"It seems I left you with too little homework!"
Professor Snape's cold voice echoed ominously through the auditorium. Every student went silent at once, instinctively sitting up straighter as the potions master's black gaze swept across the room. Even the boldest among them flinched under the scrutiny, especially when Snape's pale, sallow face seemed to flicker with a strange, shadowy aura—as if shrouded in a thin veil of dark mist.
As expected…
"First-years! Copy the twelve uses of dragon's blood—fifty times!"
Snape's eyes lingered a moment longer on Fred and George Weasley, who exchanged a silent glance and immediately sat up straight. None of the first-years dared complain. Fortunately for them, Snape did not press further.
"Second-years! Write an essay on the precautions when preparing a Swelling Solution—no fewer than thirty inches. Due next lesson!"
Snape's commands were as rapid as a machine gun, his tone sharper than ever.
"Third-years! Brew a full cauldron of Confusing Concoction. And make sure you're not the ones confused!
"Fourth-years! I expect detailed notes on the preparation of Stamina Solution. Due before tomorrow's class!
"Fifth-years! You'll be brewing Vitality Draughts. And let me repeat—do not try to drink it! Some of you are already dim enough!
"Sixth-years! Do you recall Golpalott's Third Law? The Living Death Potion? The Belch Elixir? Polyjuice Potion…? I don't want to see one moment wasted!"
"Nooo!" groaned the students in unison.
The seventh-years chuckled softly, thinking themselves free from Snape's wrath now that their N.E.W.T.s were looming and their professors too busy to care. But their relief was short-lived.
Snape's lip curled.
"Seventh-years?" he said quietly. "How are your N.E.W.T. preparations coming along?"
Crack!
The sound of breaking hearts was almost audible. The smiles on the seventh-years' faces vanished instantly. The other students burst into quiet laughter, as if they too felt that blow strike home.
Moriarty shook his head, smiling wryly. At Hogwarts, no hex or jinx could match the weapon that was Snape's voice—deadly and precise, a masterclass in verbal intimidation.
But as much as it amused him, it also meant a delay in his plans. The student club relaunch would have to wait.
Or so he thought.
Suddenly, Dumbledore stood and raised his hand, beckoning for attention. The room hushed again.
"Professors," he said cheerfully, "let us retire to the conference chamber to discuss the matter of reopening the school clubs. Moriarty, the four House Chairs, and the House Prefects, please join us—you shall represent your fellow students.
"Madam Pilliwick, do accompany us as well. We'll be speaking in detail about our arrangements with the White Jackets.
"As for the rest of you—go on. Scatter, explore, eat, play chess—just don't loiter about like goslings waiting to be spoon-fed. You're making things terribly awkward for our poor house-elves."
A ripple of cheerful laughter followed as the students began dispersing. A few paused by Moriarty to offer well-wishes.
"Make it happen, sir!"
"Reclaim the clubs for us!"
"Good luck, Moriarty! Go Lilith!"
Moriarty offered a polite nod. Lilith walked beside him, her voice low and amused.
"To them, we've become heroes."
"Trying to talk to me again?" Moriarty raised an eyebrow, teasing. "I thought we were strangers now."
Lilith gave a theatrical scoff. "If I find out what gifts Mrs. Malfoy sent you, we're not just strangers—we're enemies!"
"Who knows what the future holds?" Moriarty smirked. "Mrs. Malfoy is quite the eccentric. Today it might be a bottle of Butterbeer, tomorrow a jar of Honeydukes sweets, maybe even mango-flavored honey.
"Would that drive you mad with jealousy?"
Lilith narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't actually accept her manor, would you?"
She then grinned slyly. "And don't use that tone—you're obviously exaggerating Mrs. Malfoy just to provoke me."
"And yet you still took the bait," Moriarty shrugged. "Are you jealous?"
"I—" Lilith hesitated, unable to formulate a denial. She would never admit she felt jealous over an old pure-blood woman.
Then, unexpectedly, Moriarty muttered, "I never touched that wizard robe. I sent it to Lockhart, told him it was from Mrs. Malfoy. Nothing to worry about."
Lilith's heart leapt. But when she looked up, Moriarty was already walking away.
He was teasing her.
Lilith's pout deepened.
"Moriarty!" she called after him, half-scolding. "You're getting worse!"
"In what way?"
"Your eyes!"
"Seen into my heart, have you?"
They laughed together, stepping into the shadows of the castle corridor en route to the secret chamber.
---
Three hours passed in intense discussion, but eventually, a decision was reached.
The clubs would reopen.
A dormant tradition—silenced for sixty years—was about to roar back to life.
By the next afternoon, word had spread like wildfire. Clubs sprang up across the school faster than Filch could ban them.
Tonks opened the "Late-Night Canteen," drawing the gourmet crowd in droves.
Leon's club "Overtime" welcomed seventh-years preparing for their final year. Their campaign slogan: Leave the Love at Hogwarts!
Charlie founded the first Hogwarts athletic society—the "Quidditch Champions" (QC). Students from all Houses joined, creating a dream team with no equal.
So dominant were they that no one dared challenge them. Some joked that only professional players could give them a real match.
Jericho, one of the Dream Team Chasers, announced he'd try to arrange a game with the U.S. national team.
But that idea was quickly eclipsed.
Moriarty had founded the first-ever Alchemy Club at Hogwarts.
He named it Hermes.
The announcement sent students into a frenzy. Marcus declared the signup would take place in the secret chamber. Within thirty minutes, it was packed beyond capacity.
Those who arrived late stood outside, peering in with envy.
From the podium, Moriarty addressed the buzzing room.
"Quiet, please. Ladies and gentlemen.
"Our club is named Hermes. You may already know that Hermes Trismegistus is considered the father of alchemy."
He paused, eyes sharp, voice steady.
"I hope we embody Gryffindor's courage, Ravenclaw's wisdom, Hufflepuff's perseverance, and Slytherin's ambition. Let us journey far on the path of alchemy.
"Last year, I said we were the heirs of Slytherin. This year, I say—we are the future masters of alchemy!
"Some of you may doubt. Some may hesitate.
"But I say this: before us, Hogwarts knew nothing of Hermes. Then, Professors Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel arrived. And now—we are here.
"From nothing, we built something. That is history.
"And that means we can build more. Remember the motto of our society: Live the Hermeticism, live up to Hogwarts!"
The room echoed back: "Live the Hermeticism, live up to Hogwarts!"
Lilith gazed around at the impassioned faces and let her hair fall loosely over her shoulders.
"He never started the club for me," she muttered. "It was all a setup... He counted on me stirring things up. Used me again, that damn Moriarty!"
She clutched her head, torn between admiration and exasperation.
She longed to surpass him—to be a queen standing above all.
And yet, she was drawn to him, fascinated by his vision, his ambition, his power. She felt the oddest pull—a desire to be ruled by him.
A sickly sweet mix of awe and irritation churned in her chest.
Just then, Gemma tugged at her sleeve.
"Still swooning over his speech? Come on! We need to form a club too—everyone's waiting for you!"
Lilith shot to her feet, eyes blazing with resolve.
"Let's go. Back to the usual place—we're holding a meeting!"
---
An hour later, at dinner, the White Jackets reappeared with an announcement.
Hogwarts now had its first Law Society.
"Its name," Lilith declared, "is the Law of Justice! We offer free legal counsel and assistance!"
Moriarty rose from the Slytherin table and handed her a thick document—Nimbus's contract.
"This deserves fairness," he said.
Lilith accepted it solemnly. "And it will have it."
"I trust you," he replied simply.
Lilith beamed. Moriarty gestured for Marcus to move, offering her a seat beside him.
"Sit," he said. "Eat."
Lilith forgot all about her queenly ambitions. Politics, laws, secret-keeping—they could all go hang.
She sat beside him, pretending nonchalance as she picked up a lobster burger, her cheeks flushed red.
"Lobster porridge?" she offered coyly.
"Save it for Jericho," Moriarty replied, sliding the plate away. "He's the one who eats magical cuisine like candy."
"Keep the table clear of Lilith," he added with a smirk.
And they both laughed.