Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy was exhausted—bone-deep fatigue dragged at her elegant frame.
It wasn't just being woken by her son at dawn. No, it was the strange dream that lingered all night—a vivid, maddening dream full of red-cheeked images featuring Moriarty.
Every time she blinked, her mind replayed scenes that should never belong to a woman her age… and yet, there they were.
After rousing the Hogwarts delegation, she led the teachers and students to Hyprosae early in the morning. Before she could even sip a drop of tea, Draco and a gaggle of energetic children pulled her to the beach.
It was nearly 11 o'clock by the time she tucked everyone in and made her way to the hotel, craving food and quiet.
But the thought of sharing lunch with Moriarty—her darling, mysterious boy—rejuvenated her spirit. Her steps lightened as her mind whirred with meal plans.
Tomorrow was the final match. He needed energy—protein, vitamins, hydration.
Nutritional excellence is vital for champions.
What Mrs. Malfoy didn't realize was that a tempest had already taken root in Moriarty's luxurious suite.
Six young witches. One wizard.
One luxury room.
In order of arrival: Fleur, Diana, Tonks, Penelope, Gemma, and Lilith.
Any one of them could dominate attention at any school.
Now, all six were crammed into Moriarty's space, each with one thing in common—him.
Some had confessed their love.
Some had shared a bed.
Some had flown across continents.
Some brought soups, potions, or memories—each offering a piece of themselves in their own way.
The room was taut with unspoken competition.
Tonks and Fleur sat on either end of the long couch—perfectly angled to not make eye contact.
Penelope and Gemma sat to the right, whispering quietly, clearly unsure of the emotional terrain.
Diana reclined alone on the left-hand chair, her arms crossed, her legs elegantly folded, an amused expression dancing in her eyes.
And then there was Lilith—lounging like a queen on a leather recliner across from Diana. Her legs were draped confidently over one armrest, arms stretched out, the picture of unshakable calm.
On the coffee table between them sat two opened thermal flasks—one with Penelope's chicken soup, the other with Gemma's pigeon broth—and beside them, a goblet filled with a blue, glowing liquid.
A heady aroma of broth filled the air, but the girls hardly noticed. None touched the food.
Before Lilith arrived, the atmosphere had been awkward, yes—but civil. Her entrance had shifted the tone.
Everyone in the room recognized the drink in the goblet.
"Miraculous Food"—a private term between Lilith and Moriarty.
A meme among Slytherin House.
A symbol of history—and possession.
Fleur's green eyes flicked toward the goblet. Her instinct screamed caution. No sane wizard would willingly drink something that color.
But Fleur was clever. She understood that Lilith's presence wasn't about the wine. It was about claiming.
Fleur, being French, didn't have Hogwarts allies here. And she saw the quiet alliances forming:
Diana remained the amused observer.
Tonks had already pulled Penelope and Gemma closer to her side.
Now, Fleur had two options.
Option one: Join forces with Lilith, push out the Hogwarts girls.
Option two: Side with the trio, push out Lilith.
Proud as ever, Fleur chose neither.
She surveyed the coffee table and let out a soft chuckle.
"Judging by these gifts, Hogwarts must double as a culinary institute."
She raised her nose and sniffed theatrically. "Chicken and pigeon soup… commendable."
Then her gaze dropped to the glowing goblet. She pointed to it with a sly smile.
"But that? What is that? You call that food?"
She turned to Lilith with mock concern. "You trying to poison Moriarty? My little sister's lemon syrup smells better than that... thing."
The trio exchanged sharp glances.
They understood the double-edged compliment—Fleur had mocked both Lilith and them.
Tonks' hair shifted to jet-black. She was ready to pounce.
But Lilith's voice rang out first—clear and cold.
"Canada is known for Icewine."
Her tone cut through the tension. "Made from grapes frozen on the vine at -8°C or lower. Perfectly sweet after chilling."
She flicked her wand with practiced grace.
Glacius.
The goblet's contents shimmered and solidified into glowing blue ice. The air carried a new aroma—sugary and floral, tinged with alcohol.
Penelope's eyes lit up. "It actually smells… like real wine!"
"I changed the formula," Lilith said smoothly. "This isn't one of my old concoctions. I've evolved."
She looked directly at Moriarty. "Do you want to try it?"
Moriarty didn't answer. One sip from any gift would upset the delicate balance.
He hadn't touched the soups either.
Lilith watched him hesitate and smiled bitterly.
"Forget it," she murmured. "I knew you wouldn't."
She tapped the goblet again. The ice melted, swirling gently.
Then she lifted it—her black eyes reflecting the liquid's sheen—and in one smooth motion, drank it down.
"Lilith!" Tonks jumped up, alarmed.
Penelope and Gemma followed suit.
Even Diana's expression shifted.
Fleur flinched. In her heart, she knew—she'd just lost half the battle.
Lilith lowered the goblet with quiet satisfaction.
Then, Moriarty moved.
He stepped forward, took the goblet from her, and glanced at the remaining liquid.
"Like a bartender from Sempousaran," he said, his voice soft. "Just a hint of sweetness."
He raised it—and drank.
Lilith's eyes shone.
Her efforts weren't in vain.
Her lips quirked upward in triumph. "Your first time tasting one of my miraculous drinks."
Moriarty gave her a half-smile. "There's progress. Don't get cocky."
He set the glass down and, without another word, went to the kitchen. When he returned, he brought seven crystal bowls and a ladle.
He wouldn't play favorites—not today.
"Let's try Penelope's and Gemma's soups," he said, smiling. "Chicken and pigeon, right?"
"Uh-huh!"
"Yes!" The girls beamed.
He ladled soup into each bowl with precision.
"Come on, everyone. Let's eat."
Tonks, ever bold, chuckled. "See? This is why I like you, little brother. You're fair."
She snatched a bowl eagerly.
In truth, she'd been craving the broth since the aroma hit—but pride had kept her still.
Fleur, meanwhile, blushed as she accepted her bowl. She'd ridden an emotional roller coaster since morning. Her stomach rumbled audibly. Moriarty handed her a bowl and gave her a knowing look.
She flushed scarlet, raising the bowl to cover her face.
Penelope, ever the diplomat, helped Moriarty distribute the soup. Gemma looked mildly annoyed but said nothing.
Then came Diana.
"Professor Diana, please—try the soup," Penelope said sweetly, offering her the bowl.
Diana arched a brow, taking it gracefully.
"Ravenclaw wit—clever as always." She smiled. "You're not to be underestimated."
Finally, Lilith.
Penelope offered. She declined.
Moriarty handed her a bowl. She pushed it away.
"Don't be stubborn," he said gently. "A bit of soup will do you good."
Lilith's gaze was hazy from the wine. She shook her head and murmured, "I don't drink soup made by my rivals."
No one could move her.
Then—
Knock knock.
All heads turned toward the door.
And on the other side… was Mrs. Malfoy.
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