Life aboard the Isabella was pleasant for Lockhart, who always found an eager audience among the ship's lively crowd, eager to listen to his tales.
Not long after boarding, Lockhart became the center of attention, charming the passengers and crew alike. Meanwhile, Moriarty secluded himself in the cabin, requesting a quill and stacks of old newspapers. He buried himself in his work, refusing to leave except when Lockhart brought in meals.
Five days later, Moriarty finally emerged and tossed a thick pile of newspapers at Lockhart.
"For you."
Lockhart grabbed the papers, his eyes widening at the sight of elegant, black-laced script adorning the pages. With great excitement, he read aloud:
"With Slytherin in Eastern Tibet!"
"Master!" Lockhart's face flushed with exhilaration. "I thought you were merely speaking in jest, but you actually wrote a book for me!"
"You need to cultivate a composed demeanor, Lockhart," Moriarty advised. "No matter where you are or what happens, you must remain poised. This book—" He locked eyes with Lockhart, his gaze sharp and penetrating. "Do you understand what kind of impact this will have once it is published?"
Moriarty's voice carried an almost hypnotic certainty.
"From England to France, Germany… Your name will be known across the entire European wizarding world, and soon after, America and Africa. You will be more than an author—you will be a scholar, a pioneer."
His tone became even more deliberate.
"And I, as the last direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, will inevitably step into the public eye."
Lockhart, lost in the grandeur of the vision Moriarty painted, grinned foolishly.
"Oh, Master, that's wonderful! I can already see us waving to the crowds under the flashing lights—we'll be the front-page headline of The Daily Prophet!"
"Incorrect." Moriarty's tone was firm. "You will be the one waving. You will be the one making headlines. Wizards will recognize you not just as a writer, but as a discoverer."
His piercing gaze bore into Lockhart.
"You want the world to believe you have a keen eye—that you found me. That you returned the last heir of Slytherin to Britain."
Lockhart swallowed hard. He understood the deeper implications of Moriarty's words. After a pause, he hesitantly spoke.
"Master, I understand… but I must tell you something. I'm not sure if it will interfere with your plan."
Moriarty gestured for him to continue.
"The Foley family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, handles all the publishing, marketing, and sales of my books." Lockhart sighed, shaking his head helplessly. "We split profits—forty percent for me, sixty for them. That's just how it is. They control nearly all book-related commerce, and even my forty percent was hard-fought."
Moriarty considered this for a moment before clapping Lockhart on the shoulder.
"We'll deal with the Foley family once we return. For now, focus on refining your persona. Think about how to make yourself the darling of the wizarding world."
First, Moriarty needed to return to the castle and uncover Salazar's legacy before formulating his next move regarding pure-blood politics.
---
Five days later, the Isabella crossed the English Channel and docked in Britain.
Moriarty led Lockhart toward Bristol.
"Merlin's beard… Salazar Slytherin came to Bristol after leaving Hogwarts? In England? Everyone thought he had left Europe entirely!"
Lockhart strutted like a victorious general, relishing the idea of what was to come—until they reached their destination.
"Master?" Lockhart's excitement wavered as he looked out over an endless expanse of plain land. Not a single trace of a castle in sight. "Are we in the right place?"
"There must be powerful concealment charms in place, beyond even Muggle-Repelling enchantments. But that won't be a problem for me." Moriarty gestured for Lockhart to step back.
Reaching into his memory, he raised his wand and spoke in Parseltongue.
"Speak to me, Slytherin!"
Although Lockhart had heard Parseltongue before, he shivered at the eerie sound.
Moriarty's voice was like an incantation to the dead.
"Open your eyes to death, close them to the future. Every angel has a past, and every demon has a future!"
A brilliant silver light erupted from his wand, surging forward in a powerful burst. A thunderous hissing sound filled the air, like the whispers of a thousand serpents.
A great force swept Moriarty and Lockhart off their feet.
"Oh, this is really bad," Lockhart groaned, clutching his backside as he stumbled upright. "Master, are you alright?"
Moriarty remained composed, his eyes locked ahead.
"We've arrived. There's no doubt—this is Slytherin Castle."
Lockhart turned his gaze forward and gasped.
The castle was breathtaking.
Its structure was primarily granite, but the outer walls shimmered with embedded purple agate, gleaming like magical eyes. The entire exterior was enchanted—silver and green hues shifting with the sunlight, making it appear like a luminous palace by day and a coiling serpent at night.
Though it bore a Gothic architectural style, it was more than a mere noble estate. Towering ramparts, stone bridges, fortified walls, and outer bastions gave it the look of an impenetrable war fortress.
Gold-ore walls were polished to a glass-like sheen.
A grand silver pathway, wide enough for four carriages, stretched from Moriarty's feet to the entrance. Expansive lawns flanked the path, enclosed by ancient oak forests standing like loyal sentinels.
Behind the castle, a vast lake rippled in the distance, its waters whispering secrets.
The sigil of Slytherin—serpentine and proud—was emblazoned upon the gates, walls, and rooftops, reinforcing the castle's solemn majesty.
"Lockhart," Moriarty murmured, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Look at yourself. We're in."
A sharp pop echoed through the air.
A goblin materialized before the gate, draped in a black robe. His long, pointed ears twitched, and his hooked nose jutted prominently. Deep wrinkles marred his grayish-yellow skin, and his wispy hair nearly brushed the ground.
Moriarty's eyes narrowed at the sight of the goblin's golden shackles.
The goblin coughed harshly before speaking. "Respected descendant of Slytherin—cough, cough—" His black eyes glinted with a trace of malice at the mention of Slytherin.
"I have not spoken to anyone in nine hundred years!" The goblin's voice was hoarse yet filled with resentment. He studied Moriarty intently. "You must be a direct descendant… Only Salazar's bloodline can breach the wards he placed."
Reluctantly, the goblin knelt.
"In accordance with Salazar's decree, I—Ingo—shall serve you… from now until eternity."
"Take me inside," Moriarty commanded, though he sensed there was more to Ingo's story. That could wait—his priority was acquiring Salazar's legacy.
Ingo extended his hands. "The key, if you please."
Moriarty handed him the golden key. Ingo turned it within the lock, and with a deep, resounding click, the massive doors swung open.
At that moment, Moriarty's system interface chimed:
"Ownership of Slytherin Castle has been acquired. Ten Exploration Draws awarded."
A swarm of house-elves burst forth, their large eyes shining with joy.
"This day has finally come!" they cheered. "Welcome, descendant of Slytherin!"
Moriarty stepped forward, intrigued.
The legacy of Salazar Slytherin awaited him.
And he intended to claim it all.