I don't know what Moriarty said to the basilisk, but he reached out and stroked the creature's head. "That Slytherin heir ordered you and enslaved you in Parseltongue. Oh, what a pity! For thousands of years, you've only been able to eat mice to satisfy your hunger."
The basilisk closed her eyes, made a grunting sound, and gently twitched her tail, wrapping it around Moriarty's ankle.
"Come home with me, Shiva. The castle left by Salazar Slytherin is yours to roam freely. Now, I am your master."
"Hiss!"
Marcus had to let his imagination ride on a broom to understand the dialogue between a man and a snake. He looked at Moriarty and the basilisk in shock.
"Master, it—um, you subdued it?"
Moriarty smiled. "Gentleman, Marcus, she has a name: Shiva. I remember it was the name of an ice and snow goddess in the ancient Celtic pantheon."
The basilisk let out a low cry. She no longer looked terrifying. Moriarty's touch seemed to hold a special magic, making her as docile as a sheep.
Marcus was stunned. Moriarty explained further: "Male basilisks have a bright red feather on their heads. Look at hers—there is none. She is female, so our ancestor Salazar Slytherin named her Shiva.
And Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, manipulated Shiva to do his bidding, exploiting the bloodline of the Slytherin family."
Moriarty looked at Shiva and reassured her. "With me here, you don't have to worry. Voldemort is just a junior compared to me."
Marcus, still trying to recover, widened his eyes. Voldemort was Moriarty's junior? Now that was breaking news.
"Accio wand!" Moriarty suddenly shouted, summoning Marcus' lost wand. After handing it back, he spoke a few words in Parseltongue to Shiva, who slithered away.
"Let's go. If we're lucky, we can catch the end of the last class."
Moriarty flew up with Marcus, retracing their steps. As they emerged from the entrance, Tonks and Jericho rushed over.
"We almost went to the professor!" Tonks said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"If we hadn't shown up soon, Professor McGonagall would have come looking for us," Moriarty added, glancing at Jericho.
Jericho slapped his forehead. "Damn! This morning was Transfiguration! Professor McGonagall is going to tear us apart."
"I have Divination," Marcus said. "I don't think it matters if I miss it. That Trelawney woman is crazy."
"Seems like I'm the only one avoiding punishment," Tonks smirked. "No classes for fourth-years this morning. Don't be jealous, juniors. Grow up quickly."
"Well, Nymphadora, you stay here or head to the Room of Requirement to study magic circles. We're off to class," Moriarty said, pulling Jericho along.
They met Professor McGonagall in the Transfiguration classroom. She angrily deducted fifty points from Slytherin.
"Missing the first class and arriving almost an hour late to the second? Even for a Slytherin, this is unacceptable!"
The entire corridor could hear her reprimand. News quickly spread that Moriarty had skipped class, but no one could guess the reason. As for house points, students across all four houses agreed he would earn them back in less than a week.
However, the teachers were less forgiving. Professor Cullen from Defense Against the Dark Arts assigned them detention.
"I need some students to help organize my office," he had told McGonagall. "They can serve detention on Friday night."
At eight o'clock that Friday night, Moriarty and Jericho set off for Randy Cullen's office.
As they ascended the floating staircase, Jericho grumbled. "I should be reading Flying with the Artillery in the cozy common room. Instead, I have to clean up for a vampire professor?"
Moriarty stopped. "How do you know Professor Randy is a vampire?"
Jericho blinked. "I thought you knew already. Everyone says so. He certainly looks like one."
He sighed. "But he's a decent professor. Prefect William said our Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed. Having a stable professor is a miracle."
"Has anyone from pure-blood families spoken about Professor Randy's origins?" Moriarty asked.
"You'd have to ask Piliwick," Jericho chuckled. "As far as I know, no one has."
Moriarty nodded and continued walking. After a while, he looked back at Jericho. "Tonight, we're heading to the Restricted Section."
"Brilliant! I've been waiting for this. We'll need the Disillusionment Charm, though." Jericho pumped his fist before quickly sobering. "Are we sure we have time? The past few months have been tight with all the magic circles we've been engraving."
"Master the Disillusionment Charm first," Moriarty said. "Everything else will follow."
They arrived at Randy's office and knocked. The door creaked open, revealing the professor hunched over his desk, writing on parchment. The quill's scratching noise filled the room.
Moriarty caught a glimpse of the letter's heading before Randy flicked his wand, turning it blank. It was addressed to Bill Weasley.
"Professor," Moriarty said smoothly. "We're here for detention."
Without looking up, Randy gestured toward a cluttered corner. "Sort that out. Too many things. Too messy."
Papers, boxes, and leather bags lay scattered about. The papers were enchanted blank. The boxes and bags, covered in dust, seemed to resist magic.
Jericho frowned. "Since when does simple cleaning stump a wizard?" He flicked his wand. "Scourgify!"
Nothing moved. Frustrated, he tried again. "Reparo!"
The papers flew into a neat stack, but the bags and boxes remained motionless.
"Cleaning and repair spells are useful," Randy commented. "But not for alchemical objects."
"These are alchemical items, then," Moriarty noted.
Randy finally looked up, his silver eyes glinting. "Indeed. Unlike your boots, which are alchemical artifacts, these are simple enchanted items.
Now, stack them using Wingardium Leviosa. Even first-years manage that spell well."
After an hour of work, the room was spotless. As they turned to leave, Moriarty caught another glimpse of the letter—Bill Weasley.
Randy dismissed them coldly. "You may go."
Back in their dormitory, Moriarty and Jericho didn't discuss Randy. Two hours later, they slipped out and headed for the library's Restricted Section.
Searching the shelves, Moriarty brushed past a sparsely stocked aisle—and collided with someone standing there.