The day after the Christmas dinner, Lockhart reached out to Mr. Dwayne Dawn, the esteemed Headmaster of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
As always, Lockhart applied a clever strategy.
In his letter, he didn't explicitly state that he intended to deliver a lecture at Ilvermorny. Instead, he framed his trip as a charitable mission in America, mentioning the approaching Quidditch World Cup to give it some context.
Mr. Dawn, who had long admired Lockhart's charisma and fame, was thrilled upon hearing that Lockhart would be traveling to the United States for charity work.
The headmaster eagerly proposed organizing a charity gala involving the American wizarding community and even offered Ilvermorny Castle itself as the venue for the event.
Lockhart, feigning modesty, replied with carefully chosen words: "Dear Dawn, I know you are a man of great compassion, but compassion should not become a chain. Though I always strive for charity, I must admit I cannot operate entirely without Galleons. I do not wish to expose your students too early to the temptation of money. I have always appreciated Hogwarts' philosophy—students should avoid politics, commerce, and focus solely on the pursuit of magic."
In his response, Headmaster Dawn provided an overview of Ilvermorny's history and emphasized its unique focus on integrating magic with the Muggle world. He highlighted the presence of numerous young Muggle-born students who were especially enthusiastic about magical applications to Muggle objects.
There was a subtle undertone to his letter—his students were not as naive as one might expect.
This intrigued Lockhart greatly.
He hurried to inform Moriarty of this development, while simultaneously praising Dawn in his correspondence. Eventually, he accepted Dawn's invitation, albeit reluctantly and only after much courteous delay.
Thus, Lockhart boarded a Muggle plane and flew to the United States, where he was warmly received and honored by both the Magical Congress of the United States and Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
News of this spread quickly within Slytherin Castle, and Jericho and the three little snakes were elated.
In the drawing room of the castle, Old Flint took the opportunity to pass on wisdom to Marcus. "In the world of adult wizards," he said, "communication is an art form. Mastering it can yield remarkable benefits."
Marcus nodded sincerely. "You don't have to say more, Father. I've learned much from you."
Old Flint eyed his son's earnest expression and sighed, half amused and half exasperated. Still, he chuckled and teased, "Marcus Flint, are you sure you belong in Slytherin? Sometimes I think the Sorting Hat made a mistake—you should have been in Hufflepuff!"
Marcus offered no reply. Instead, he shot his father a mildly disapproving glance and then quietly pulled out a thick, ominous-looking book.
Old Foley, who was lounging nearby, leaned forward to get a better look. His eyes widened in alarm. "Winged Demon? Are you mad? You wouldn't happen to be planning to unleash that thing on your own father, would you?"
Marcus smirked. "Uncle Foley, Father always said you were well-read."
The comment was crafted as a compliment to both older wizards.
Old Flint and Old Foley exchanged a quick look. Then Old Flint coughed. "Where did you get that book, son?"
"It's called The 100 Most Terrifying Magical Creatures of the Last Millennium. Hagrid found it in Knockturn Alley and let me borrow it. I was surprised Uncle Foley recognized the Winged Demon."
Marcus closed the book with a snap.
Old Foley grinned and turned to Old Flint. "Brother, I retract my earlier jab. Your son is a true Slytherin—through and through."
Old Flint tried to remain indifferent, but there was clear pride in his eyes. He shrugged casually. "Who in this castle isn't a Slytherin?"
"I'm off to see Jericho. Carry on, gentlemen," Marcus said, rising from the couch.
As he left, Old Flint watched his son's retreating figure, his heart filled with gratitude toward Moriarty. He knew it was Moriarty who had steered Marcus toward a more promising path.
"Brother, imagine if the young master had been born fifty years earlier," Old Flint mused aloud. "Wouldn't the magical world be glorious under his lead?"
Old Foley chuckled. "I don't know what the magical world would look like—but I know one thing. The Dark Lord would have had a worthy blood relative."
"And who's older, you reckon—the young master or the Dark Lord?"
"Hah! You'll have to ask sometime."
The two older Slytherins, swept up in their memories and newfound hopes for the future, shared a rare moment of reflection—something they hadn't indulged in for decades.
Moriarty's influence was changing people—and Tonks too.
After dinner, she had lain awake all night, replaying Moriarty's cryptic instructions in her mind. The weight of the tasks he had given her was staggering. It was as if a mastermind were subtly guiding the world.
It was terrifying.
In Moriarty's bed, she twisted and turned beside him, whispering, "Bad junior, wake up. I can't sleep, so neither should you."
She nudged him gently. "Tell me, are you really trying to change the world?"
"I'm only interested in changing you." Moriarty's hands found her waist.
"You're hopeless," Tonks whispered before pressing her lips to his in a dazed kiss. "Then let's die together."
"Rubbish." Moriarty gave her a playful slap on the rear. "We're not dying. I'll live gloriously—and so will you."
Though they hadn't taken that final intimate step, their shared love brought them closer. Tonks glowed with happiness, and Moriarty was endlessly patient with her.
A girl in love truly radiates beauty.
Thus, everyone spent the remainder of the Christmas holidays amidst laughter and contentment.
When the break ended, Tonks and the three little snakes returned to Hogwarts via the Hogwarts Express. Meanwhile, Moriarty penned a letter to Dumbledore and, after informing the school of his travel, departed to meet with Roman and the other British national Quidditch team players in Diagon Alley.
Ludo Bagman, ever exuberant, informed Moriarty that the American wizarding government—specifically the Chairman of the Magical Congress, Paul Jackson—had mobilized the Pentagon Office in preparation for the British team's arrival. Paul had even sent his personal secretary to greet them.
"Jackson?" Moriarty mused aloud. He recalled discussing the Magical Congress of the United States with Jericho. If memory served, the first chairman had the surname Jerichon.
Time to meet the American wizarding elite.
Moriarty smirked slightly, then activated the Portkey with the team and arrived at the grand headquarters of the Magical Congress of the United States.
A charming blonde awaited them. She was Paul Jackson's secretary and immediately took charge of leading them to the Pentagon Office.
"After the Bigfoot Rebellion of 1892," she began, "MACUSA sought a new headquarters. Eventually, they chose the Woolworth Building at 233 Broadway in Manhattan. Today, it's a mixed-use structure. To No-Majs, it looks ordinary, but once the right spell is used, it reveals its wizarding architecture."
She explained all this while throwing coy glances at Moriarty.
Roman leaned over and whispered, "Word is, she's involved with Paul. Don't get drawn in—remember, you're the national team's face."
Moriarty scoffed. "You think I'm some randy fool?"
"No, no, just looking out for you," Roman said hastily. He'd seen the women around Moriarty at Hogwarts—this secretary didn't compare.
"You're just bitter she didn't flirt with you," the boy with the exploding hair teased, flashing a grin.
Their banter carried them all the way to the doors of the Pentagon Office.
Moriarty paused, glancing up at an intricately carved eagle above the door—remarkably similar to the MACUSA crest.
"That's the symbol of America," Roman said. "I've been here many times, but I've never set foot in the Pentagon Office. All thanks to you, my friend."
With a soft creak, the twin mahogany doors swung open.
A welcoming voice echoed from within: "Please, Mr. Moriarty and the members of the British national team, do come in."
Moriarty recognized the voice—it was James, warm and familiar as ever.
"Right this way, honored guests," the secretary said with a bright smile, fluttering her eyelashes one last time.
Moriarty ignored the gesture and strode into the office.
Roman and the rest of the team followed closely behind.