Lilith raised her wand to amplify her voice and shouted, "Moriarty scores again! And in such a miraculous way! Look at the faces of the players!"
William, Leon, and the other Slytherin players sat frozen on their brooms, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief. Moriarty's approach to Quidditch had completely upended their understanding of the game.
After a long moment, William snapped back to reality. As if struck by sudden inspiration, he turned to the Slytherin Keeper and barked, "Quick, put the Quaffle back in play! Hurry!"
Then, looking toward the stands, he shouted to the younger Slytherins, "From now on, record every single move Moriarty makes! Every. Single. One. Do it for every game going forward!"
What followed was inevitable—Moriarty turned the trials into his own personal goal showcase. Each time the Quaffle left his hands, it found its way through the goal hoops with stunning precision. The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers growing louder with every score.
Marcus Flint, hovering in the air, looked utterly defeated. He had witnessed all of Moriarty's goals, each more incredible than the last. Realizing his loss was absolute, he silently shed tears.
There was no suspense left in the trials. Over the remaining 40 minutes, Moriarty scored 80 more goals at an astonishing rate of one every 30 seconds. The final score difference? 82 goals to 1.
Gasps and exclamations rippled through the crowd. Some students started calling Moriarty a "goal machine."
Lilith, however, shook her head in disapproval. "No," she declared. "He's a blazing meteor. Brilliant and unstoppable!"
Among the spectators, several players from other houses—including Gryffindor's Charlie Weasley and the newly appointed second-year Keeper, Oliver Wood—held their heads in their hands, groaning in disbelief.
As the trials concluded, Moriarty landed gracefully, immediately surrounded by a swarm of admirers. The rest of the players landed one after another, their expressions ranging from admiration to complete devastation. Leon strode toward Marcus and, with no regard for gentleness, yanked him forward, practically throwing him at Moriarty's feet.
Marcus did not resist. He collapsed onto the ground, tears streaming down his face. The Slytherins around him showed no sympathy—instead, they jeered and mocked him.
"Hey, there he is!"
"Don't forget your promise, Flint!"
"He must regret everything now. Why would anyone go against Mr. Moriarty?"
Marcus suddenly lifted his head, glaring at the onlookers before fixing his gaze on Moriarty. His voice was hoarse, filled with humiliation and resignation.
"Mr. Moriarty," he said, his words slow and deliberate, as if each one cost him great effort. "Marcus Flint… will be loyal to you. Forever."
With that, he seemed to collapse in on himself, curling into a ball on the ground. Moriarty observed the scene, noticing the pea-sized tears falling onto the grass.
"That's enough," Moriarty said firmly, silencing the still-mocking crowd. "Leave us. I want to speak to Marcus alone."
The students hesitated, curiosity shining in their eyes, but Moriarty did not elaborate. Eventually, they dispersed.
Only Lilith lingered. She approached with her arms crossed, tilting her head toward Marcus. "A verbal promise isn't very binding," she remarked. "How about an Unbreakable Vow?"
Moriarty shook his head. "I don't threaten people into submission. If loyalty isn't given willingly, no vow will hold."
Lilith raised an eyebrow. "So, you're going to subdue him by… talking to him?" Her voice held an amused lilt.
"You seem oddly invested in this," Moriarty noted. There was an undercurrent to his words, something unspoken hanging in the air between them.
Lilith studied him for a moment, as if searching for something in his eyes. Whatever she sought, she did not find, and after a beat, she sighed.
"Fine. I admit it." She pulled her long hair into a ponytail, her demeanor shifting slightly. "I used the trials to set up a betting ring. And, yes, I leveraged your reputation to do it."
She reached into her robes and pulled out a small, finely crafted leather pouch. "Here—one hundred Galleons. Half of what I made. All yours."
Moriarty accepted the pouch, weighing it in his palm before tossing it back to her. He chuckled. "Next time, store them somewhere secure. I could hear the clinking of your winnings from across the field."
Lilith smirked. "Noted." Without another word, she turned and walked off, leaving Moriarty alone with Marcus.
Moriarty turned his attention back to the crumpled boy before him. "Now, tell me why you cried," he commanded. "That's an order."
Marcus's voice was hollow, drained of all emotion. "My mother died when I was born. I've never seen my father smile—not once. From my earliest memories, he was always selling off valuables, piece by piece."
He took a shaky breath before continuing. "I wanted to make him happy, but I'm useless. No talent. Not smart. Not likable. Every time there was a gathering at Malfoy's or Greengrass's, no one wanted to play with me.
"When I came to Hogwarts, I was terrible at every subject. The only thing I had going for me was my size. I thought joining the Quidditch team was the one thing I could do. But then you came along, and Blanche… and I was jealous."
Moriarty listened without expression, then scoffed. "A tragic backstory doesn't excuse your arrogance and cowardly behavior."
Marcus flinched but said nothing.
"However," Moriarty continued, "compared to magic, all of that is irrelevant. You still have time to fix yourself."
Marcus looked up, his expression wary.
"I have a lot of wealth, Marcus. If I wanted, I could restore the Flint family's fortune in an instant. But do you need money?"
Marcus hesitated, then nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir."
Moriarty almost laughed. "That's naïve. The real question isn't how to get money—it's how to stop losing it."
Marcus blinked. "Because of… the Dark Lord?"
Moriarty's gaze was steady. "Voldemort didn't just take wealth. He took power. If you want to reclaim your family's standing, you need strength."
Marcus hesitated. "But I don't know anything."
"Then learn," Moriarty said sharply. "Next year, when you start your third year, take Care of Magical Creatures as your elective. Dedicate yourself to it. From this moment on, magical beasts will define your future."
Marcus's mouth fell open. "That's it?"
"That's only the beginning." Moriarty's eyes gleamed. "I have a dragon egg. One day, I'll establish a dragon sanctuary. If you prove yourself, the Flint family could be part of it."
Marcus paled. "A… a dragon?"
"Yes. And you will keep this secret," Moriarty warned. "If I find out you've told anyone, not even your father will save you."
Marcus swallowed hard but nodded.
"Good. Now, go study," Moriarty instructed.
As they walked back to the castle, Moriarty added, "You're different now. Act like it."
Marcus straightened, his voice stronger. "I promise, sir."