THE MASTERMIND OF HOGWARTS

"Oh… you won…"

Dracula's voice echoed as if it came from a great distance—disembodied and laced with disbelief. He hadn't expected Jericho to learn flight magic—much less use it so masterfully. The Count had misjudged, assuming it was mere acrobatic skill that allowed the boy to evade every spell.

"Dear Jericho," Dracula purred, regaining his poise, "you are as nimble as a dove."

His blood-red eyes gleamed with amusement.

"You've won, and Lilith has emerged victorious too. So, Mr. Moriarty… it's your turn."

Moriarty stepped forward with bold, confident strides.

"The professor of the third level is Dumbledore, isn't it?" he said aloud, his sharp voice reverberating through the hall.

"It has to be him—you're eager for him to defeat me, aren't you? Then send him out. I'm ready to shove my spells down your throat."

A slow, theatrical murmur drew everyone's attention back to Dracula.

"Ah, Moriarty… do you know who your opponent truly is?" the vampire lord said, drawing out every syllable.

"The most powerful wizard alive—every wizard believes it so. Even in my prime, when I could have vanquished him with ease… now, I must admit: no one can match Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"Stop pretending, Dracula," Moriarty snapped, his grey eyes flashing with the glint of ice.

"How much of Dumbledore's power can you really use right now?"

He wasn't wrong. Controlling Dumbledore had already consumed a large portion of Dracula's limited magical reserves.

If not for that, the vampire wouldn't have released his influence over the students—nor would Professor McGonagall and Snape have regained their ability to cast defensive spells.

Moriarty had another suspicion.

Perhaps Dumbledore himself had deliberately lowered his mental defenses, allowing the virus magic to enter and take hold.

It would be just like the old man—to mask his true thoughts and present only trivial ones to Dracula.

Odd behavior, yes.

But this was Dumbledore.

Maybe the old man even wanted to test Moriarty's strength.

Right on cue, Dumbledore emerged from the shadows at the far end of the auditorium.

The great wizard walked slowly, dressed unusually in a light tan robe with a fringed, flat-topped cap perched on his head—more like house attire than battle garb.

Yet he exuded an unshakable calm.

And then—her heels echoing like thunder—came Diana.

The elf priestess followed behind Dumbledore with sultry poise, hips swaying as she walked.

"Moriarty," Dracula called sweetly, "since you're so confident, surely you won't mind if Dumbledore gets some help from another professor?"

He gestured toward Diana.

"Behold—graceful, alluring, and noble. An elven priestess. You haven't faced an elf yet, have you?

Their magic is peculiar, ancient, and… intimate.

Come, test yourself."

The vampire's lips curled in wicked delight.

"Level three trial—defeat both Dumbledore and Diana! The game begins!"

Ding-dong!

The system's tone rang out in Moriarty's mind:

"Detected: Host faces Albus Dumbledore (power at 50%) and Diana (power at 40%).

Objective: Defeat both opponents.

Reward: 100,000 points.

Punishment: Failure results in death at the hands of Dumbledore or Diana."

One hundred thousand points.

Moriarty's heartbeat quickened.

This was the largest reward yet—a mission that had to be won.

"Shatter into nothing!" he shouted, raising his wand.

The Shattering Curse tore through the air, magic surging with raw, deadly intent.

From the side, Lilith and Jericho watched in silent awe.

Moriarty wasn't holding back.

His spell was aimed not at teachers—but at monsters.

And yet—

With a flick of the Elder Wand, Dumbledore conjured a massive boulder.

It rose from the floor and intercepted the curse. The boulder cracked and splintered.

"Ten Thousand Bullets!" the headmaster incanted.

Countless shards of stone exploded into the air, their pointed tips glinting as they rained down toward Moriarty like a meteor shower.

In a blur of movement, Moriarty brandished his cedar wand.

Steam erupted from the floor, sizzling and hissing as if the air itself boiled.

The water vapor surged upward in a protective dome of white mist.

"Rise!"

Moriarty raised his wand high like an Olympic torch.

The steam shot into the sky, forming a vast curtain that intercepted the falling debris.

Stone met steam—and melted.

"Transfiguration—Three-State Shift."

His voice was calm, nearly cold, as the swirling currents of ice magic enveloped him.

Though water was his element, the environment contradicted itself:

The air steamed like a sauna, but the floor beneath his feet glazed over into brittle ice.

Gas and solid. Heat and cold.

Steam above and frost below.

Ding!

System Message: Host has gained comprehension.

Water Elemental Advancement Level increased.

Current level: 39 (High-Level Wizard).

Two levels up. Perfect.

Moriarty advanced, step by icy step, until he stood just meters from Dumbledore.

The old wizard's eyes were glassy—so too were Diana's.

Still under Dracula's command.

Moriarty, however, remained unconvinced that the vampire had complete control.

"Expelliarmus," Dumbledore muttered.

A brilliant jet of red light burst forth from the Elder Wand.

It roared with blazing power, distorting the air as it careened toward Moriarty's Slytherin staff.

So fast.

Moriarty's eyes widened.

Even limited to 50%, Dumbledore's disarming spell was lethal.

"Super Armor Protection!"

Frost burst outward.

An icy shield surged up in front of him.

The spell collided with it—and tore through.

"Protego Maxima!"

Moriarty thrust his cedar wand forward, casting an additional shield just in time.

The second barrier caught the spell inches before it struck his staff.

"Unbelievable power," he muttered.

"Still worthy of your name, old man."

A glint of admiration—and rivalry—flickered in his eyes.

The thrill of battle surged in his blood.

Moriarty dashed forward.

He swung his staff overhead and brought down a howling gust of cold, engulfing the hall in arctic winds.

The mist above flared, transforming into a scorching wave of heat.

Fire and frost. Steam and snow.

"Protego Totale!" Dumbledore shouted.

He conjured invisible air-walls that shimmered as they absorbed the clashing elements.

Ice and flame pounded against them in furious waves.

But Moriarty wasn't finished.

With another sweeping motion, he turned the air into a cyclone of snowflakes.

Razor-sharp crystals swirled in the blizzard forming overhead.

Dumbledore raised his wand and whispered, "Piertotum Incantatem."

A magnificent golden lion burst from the floor.

It roared and pounced, maw opening wide to release a torrent of fire that engulfed the blizzard.

The flames thundered forward—

—and stopped.

Moriarty stood, now only a few paces away, with his staff lowered and a strange look in his eyes.

Because Dumbledore was… smiling?

Only for a moment. Then, his eyes dimmed once more.

The vampire's control held—barely.

So you are still in there, old man.

With renewed fury, Moriarty clenched his left hand and swung it upward.

"Touch of Anger!"

The staff glowed with power.

Dumbledore stood frozen, eyes distant.

Moriarty's blow descended—aimed squarely at the headmaster's crown—

But he didn't strike.

A breath of fresh wind rolled in.

A scent like wildflowers and untouched groves.

A single white hand materialized from nowhere—Diana's arm—blocking the staff an inch from Dumbledore's skull.

Her magic shimmered like moonlight, radiant and firm.

Moriarty's fist trembled, suspended in the air.

Power coursed through it—but he could move no further.

An invisible warmth surrounded his hand, his weapon, even his will.

A power both gentle and unyielding held him back.

Diana had acted.

Elven magic, unlike human sorcery, did not crush—it restrained, deflected, softened.

Moriarty stared into her bright eyes, unblinking.

So. This is the elf's true strength.

And the battle had only just begun.

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