Lilith's eyes turned cold.
"Headmaster, this is a great opportunity — the older students who participate in this initiative will have promising job prospects after graduation."
"They haven't graduated yet." Dumbledore raised his glasses with a knuckle, his sharp gaze locking onto Lilith through the lenses of his half-moon spectacles.
"As long as they remain at Hogwarts, they are my students." Dumbledore concluded the statement and turned to face the gathered students, disengaging from further entanglement with Lilith. "Understanding the law is the duty of every wizard. What we must do is use legal frameworks to defend our legitimate rights and interests. But I must remind you that laws and regulations are built upon a foundation of stable social order—and that order is backed by power.
Ultimately, the essence of law is strength."
A flicker of exhaustion crossed Dumbledore's expression; he did not relish imparting this cold truth to young witches and wizards. But to wipe away the subtle mark Lilith had left on their minds, and to guide the seventh-years through their final year in peace, Dumbledore chose to show them a glimpse of the world beyond the castle's walls.
The mood in the hall turned somber. The Gryffindor students seemed taken aback, but the Slytherins understood immediately.
Seven years at Hogwarts would pass in the blink of an eye—then what? Where would they go?
To say they would go their separate ways was not quite accurate. The British wizarding world was small; its community, even smaller.
A wizard who graduated in the same year might bump into a former partner while out shopping with a spouse and children—the chances were nearly guaranteed.
Rivalries formed in school would persist in adulthood, and sometimes even pass down to the next generation.
Take Lucius and Arthur. Or Draco and Ron.
The post-graduation circle remained the same—those one liked might drift away, but those one disliked would persist.
Yet, a select group of students already had their paths paved. Bright futures and promising careers awaited them.
Lilith was among them. Fudge had promised her a position within the Ministry of Magic, likely in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—where Justus had once worked.
But Lilith was not content with that. She narrowed her eyes at Dumbledore's retreating figure, displeased.
Now she understood why so many powerful pure-bloods despised Dumbledore.
No—that wasn't quite right.
They didn't hate Dumbledore.
They feared his overwhelming magical power.
Still, who wouldn't aspire to wield magic as powerful as his?
Wizards were peculiar. They dreamt of power and greatness, yet when they found themselves unable to reach such heights, they turned their resentment toward those who could.
Lilith shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside.
This had been her first campaign—and it had been forcefully suppressed by Dumbledore. She couldn't force him to reverse his stance, but she had to reclaim her influence.
She couldn't let morale collapse; once a team loses its heart, leadership becomes impossible.
Lilith shot a glance at Percy. He aspired to enter the Ministry. As long as his family didn't fall from grace, she could manipulate him.
She then looked to Gemma. That fourth-year student was no fool—she had her own mature ambitions.
More importantly, Gemma was competition.
Lilith could tell: Gemma had only agreed to co-organize the event so she could stand out in front of Moriarty.
And the event had failed. Worse—Moriarty hadn't even shown up. Ugh...
A wave of disappointment and frustration surged within Lilith. Just as her mind wandered, a voice pierced the quiet hall.
"I heard I missed the PFA event, didn't I?"
Moriarty entered the Great Hall surrounded by a cadre of Slytherins, smiling warmly at every student who turned to look.
"Look at these colored cards—like our mood." Moriarty retrieved a stack of cardboard from Leon, and let them clatter dramatically.
Lilith's eyes lit up. She had colored the cards deliberately, hoping to stir emotion.
For instance, the Quidditch code was golden—like the Golden Snitch.
The Secrecy Statute was gray—signifying the moral ambiguity of hidden laws.
Each color carried meaning. Lilith hadn't expected most students to grasp them—but Moriarty had.
Lilith stared at him, emotion swirling behind her gaze. Dumbledore, too, looked at Moriarty—but with a far more complicated expression.
The old headmaster did not want to hear Moriarty endorse Lilith.
He truly didn't wish to oppose his student—but fate intervened, and Moriarty gave him a reassuring wink.
"Headmaster," Moriarty began, brushing his silver hair back with a finger, "I've recently encountered a little problem."
His words sparked curiosity. The Quidditch champion, Slytherin prefect, and the man who had once wagered against Nicolas Flamel and won—a man who had saved Hogwarts from a vampire progenitor—had a problem?
The younger students leaned forward, eager.
Dumbledore waited patiently for the explanation.
"Not long ago, Professor Flamel and I developed a flying broom—a prototype, naturally," Moriarty said. "We submitted it to Nimbus, who were impressed and asked us to design an entirely new broom. You may recall flying it a few days ago."
The crowd buzzed.
"But," Moriarty continued, "Nimbus pulled a fast one when it came to the contract. They suggested that Professor Flamel and I could invest in the company—offering our design and technical skills in exchange for equity.
In doing so, the broom we designed would legally belong to Nimbus. They wouldn't need to pay us, and they'd be free to use our invention as they pleased—working us into the ground while they reaped all the benefits.
They assumed we wouldn't notice, just because I'm a student and Professor Flamel is... well, elderly."
He chuckled. "So polite. So very naïve."
Gasps rippled across the hall. So that's what Nimbus had tried! They had attempted to defraud both Moriarty and an alchemy professor!
But the Slytherins were quick to latch onto another detail: "Did he say he made another alchemy item?"
The word another carried weight.
They all remembered the last one—the wand sheath. The Magic Revival Shop still sold it.
Now, a new broom?
Dumbledore smiled subtly—he had already guessed Moriarty's intent.
Moriarty's gaze turned toward Lilith. "I was wondering—should I invite you White Jackets to take a look at the contract from Nimbus? See if anything's off? But now you seem... distracted."
"N-no..." Percy stammered, gesturing at Lilith to speak.
Lilith just stared at Moriarty. Gemma seized the moment.
"We're perfectly capable!" she beamed. "And actually, sir, we're not called the White Jackets. Our real name is—"
"We haven't picked a name yet."
Lilith quickly cut in. She wasn't about to let Gemma take all the credit—or reveal too much, too soon.
"We were just organizing a civic initiative," she continued. "But since the Headmaster has forbidden political involvement, we're forced to stand down."
She gave a theatrical shrug, then altered her tone with a sudden shift, as if just noticing Moriarty's presence. "Oh~ Mr. Moriarty—!"
She walked toward him, and Percy and Gemma followed—after all, with both the Headmaster and Moriarty present, they couldn't remain seated.
The rest of the group converged as well.
"So you want us to manage the legal matters regarding the contract between you, Professor Flamel, and Nimbus?" Lilith asked, folding her arms. "But we're not a law firm. Maybe you should consult someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Though she was thrilled by the opportunity, she couldn't help her pride—especially in front of Moriarty.
Percy fidgeted nervously, face redder than his hair, but said nothing.
Moriarty shrugged in mock disappointment. "In that case, I suppose I'll have to ask someone else."
He scanned the room. The students straightened their spines and puffed out their chests, eager to be chosen.
This was the first time Moriarty had asked for help—help! The prestige alone was enormous.
The White Jackets were in a frenzy. They inwardly scolded Lilith—such a golden opportunity, and it might've just slipped away!
Lilith shot Moriarty a glare. That scoundrel had done it on purpose!
Just like that night in the Simborg Hotel.
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