"Foreign wizards outside… if they could speak half a truth, they'd soar into the sky with a mere sniff."
Moriarty saw through the nature of the gathered crowd. Among them were a few true creditors—very few. The Malfoy family had only lost Lucius; they had not yet declined enough to be vulnerable.
Most of the others, aside from a handful of real partners who came from abroad, were merely opportunists. Trouble-seekers, looters looking to take advantage of the situation.
From every angle, it was clear—there was someone pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Moriarty would not allow another hidden hand to rise behind the curtains of the world.
He stared at Narcissa with intent, silently demanding she tell the truth.
Narcissa pursed her lips. The sadness on her face slowly faded. Though she looked helpless and pitiable, she stubbornly masked it with an air of cold indifference.
Yet the loneliness exuding from her, the widow's sorrow, could not escape Moriarty's sharp gaze.
The pride she carried as a daughter of House Black, and later as Lady Malfoy, over thirty years of nobility and honor, made her refuse to bow before anyone—even now.
The collision of these two opposing temperaments—strength and vulnerability—gave Narcissa a soul-stirring charm.
Like a pure daffodil beginning to wilt under the dust of time.
Like a noble rose whose thorns were broken, yet whose elegance remained.
Another man, Moriarty mused, would have already pounced like a starving wolf, savoring the fragile beauty Narcissa embodied.
Tch.
Moriarty sighed inwardly.
Lucius, you really suffered a loss...
Narcissa noticed Moriarty's strange gaze, and anxiety crept into her heart.
As the mistress of the Malfoy family, there was little about their internal affairs she didn't know.
Their structure was simple—no power struggles.
As long as the family's wealth was preserved, Draco would inherit everything smoothly.
The real crux of the matter was Draco himself.
Narcissa knew her son all too well.
Draco, raised in luxury, was clever, obedient, and polite.
But at the end of the day, he was still just a child.
Narcissa glanced at Moriarty, then closed her eyes in silent despair.
Moriarty was only three years older than Draco.
If Draco possessed even a third—no, even a thirtieth—of Moriarty's strength and talent…
Narcissa would not be so exhausted now.
Her evaluation of Moriarty was simple:
Potential—immense.
Talent—peerless.
Strength—undeniable.
Background—impeccable.
Power was always relative. Narcissa knew there were at least a dozen pure-bloods in Britain alone stronger than Moriarty.
But almost none with a cleaner or deeper bloodline.
Unlike the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, the Slytherin line was a true legendary pure-blood family.
Even after Salazar Slytherin's departure from Hogwarts, no one truly knew what had become of his descendants.
No one knew their true wealth.
No one knew their hidden power.
The Slytherin name had vanished from the pages of history—only to now reemerge, stronger and purer than ever.
Because their background was simply too powerful.
Too untouchable.
The treasures accumulated over generations—wealth, political influence, magical artifacts, secret knowledge—Moriarty would inherit it all within a decade.
And that was precisely why Narcissa sought his aid.
Even so, her pride warred against her desperation.
She hated the idea of pleading for help.
A daughter of Black.
A Lady of Malfoy.
A mother of Draco.
No matter which role she wore, Narcissa Black Malfoy would never bow her head to a boy twenty years her junior.
But...
Moriarty's expression was cold and unmoved.
He would not act without the truth.
At last, Narcissa could only sigh inwardly and force herself to speak.
"Those wizards outside… were sent by the Travers family's head. Much of the turmoil recently surrounding the Malfoy family stems from him. He—he pursued me once, as a student. Perhaps now, he sees this as an opportunity to pressure me by taking advantage of the Malfoy downfall... I won't let him succeed."
When speaking of her former suitor, Narcissa's face contorted in visible disgust.
Though she left out the details, the pain was unmistakable.
Moriarty rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
At the last pureblood gathering, the Travers family was represented by an old man.
An old man was Narcissa's classmate?
Lilith coughed pointedly.
"The current Travers patriarch is over seventy years old," she said with a teasing lilt. "And there's still another Travers locked in Azkaban. Mrs. Malfoy, are you suggesting that he is orchestrating things remotely from prison?"
"I didn't say that," Narcissa shook her head, her gaze deep and cold. "Little Travers has a brother. They're twins. He dropped out of Hogwarts in his third year—so almost no one knows about him."
Moriarty and Lilith exchanged a glance.
Lilith laughed lightly, intrigued. "Please continue."
It was clear they thought Narcissa was making up an excuse.
Knowing this, Narcissa could only elaborate.
"Big Travers dropping out was tied to my husband. At that time, Lucius was pursuing me. Old Travers—their father—was close to Abraxas Malfoy. He didn't dare offend the Malfoys, so he forced his son to leave Hogwarts."
Lilith leaned in with great interest.
Though her Slytherin class was renowned for its pureblood heritage, the true golden era of Slytherin House was forged by Voldemort and the first generation of Death Eaters.
The love and hatred of that generation—such stories were rare and precious.
"Enough," Moriarty interrupted coldly.
"I'm not interested in your romance tales, Mrs. Malfoy.
What I want to know is simple:
Can the Malfoy family handle the current crisis, or not?"
He adjusted his sitting posture. Lilith scooted a little further away, sensing the heavy atmosphere.
Moriarty asked in a low voice:
"Can the Malfoy family deal with the wizards outside?"
Narcissa thought about it.
Parkinson, Greengrass, Nott… those families were still reliable.
She raised her chin proudly.
"Yes."
"Can the Malfoy family stabilize their foreign partners, persuade the other pureblood families to continue cooperating, and maintain Muggle business interests?"
"Yes," Narcissa answered confidently.
As she spoke, her voice grew firmer.
The proud, commanding Lady Malfoy of the past seemed to revive in her body.
Narcissa's silver eyes gleamed brightly.
Moriarty smirked.
Still proud, aren't you?
Fine then—he would knock her down from her pedestal.
"Can the Malfoy family handle the vampires' revenge?"
"What?" Narcissa cried out in disbelief.
"They already killed Lucius! Why haven't they let us go!?"
Moriarty's eyes turned ice-cold.
He leaned forward and said chillingly,
"Because someone in the Malfoy family knows the location of the Marquis of Judea."
Narcissa went pale and collapsed back against the sofa as if all the strength had drained from her body.
Moriarty leaned in until their faces were mere inches apart.
He whispered:
"Answer me, Mrs. Malfoy.
Can you handle it?"
Narcissa hesitated for a long moment before whispering, defeated:
"…No."
Moriarty sat back, unconcerned.
He continued, voice casual:
"Can the Malfoy family suppress the major British families trying to carve up your assets?"
Narcissa opened her mouth instinctively to say "yes."
Her sister, brother-in-law—Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange—were locked in Azkaban, and no one dared touch the Lestrange gold hidden deep in Gringotts.
Surely, the Malfoy name still had that power?
But when she looked at Lilith—casually swinging her legs, watching her with a mocking half-smile—Narcissa swallowed her words.
She realized the truth in a flash of bitter clarity.
It wasn't that Lilith lacked etiquette.
It was that Narcissa no longer deserved it.
The proud Lady Malfoy… reduced to the level of a beggar.
Once upon a time, witches had bowed respectfully before her.
Now, she was nothing but a fallen noble in their eyes.
Help from other families would come too late.
And the Ministry?
With Fudge about to rise to power, the political world would change drastically.
Everyone would scramble to carve out a piece of the cake.
And when there wasn't enough cake to go around…
They'd find a new one to devour.
The Malfoy family—an orphaned widow and a child heir—would be the perfect prey.
The Ministry could easily re-raise accusations of Death Eater activities.
The Travers family could seize Draco.
Vampires could slaughter them.
Anything could happen.
Narcissa's mind spun with a thousand horrors.
No.
"No—!" Narcissa suddenly clutched her hair, shaking her head violently.
"No, no, no! I don't want this—!"
Moriarty pressed his advantage.
With a flick of his staff, he lifted the strands of blond hair from her anguished face.
"Answer me, Mrs. Malfoy.
Can you?
Or can't you?"
Tears welled in Narcissa's silver eyes.
Finally, she lowered her head—
And whispered brokenly:
"…I can't."
Moriarty leaned back, smiling faintly.
"Well then," he said,
"Let's talk about what you can do."
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