Early mornings in England were always veiled in fog. In the Office of the Minister of Magic, Millison Bagno sat in a plush goose-down armchair, tension coiled in her limbs as she waited impatiently for her assistants and advisors to deliver that cursed document.
It was barely dawn when Bagno received a roaring letter—loud, angry, and smoking—from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The director, a man on the brink of retirement, had sent his final message in the form of a warning: the British Ministry of Magic was officially charged by the International Confederation of Wizards and the European Wizarding Association.
And the charges?
Alongside the Ministry was a second-year Hogwarts student—none other than Moriarty Slytherin.
The accusations were grave: sending British wizards into French territory without adhering to diplomatic protocols, and worse, the use of black magic. Specifically, Moriarty was being accused of freezing one of France's greatest Muggle monuments—the Eiffel Tower.
The flaming letter scorched its edges and disintegrated into ash.
No sooner had Bagno absorbed the shock than she received a resignation letter. The director had finally stepped down. According to internal succession plans, Barty Crouch was set to replace him next year. But now? Now it seemed Barty would have to assume office early and face this diplomatic chaos head-on.
But none of that was the core issue.
Lucius Malfoy's body hadn't even been buried. The Ministry hadn't sent condolences to the French Ministry, let alone initiated an explanation. And yet, Feng Wei Capet—the ever-smug head of French magical affairs—had gone ahead and launched an official complaint?
As for the Eiffel Tower?
Bagno snorted. "There's such a thing as too lucky," she murmured. The very idea that British magic could leave such an impact in France would have most wizards raising their goblets in pride.
If Moriarty truly froze the Eiffel Tower, he wouldn't be branded a criminal.
He'd be a hero.
And yet, something didn't sit right.
Bagno furrowed her brows. She had known Feng Wei Capet for years—shrewd, calculating, and not the sort to make unfounded claims. If Capet had gone public with an accusation, then he believed it could stick.
So did Moriarty really do it?
She hadn't come to a conclusion, which was why she had summoned her staff to investigate everything strange that had happened in France over the past month.
"Knock knock knock."
The office door swung open. Two assistants and five consultants filed in, their arms burdened with towering piles of parchment. Thick tomes floated behind them, bobbing on wisps of levitation charms.
Bagno's mouth went dry. "So many incidents? All in one month?"
"You don't know the half of it," one assistant replied, sweat dripping down his brow.
Bagno inhaled deeply. Another day of overtime, then.
Before she could even reach for the first folder, another assistant barged in, out of breath, waving a pale yellow newspaper like a flag. "Minister! The latest Paris Times! It's front-page news. Capet's making things official."
Bagno seized the paper and scanned the headline.
It was exactly as the assistant had said. Capet had announced—on behalf of the French Ministry—that the freezing of the Eiffel Tower was no accident of nature. It was an act of black magic, and the culprit was a British wizard.
With a slam, Bagno threw the paper onto her desk.
"Does Feng Wei want to start a war?" she barked. "Read between the lines! What does he call us? Barbarians? Intruders? The Ministry of Magic a cabal of warlocks?"
Her voice rose with fury. The migraine that had shadowed her all week finally sank its claws in.
War was the last thing she wanted. She was months away from retirement and had hoped to leave quietly. She'd dealt with too many crises—Squib protests, goblin riots, the Centaur Rights Act…
Now, diplomatic hell.
"Minister!"
Another voice called out. A clerk from the Public Information Office skidded into the room, beaming despite his gasping breath. "Good news, I think! Look!" He waved another newspaper.
Bagno groaned. "Another paper?"
"No, no! This one is interesting!" He laid it gently before her. "Mr. Lockhart's book launch! In Paris!"
Bagno blinked, then leaned forward.
The headline read: "Dancing with Vampires at the Eiffel Tower! Gilderoy Lockhart's New Book Stuns Paris!"
She read on, voice tinged with disbelief.
"In this thrilling new tale, Lockhart recounts his duel with a French vampire beneath the Eiffel Tower! He hints at magical fallout that may explain the Tower's strange condition…"
Bagno blinked again.
"So according to this paper," she said slowly, "Lockhart dueled a vampire over jealousy, and their magic accidentally… froze the Eiffel Tower?"
"Yes, Minister," the clerk explained carefully. "But the paper is Idea, a fringe tabloid in France. It's half-blood-run and used to be blacklisted by the Paris Times. I think Lockhart picked it on purpose. It's his way of undermining Capet."
Bagno stared at the ceiling. Of course Lockhart would find a way to spin international disaster into publicity. The man could sell snow to a Yeti.
"Buy the book," she said flatly.
"Of course! But the only distributor is in Paris," the clerk apologized. "Maybe… have some breakfast while we arrange transport?"
At that very moment, the Daily Prophet had also picked up the story—Lockhart's new book, the ongoing feud between French newspapers, and wild rumors of vampires beneath Paris. The Hogwarts students read every word with wide eyes.
"Sir," Marcus whispered under the clatter of breakfast, speaking only to Moriarty, "is this why you sent Lockhart to France?"
Moriarty didn't answer immediately. He folded the Daily Prophet and stared into his pumpkin juice.
"Yes," he said eventually. "It's time for Lockhart to grow."
His eyes darkened with thought.
He had sent Lockhart to France with a purpose: to protect the elite Hogwarts Thoroughbred Army after Moriarty's departure. Originally, Lockhart was meant to stay low. But when Hogwarts was seized by Dracula, he had no choice but to launch Lockhart ahead of schedule.
Now it looked too convenient.
Everyone knew Moriarty had taken 35 pure-blood students to France. Then, as if by fate, Lockhart claimed responsibility for a major magical incident—and published a novel to prove it.
Too clean. Too perfect.
Dumbledore would suspect. He had to.
But Moriarty was ready for that. He had his methods. Even if the old man's doubts couldn't be erased, they could be buried beneath political noise and media spectacle.
With Lockhart gaining fame, the suspicion of one headmaster wouldn't be enough to drag him down. Especially not now.
To pure-blood families, Lockhart was suddenly a giant.
He had slain Quinlan the vampire.
He had frozen the Eiffel Tower.
He had released a bestselling book in France.
Any one of those feats would be enough to earn him glory in the eyes of British wizards.
All three?
That was legend.
And Moriarty hadn't even told him how to do it.
Lockhart had been free to improvise—and, true to form, had chosen his strongest weapon.
Words.
He had written a book. Told a half-truth. And woven it with just enough mystery to be believable.
His press conference at noon would be the final test. If he succeeded, the rift between the Ministries might even be smoothed over.
Moriarty tapped the table once with his finger.
Then he summoned the system.
"System," he said calmly, "list the spells and magic I can exchange to strengthen allies."