Mrs. Malfoy was visibly startled by Moriarty's sudden reaction. She lowered her hands, blinking in confusion. "What's the matter? It's just a diary—surely that doesn't warrant such excitement?"
"Just a diary?" Moriarty repeated coolly, mimicking her tone, his gaze sharpening into something cold and analytical.
Even in her surprise, Narcissa Malfoy exuded the composed elegance of pure-blood nobility. She straightened slightly, chin lifted, but Moriarty's eyes narrowed.
"If it were just a diary," he said, voice low and steady, "why would you bring it up to me at all?"
Her breath hitched ever so slightly, and her eyes flicked away from his. He had seen right through her. Indeed, she knew the diary wasn't an ordinary object.
He took a step forward, standing close enough that their eyes locked—her blue gaze wavering under his penetrating stare.
"You knew it was dangerous. You mentioned it for a reason," Moriarty continued, his voice tinged with reproach. "You wanted something in return—a transaction, perhaps. Trade the diary in exchange for alchemical resources. Clever. But you underestimate it. You should never have touched it."
"I didn't—" Narcissa shook her head, her pale blonde hair flying around her face. There was a rare desperation in her voice, though pride still laced her words. "Do you think I'm some reckless Gryffindor? That I can't control the urge to pry into others' belongings?
I didn't touch it. I'm not foolish—I know better than to tamper with cursed objects. Especially one that belonged to the Dark Lord."
Her voice dropped lower as she glanced anxiously at the windows of the shop, as if fearing someone—some thing—might be listening.
"I was there when the Dark Lord entrusted it to Lucius," she murmured. "I know it's not just some trinket. That's why I thought you might want it."
Moriarty gave her a cool nod, his voice lightly sardonic. "So you do have some sense. That's a relief."
"Do you think I'm dim?" she snapped, regaining some of her composure. Her blue eyes flashed with indignation. "Is that really what you think of me after our few conversations?"
Her voice was sharp now, layered with years of pride. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders as she rose slightly on her toes, breathing heavily.
"When it comes to survival, you and your family have always shown cunning," Moriarty said, a faint smile touching his lips. "But when personal gain comes into play—you lose your edge. You're not the negotiator Lucius was."
Her shoulders tensed, but then she exhaled slowly, lips forming a thin line.
"You think I wanted this?" she said, quietly. "You think I had a choice?"
Her bitterness was not feigned. "Name one other pure-blood lady who's had to step out into the world like this. Hmm? The others are all shadows in their homes. Maybe Mrs. Zabini is the exception."
She sneered at the name, visibly unimpressed.
"She can remarry as many times as she likes—like some flashy spider—but I won't. I still have people lining up, you know. Suitors."
There was defiance in her tone as she spun once, her movements graceful, refined.
"I am Narcissa Black—the third daughter of the Most Noble House of Black. In my school days, I had Slytherin and Ravenclaw boys lining up from the dungeons to Slughorn's office."
Moriarty raised an eyebrow with amusement. "And what about Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?"
She gave a disdainful sniff. "They didn't dare look me in the eye. Cowards."
He chuckled, reminded of how Tonks or Lilith would have reacted to such pride—with teasing or sarcasm. But Narcissa wasn't a girl; she was a woman with scars buried deep beneath her elegance.
"Just us here," Moriarty said softly. "Tell me honestly—have you ever considered remarrying?"
Narcissa paused. Her lips trembled slightly as she inhaled.
"Draco is still too young. If I remarried now, he'd suffer." She shook her head, her tone firm.
Moriarty nodded, but she raised her chin with renewed pride.
"I was once the most admired debutante in our world—beautiful, poised. Then I became Mrs. Malfoy. Lucius is gone now, and I'm single again.
There are many who dream of courting me, but none are worthy."
Her eyes gleamed with conviction.
"I'm not like Zabini's mother, or Bellatrix, or Domida, or even Mrs. Parkinson.
I don't need a man to validate me. I can stand on my own and raise my son."
Moriarty looked at her for a moment, then said sincerely, "That earns my respect."
She blinked in surprise at the rare praise.
"In light of that," Moriarty added with poise, "I'll deal with the diary for you."
"Oh, really?" Narcissa scoffed dramatically. "So that's it? You flatter me a bit, and I'm supposed to hand over a dark artifact?
You haven't the slightest clue what you're dealing with."
"You're the one in the dark, not me."
Moriarty's voice dropped lower. His expression turned grave.
"It's a Horcrux. Voldemort's Horcrux."
A sharp hiss escaped Narcissa's lips. Her pupils contracted instantly.
The Black family library held knowledge even the Ministry avoided. She knew exactly what a Horcrux was.
A faint cry of despair passed through her lips.
"Moriarty… don't say that name. Not in front of me."
She gripped her arms, shivering slightly. "Lucius bore the Dark Mark. Whenever the Dark Lord summoned him, the mark would come alive. That serpent around the skull—it moved."
She closed her eyes, clearly tormented by memories.
"Oh, Merlin…"
Her knees buckled slightly, and Moriarty caught her, guiding her to a nearby stool. It took her a moment to recover.
"I'll take you to the diary," she said at last, summoning resolve. "It's at Malfoy Manor. It doesn't belong in our home. I want it gone."
"Of course," Moriarty said, voice calm but his mind already racing. A Horcrux… he had plans forming. Not all of them virtuous.
But first, he had to secure the diary.
Narcissa glanced up at him, uncertainty in her eyes.
"You're going to destroy it, right?"
"Promise me," she added, voice trembling now with a mix of desperation and hope. "Promise me you'll destroy it."
Behind every Horcrux was a death—and she had already lost one love. She couldn't lose her son too.
Moriarty nodded, offering a reassuring smile despite the heartbeat quickening in his chest.
"Of course. Follow me."
Narcissa exhaled in relief and walked to the shop door, locking it behind her and flipping the sign to Closed. She turned and looked at Moriarty expectantly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Apparition?"
"My wand's still with you," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Ah, yes," Moriarty replied with a knowing grin. Narcissa got the impression he'd kept it intentionally.
He handed it back—an elegant black-and-gold wand—and she took it with practiced grace, fingers briefly brushing his.
Without further word, she stepped close, grasping his arm tightly.
"Apparition!"
With a loud crack, they vanished.
At the same time, two cloaked figures appeared outside Malfoy Manor.
Inside, Narcissa called for Dobby, the house-elf, who opened the gates with a snap of his fingers.
Moriarty followed her inside. Even after the fall of Lucius, Malfoy Manor retained its opulence. The garden path was lined with white agate stones that glittered in the afternoon sun. Beds of blooming dahlias, daffodils, and purple roses surrounded the walkways, perfuming the air with a soft, heady fragrance.
For someone as attuned to elemental magic as Moriarty, the scent carried an odd sharpness—as though warning him of what was to come.
Once inside, Narcissa composed herself, the mask of aristocratic pride settling back over her.
"Wait in the drawing room," she said, her voice clipped and controlled.
And with that, she turned and swept away, her heels echoing down the marbled corridor.