive.
Hurry up, would you!
I only got myself on this man's radar because I was doing a job for you.
For the past few days, aside from checking in at various pubs for commissions, Hugh had been spending half her time helping keep an eye on the grain merchants. Thankfully, nothing had happened — until a few days ago, when the merchants apparently secured a sizeable investment and were preparing to leave Backlund. Out of nowhere, a group of men showed up at their door.
They were the Zmange Gang. An outfit of ill repute composed largely of Highland immigrants, they operated mainly in the East District and the Docklands, making their living through crime.
No one knew how news of the merchants' investment had reached them. But one day before Georgia and the others were due to leave Backlund, the gang arrived to shake them down.
Georgia and the others were frightened, but they held their ground and refused. The Zmange Gang didn't argue — they simply turned and left, and by that very night, they'd launched their move. Among those they sent was a Beyonder.
Hugh didn't know whether this Beyonder had been sent to kill Georgia's group or abduct them, but the moment Hugh was spotted, the man immediately switched targets and gave chase.
"Stop hiding."
A large silhouette stepped into the warehouse: dark-skinned, lean but powerfully built, with deep-set eyes. He was the Zmange Gang's "Executioner," Morsel. He played at this like a cat toying with a mouse — that vicious face wearing an amused grin. Every step he took sent a nearby crate flying and smashing to pieces, driving Hugh methodically into a corner.
This can't go on. If it does, I'm dead.
Hugh bit down on her instinct to hesitate and hurled a plank of wood off to one side, then rolled to a new position, grabbed something nearby, flung it, and moved again.
But at that very moment, Morsel bore down like a charging bear, barrelling straight through the debris — and his gaze never left Hugh for a single second.
Disaster.
She had completely misjudged the difference in their heights. From Hugh's vantage point, her movements were creating noise and misdirection. From Morsel's vantage point, towering above everything, he could watch her every move in perfect clarity.
"I'm such an idiot!"
Hugh backpedalled frantically. When Morsel was no more than two metres away, she drove everything she had into one final throw — her concealed stiletto, hurled in a straight line at his face like a bolt of cold light.
Crack.
The Executioner snapped his hand up and plucked it clean out of the air. His other hand shot toward Hugh's throat.
No—!
She felt the air rushing toward the back of her head, her spirituality spiking like a fire alarm. She was already composing last words for Fors.
Then a figure seemed to materialise out of thin air. Lady Natasha.
"Watch out."
Thud.
A dull impact sounded behind her, followed by the heavy crash of a body hitting the floor. Hugh spun around — Morsel was flat on his back, the savagery drained from his face, replaced by the hollow look of terror and despair. Dead as a doornail.
Hugh's mind went sharp with shock. How did he die?
Bernadette walked over unhurriedly. "Who is he? Why was he after you?"
"He's... Zmange Gang..."
Hugh recounted the whole chain of events, along with her own conjectures.
"I see."
Bernadette was aware of that man's "groundwork." He'd called these things experiments — who knew, perhaps they'd prove useful someday.
She turned it over in her mind, thinking about how he would handle a situation like this.
She had no particular interest in playing the hero and picking a fight with a gang of thugs. As for the crimes they committed every day — the Loen authorities didn't even bother themselves with it.
Hmm.
But haven't I been thinking about how to play a Shadow Merchant?
Human lives were a kind of commodity, weren't they? Buying and selling lives — perhaps that fit the "shadow" framing of the role.
"Hugh," said Bernadette, "how would you feel about becoming a gang boss?"
"???"
Hugh pointed at herself in blank confusion. "Me? A gang boss?"
Things seem to be developing in a direction I fundamentally do not understand.
To be continued…
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