But what could he do? He thanked her, then turned to Snape. "Professor Snape, Mr. Moriarty — I received an Invisibility Cloak this morning. Do either of you know who sent it?"
Bernadette naturally had no idea, and looked to Snape.
Snape's expression darkened at once. Deeply unpleasant memories flickered across his mind. "How should I know," he said coldly.
He looked back at Bernadette. "Moriarty — regardless of whether Chadro's death has anything to do with you, I suggest you keep a low profile for the time being."
With that, he swept his robes and strode out.
Outside the office, Snape looked down at Harry's present. He hesitated a few seconds, then opened it. What met his eyes was that face — green-eyed, hauntingly familiar, impossible to forget.
"Lily…"
Snape froze. He reached out with careful fingers to lift the photograph — and saw the other half: a grinning man whose face made veins throb at his temples.
Creak.
Snape ground his teeth. "Damn you, Potter!!!"
His hand rose to tear away the half bearing James Potter's hateful face — but with both hands gripping the photo's edges, he ultimately couldn't bring himself to rip it.
After a long moment, he folded the photo in half with a dark expression, hiding Potter's infuriating mug from view, and stalked away.
After Snape left, Bernadette dumped the cat treats Harry had given her onto the napping cat, leaving it to sort out its own affairs. She sat down at her desk and regarded Harry. "Any plans for the break?"
"Huh?"
Harry scratched his head. "Not really."
Unlike in the original story, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't launched any investigation into Snape or the Philosopher's Stone. They'd been living a thoroughly carefree existence.
"What about you, Mr. Moriarty?"
"Me?"
Bernadette tapped the desk with her fingers and smiled. "Nothing in particular."
In truth, she had plans. It was time to settle the score with whoever had framed her.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door again. Malfoy's voice: "Professor Moriarty — are you in?"
"Hm?"
Harry was surprised — he was sure Malfoy had gone home on the first day of the Christmas holiday. What was he doing back at school?
"Happy Christmas, Professor."
Malfoy walked in carrying a gift box. Spotting Harry, he raised a challenging eyebrow. Thanks to Bernadette's involvement, Malfoy and Harry hadn't become outright enemies as in canon, but they certainly weren't friends.
"Oh — Harry. Forgot to get you anything."
Malfoy fished a bronze coin from his pocket and flicked it over. "Happy Christmas!"
"..."
Harry flicked a silver coin right back. "Buy yourself some sweets, Malfoy!"
Before Malfoy could retort, Bernadette interjected: "Is your father here?"
"Yes — he's at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade."
"Mm."
She left the two sparring boys to their own devices and walked out.
Twenty minutes later, Bernadette pushed through the door of the Three Broomsticks, braving wind and snow. Being Christmas break, the pub was quieter than usual — just a handful of people huddled around the fireplace. Toward the back, a man with an unfamiliar face was drinking with visible agitation.
It wasn't Lucius Malfoy's real face, but it was Lucius Malfoy — disguised under Polyjuice Potion.
"Happy Christmas."
Bernadette sat down across from him. "Mind if I sit here?"
Lucius looked at her, growing more anxious by the second. "Of course."
The reason Lucius had come all this way was the letter Malfoy had brought home: Moriarty claimed to have discovered something wrong with Quirrell, and wanted to meet. Failure to attend would have "consequences."
Lucius, of course, already knew Quirrell had a problem — because not long ago, Quirrell had contacted him directly via the two-way mirror belonging to young Draco. Quirrell had been remarkably candid: he was acting on orders from his Master, the Dark Lord, on a secret mission at Hogwarts.
He needed Lucius's help.
Lucius had been genuinely terrified. He'd never expected Voldemort to have returned after a full decade. Filled with dread and resentment, he'd had no choice but to comply — providing dark-magic materials, unicorn blood, and so on.
Unlike most Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy's allegiance to Voldemort had nothing to do with pure-blood ideology. It was entirely consistent with the Malfoy family creed: flexibility. In plain terms — be a weathervane; side with whoever's winning.
As the wealthiest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Hogwarts' biggest donor, and patron to half the Ministry, he didn't need any of this. If it were up to him, Lucius would have greatly preferred not having a master who could decide his fate on a whim. But Voldemort had been ascendant, poised to rule the wizarding world, and Lucius had no choice but to play the loyal dog.
Then Voldemort was killed by the "saviour," and Lucius had barely managed to shed his Death Eater connections — sacrificing nearly half his wealth to buy off the right people. Over a decade of comfortable living later, someone was telling him Voldemort was back?
He didn't want to believe it. He hoped Quirrell was lying. That was why he'd asked Moriarty to investigate — and that was why they were meeting today.
Lucius lowered his voice: "Quirrell — what exactly is wrong with him?"
Bernadette said flatly: "What do you want to be wrong with him, Mr. Malfoy?"
"How — how would I know? You're the one who called this meeting!"
"And you're the one who asked me to investigate."
"..."
Lucius's face twitched. "Are you playing games with me?" he hissed.
Bernadette studied him for a good ten seconds, then said abruptly: "Do you have any idea how powerful Voldemort really is?"
"!!!"
He nearly shot to his feet. "How — how dare you say his name aloud?"
"A man who was defeated by a newborn baby. What's to be afraid of?"
"…You — you have no idea how terrifying he is."
"Which is exactly why I came to ask you. Come with me."
"What?"
Bernadette placed her hand on Lucius's shoulder. The next instant, both figures warped and vanished — but the other patrons noticed nothing at all.
Ten minutes later.
They reappeared in their original seats. Lucius's face was a picture of shock, staring at the young man before him with utter disbelief.
During those ten missing minutes, Moriarty had taken him to a deserted forest and demonstrated a dizzying array of magic — the familiar Unforgivable Curses, various terrifying dark arts, and others he'd never seen or even heard of.
Then came the question: "Between myself and Voldemort — who is stronger?"
Lucius knew Voldemort's power and terror all too well. But… he'd never seen Voldemort display anything like what Moriarty had just shown.
I actually tried to use a man like this as my fall guy — my proxy for dirty work. That's basically the same as asking the Dark Lord to be my errand boy.
Is it that wizards are just that much stronger nowadays, or has Voldemort genuinely been left behind by the times?
Lucius's reaction gave Bernadette a rough gauge of her own strength — Voldemort was, at most, about on par with her current level.
Good. That's reassuring.
"Mr. Malfoy — do me a favour."
"Wh… what?"
"Set up a meeting with Quirrell. As a Death Eater."
Lucius swallowed hard. "Quirrell… is he really connected to the Dark Lord? Has the Dark Lord truly… returned?"
"No."
Bernadette looked at Lucius. She said calmly: "He is Voldemort."
...
Lord of the Mysteries world.
8 AM the next morning. Vincent and Bernadette swapped on schedule.
The previous night, Bernadette had returned to the Dawn and bestowed the Broker slot on one of the ship's sailors, successfully bringing the Scale into balance.
She'd waited all night. Almost the instant the swap completed, she urged: "Time to advance."
To be continued…
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