As if by some unseen hand, the students' wardrobes were emptied, their belongings packed into suitcases, and a notification was sent to each student, warning them not to use magic during the holiday.
Hagrid was in charge of leading the students to board the fleet that crossed the Black Lake. Moriarty stood on the tower, watching the students leave. He didn't join them on the express train back to London. Instead, he remained behind.
There was something he needed to discuss with Dumbledore, and the Headmaster had given him the password for the headmaster's office: Cockroach Pile.
The staff tapped the ground lightly, and a staircase appeared, leading up to the principal's office on the eighth floor. Moriarty made his way to the door, where Paro, the spitting stone beast, greeted him with a cheerful nod.
"A cockroach pile of monsters!" Moriarty said clearly.
The oak door creaked open, revealing Dumbledore sitting behind his large desk. The Headmaster's collection of silverware was spread across the surface—everything Moriarty had ever seen before. However, there was a new addition today: a pile of sweets and a shallow stone basin adorned with runes and symbols around its edge.
Moriarty immediately recognized the Pensieve. What was it that Dumbledore had taken out of the Pensieve?
"Good morning, Moriarty," Dumbledore greeted, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. He gestured to the candy on the table. "Would you like some cockroaches? Professor Randy just brought them back. He is always so considerate."
Moriarty conjured up a comfortable chair and sat across from Dumbledore, picking up a cockroach pile. He examined it closely.
"Why would anyone like cockroach piles?" Moriarty asked, his brow furrowing. The candy looked exactly like a real cockroach: tiny legs skittering rapidly, two antennae flicking erratically, and a faint hum that hinted at the candy's potential to take flight at any moment.
Dumbledore, however, seemed entirely unperturbed. He picked up one of the cockroaches, placed it in his mouth, and smiled as he chewed.
"We know it's food, but people still fear it. If you want me to say, it's very simple to overcome fear—just eat it," Dumbledore said with a gleam in his eye.
"It's hard for most wizards to have such a mindset," Moriarty replied, taking a cautious bite. Surprisingly, it tasted good—though he could still feel the unnerving resemblance to the creature it was modeled after. After swallowing, he added, "The wizard who invented this candy must have had an intense dislike for cockroaches, making sure that people would chew them whenever they wanted."
Dumbledore nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Interesting explanation." He popped a few more cockroaches into his mouth, savoring them as though reflecting on some deeper meaning, not just the odd taste. "Our two views of the cockroach pile represent two types of people."
"One is a man of faith," Moriarty said softly, setting the candy down on the table.
"The other is a man of hatred," Dumbledore finished the thought, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
The two sat in silence for a moment, Dumbledore pushing up his glasses thoughtfully. The room was still, filled only with the sound of the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
"I suppose you know," Dumbledore said after a pause, "that the Sorting Hat is enchanted. Every year, as Headmaster, I can see certain... psychological activities of the new students through the Hat."
Moriarty's gaze was calm, but he gave a small smile. "But you didn't see mine. Does that make you worried? Nervous?"
Dumbledore nodded, his expression serious. "If I've made any mistakes in my life, it's the matter of Tom Riddle. I taught a Dark Lord."
"Ah, yes, you were his Transfiguration professor," Moriarty said, his tone playful. "So now, whenever a Slytherin student does well, you become suspicious?"
"I suppose I would be wary of that," Dumbledore replied with a wry smile. "But I must admit, I've seen much in you that I admire. Your skills in the classroom, your talent in Quidditch, your prowess in the Dueling Club... What surprised me most was your willingness to share the secret room with your fellow students."
Moriarty chuckled lightly. "It was a good experience, certainly, though I never expected to have a heart-to-heart with ghosts, armor, and murals."
Dumbledore's smile faded slightly. "I am glad you've embraced the traditions of Hogwarts... But I also see you sneaking out at night with your friends. Life at Hogwarts is incomplete without a night swim, after all."
Moriarty's lips curled into a small grin. "Tempting, but there are more pressing matters on my mind."
"I see..." Dumbledore's voice softened, but his gaze didn't leave Moriarty's. "Can you share what those matters are?"
Moriarty nodded, and then began to recount what he had discovered: the Hogwarts riot, the centaurs' ominous divination, and how he, along with the ghosts and enchanted figures in the castle, could not remain indifferent to the events unfolding.
"You?" Dumbledore's expression grew solemn as he gazed at Moriarty, his eyes narrowing.
"Me, and the ghosts, armor, and murals of the castle," Moriarty clarified with nonchalance.
Dumbledore blinked in disbelief. His gaze flickered briefly to the shelf behind him, where Fawkes, the phoenix, sat quietly.
"Ah, yes... and remember the afternoon we emerged from the underpass?" Dumbledore continued, changing the subject to hide his surprise. "Fawkes told me something... Peeves mentioned something peculiar about a certain portrait in the castle—a portrait that doesn't obey the magic of the castle's defenses."
"The Headless Horseman?" Moriarty asked, his brow furrowing.
Dumbledore looked taken aback by Moriarty's knowledge, but nodded. "Yes, exactly. It seems there's a portrait that defies the commands of the magical wards protecting Hogwarts."
This revelation made Moriarty pause, and his expression became more serious.
"The castle's magic was created by the giants, and the spells that control it should be unbreakable," Moriarty said, musing aloud. "Yet there is something in this castle—a portrait—that rebels against the castle's defenses. We need to find out more."
Dumbledore watched Moriarty with a newfound respect. The young wizard had already discovered so much. He had his own understanding of the castle's deeper secrets, and this was not lost on Dumbledore.
"I have my suspicions about the true nature of Hogwarts' magic," Moriarty continued. "And if Peeves's information is correct, this portrait could be the key to something far more dangerous than we've realized."
Dumbledore seemed to contemplate this, a thoughtful look on his face. "Moriarty, you have already exceeded my expectations. It seems that you might have more answers than I could ever hope to uncover on my own."
Moriarty smirked, but before he could respond, Dumbledore motioned toward the Pensieve. "I believe it is time for us to discuss more pressing matters. A plan, Moriarty. A plan to deal with Voldemort once and for all. And I think you may be just the person to help me."
Moriarty glanced at Dumbledore, his expression unreadable. "If your plan is convincing enough, then I might just be persuaded."
Dumbledore seemed pleased by Moriarty's response. He took out a vial containing a silvery memory and carefully deposited it into the Pensieve. Moriarty joined him, stepping into the swirling depths of the memory.
As they journeyed into the memory, Moriarty saw the Potters—James and Lily—interacting with Harry as a baby. The memory was full of warmth, but Moriarty's mind was elsewhere. He had plans of his own, and Harry Potter was just one piece of the puzzle.
After spending the day in deep discussion with Dumbledore, Moriarty walked away with a sense of fulfillment. He was one step closer to achieving his own ambitions.
The next morning, Dumbledore appeared calm. "Harry Potter will be handed over to you, Moriarty. Train him to be the wizard he's destined to become."
Moriarty extended his right hand, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. "As you wish."
Dumbledore reached out, shaking Moriarty's hand firmly. This was the beginning of an unusual partnership—one that would shape the future of the wizarding world.