Diana's brows twitched slightly as she sent a sharp glance toward the door.
Fleur huffed and placed her crystal soup bowl down with a loud clink.
Tonks pursed her lips and muttered under her breath—couldn't a girl have her soup in peace anymore?
Even little Penelope and sharp-eyed Gemma shared a moment of exasperation, their gazes flicking to the door in silent protest.
Lilith, who had just released Moriarty's hand, narrowed her eyes. Her cold gaze drilled into the wooden surface of the door as if trying to see through it.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The knock came again, louder and more insistent this time.
"Go on, open the door," Diana said lazily, slipping off one of her heels and crossing her legs with effortless grace. "Let's see which surprise guest joins us now."
Her nonchalant remark stirred the others.
"Yes, open it!"
"Open the door!"
"Come on, bad schoolboy~ don't make us do your job."
Moriarty rubbed the bridge of his nose but kept his expression calm as he approached the door.
Even he was curious by this point—who now?
Click.
He opened it.
A flash of brilliant white filled his vision. For a moment, it looked like sunlight. Then the silhouette came into focus.
Narcissa Malfoy.
"Moriarty," she snapped with narrowed eyes, "did you go into my wardrobe yesterday?"
Moriarty's heart skipped.
Wardrobe?
He quickly scoured his memory. Why would he—
Oh.
Oh.
The system space.
Inside it, among many odd trophies, were two particular items: a soft silk bathrobe and an elegant set of black lace cutout undergarments—both unmistakably belonging to Mrs. Malfoy.
Damn.
He'd meant to return them—or at least find a moment to explain. Now, it was too late.
Narcissa folded her arms, her steely blue eyes locked on his, full of controlled fury—but also something else. Mischief?
Perhaps she'd known all along. Or perhaps… she didn't truly mind.
In truth, Narcissa didn't care where the robe and underwear had gone.
If someone had to take them, she preferred it be Moriarty.
Still, she needed an excuse to see him, and a direct lunch invitation might be turned down.
So, she'd taken the roundabout route—using the wardrobe as pretext.
"What's that look?" she said sharply. "Don't zone out—talk to me!"
She tilted her head, her voice softening with an almost girlish charm.
"Don't tell me you were thinking about my robe… and underwear~"
She leaned in, her voice turning teasing and low, the kind of tone only a confident woman could carry—an intoxicating blend of seduction and mockery.
Moriarty held her gaze. Narcissa's cheeks tinted slightly, but she didn't look away.
He exhaled slowly and murmured, "I didn't touch your wardrobe."
To his surprise, Narcissa stepped forward, now standing right on the door frame—tall enough in her heels to peer past him into the room.
And then… she froze.
The scene laid out before her said more than a thousand words.
The couches, the soup bowls, the girls.
Six of them.
The scents in the air, the faint traces of tension still crackling.
She instantly understood everything.
Her playful air vanished.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Moriarty," she said curtly, stepping back. "I didn't realize you were entertaining. Forgive the intrusion."
She dipped her head respectfully and made to leave.
But Diana had risen without a sound and now stood at the door beside Moriarty.
"Come in, Mrs. Malfoy," she said smoothly, flashing a diplomatic smile. "We've been meaning to thank you properly for all you've done for Hogwarts."
Her words, though wrapped in courtesy, carried a subtle undercurrent—an unspoken message.
That Diana was in control here.
She didn't say I, she said we.
We, the girls inside.
Diana made it known: Mrs. Malfoy was not included in that circle.
Moriarty arched an eyebrow at her. Teacher Diana, when did you get so territorial?
Diana gave him a sideways glance. Bad student. You bully your professor and expect loyalty?
Narcissa read the subtext instantly. She was a Black, after all.
And Black women didn't back down.
Her pride flared, and with a composed expression, she stepped into the room.
"Very well," she said, "Let's hear what all this gratitude sounds like."
Moriarty made to intervene, but Lilith gently tugged him back by the sleeve.
He sighed. Lilith and Diana had clearly formed a tactical alliance.
In fact, both women seemed unimpressed by Narcissa's entrance.
Moriarty glanced back into the room—and the seating had already changed.
Fleur now sat alone on a single armchair, her face icy. When her eyes met Moriarty's, she glared.
Tonks occupied the long couch, flanked on the right by Penelope and Gemma, with space left on the left.
Narcissa sat gracefully beside Tonks, casting her niece a fleeting, unreadable look.
"Domida… or should I say, Mrs. Tonks. Is she well?"
Tonks stiffened.
"She's fine," she said shortly, her voice flat.
She didn't offer anything more.
The bond with her aunt had frayed long ago—when Andromeda had married Ted Tonks, the Muggle-born.
They hadn't spoken much since.
And yet, the childhood nicknames—Domida and Cissy—still hovered in the background like ghosts of a warmer past.
Narcissa's gaze drifted over each girl.
"Ladies," she said coolly. "I didn't come to watch a flock of peacocks circle one wizard. If you've got questions, ask them."
Lilith spoke first.
"We're curious about yesterday at Malfoy Manor."
Her tone was smooth, her lashes fluttering as she glanced up.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Not a question for students to ask a school governor," she replied crisply. "Next."
Tonks tried her luck.
"We overheard what you said at the door. About your wardrobe."
She looked at Narcissa directly. "We want to know what happened yesterday. What happened between you and Moriarty?"
Her voice held no fear—only determination.
Narcissa gave her a long, level look. The implications were clear.
Moriarty was her nephew's schoolmate. Her niece's boyfriend. And yet…
Pureblood politics complicated everything.
"Ask Moriarty," she said finally, with an unreadable smile.
Tonks turned to glare at him.
The other girls joined her.
Their expressions screamed the same thing:
Pervert. Big pervert!
Fleur, despite herself, stood up and faced Narcissa with a polite, cold voice.
"I may not be a Hogwarts student, Mrs. Malfoy," she said carefully, "but even in France, I heard about Mr. Lucius's funeral. His body barely cold, and yet you… visited another man's room."
Moriarty's cough was sharp, deliberate.
Fleur caught the warning and bit her tongue—but the damage was done.
Narcissa's entire body tensed.
Though Fleur had spoken carefully, the insult was unmistakable: unfaithful widow.
A pureblood lady's reputation—stabbed.
Narcissa didn't explode. She simply said, with biting precision:
"Mixed-blood little girl. You're not qualified to speak to me."
She said it so softly, so cleanly, it cut deeper than a scream.
Fleur's face flushed scarlet as she stood.
Penelope quickly reached out to stop her, tugging her sleeve and shaking her head.
Only Diana looked thoroughly amused.
Her smile was dazzling, her eyes bright with glee.
She even shot Moriarty a wink.
That's what you get, bad student.
That's for teasing your teacher.
That's for stealing Mrs. Malfoy's underwear.
Moriarty gave her a withering look.
From the moment Diana had opened the door earlier, she had seized control.
Fleur arrived—Diana confronted her.
Tonks joined—Diana nudged her to oppose Fleur.
Lilith appeared—Diana orchestrated tension against her.
Now Mrs. Malfoy had entered—and Diana united the girls to turn against her.
No cheap tricks. No gossip or low games. Just poised maneuvering and subtle speech—classic Diana, the Elf Queen.
Only Penelope, clever Ravenclaw that she was, seemed to grasp the full depth of the manipulations.
Moriarty stood up, his expression darkening.
"That's enough," he said firmly. "Let's end the interrogation. I'm going to eat."
Mrs. Malfoy rose too, brushing her gown.
"I've made an appointment with the head chef at Hyprosae," she said smoothly. "Would you care to join me?"
She looked at him with soft eyes.
For her, all of this—the barbed words, the cold glances—was nothing.
A meal with Moriarty was worth the storm.
The girls all turned to Moriarty.
Every gaze locked on him, tense, anticipating.
He could almost hear them think:
If you go with her alone… we'll riot.
Moriarty smiled faintly.
Then, like a general rallying troops, he reached out both arms.
"Come on," he said. "We'll go eat—all of us."