The sun was shining as the cab pulled away from the inn at the small village in Wiltshire.

"Where to, sah?" barked the boisterous cabbie. He stroked the edges of his walrus mustaches and glanced at the greasy black head behind him.

"It's a lonely road, I'm afraid," replied his passenger. "Not much in the part of the country where I'm headed. I don't even think it has a name."

The cab driver laughed. "Never fear, sah! I've been driving 'round these 'ills since I first learned 'ow, I know the Wiltshire valleys like the back o' me 'and! D'ye know some sort o' landmark, then? Some 'eading I could use?"

The greasy man sighed and sank lower in his seat. "Just drive; and do be quiet about it. I've come a long ways. Take the east road until you reach the only house in the area. You'll know it when you see it."

The driver turned and stared straight ahead. Soon, his passenger began to softly snore.

The passenger did not stir till the cab rolled to a stop. The vague silhouette of a large manor was barely visible through the thick fog of the valley. The short, pale man with the greasy black hair disembarked and placed a roll of notes in the driver's hand.

"Cor!" the man spluttered, his red face blanching ghostly white as he realized his passenger's destination. "I take it ye believe in ghosts, then?"

The man smiled wryly, "Not typically; I've done my fair share of impersonating one. Why do you ask?"

The driver jabbed a beefy finger in the direction of the spires that seemed to sprout from the gloom itself. "They say only those who believe c'n see the 'ouse yonder. Many have tried to reach it, but when they got there, the 'ouse was gone. So," he leaned out and squinted hard. "C'n ye see it? Is it there?"

The man took two steps and saw the firm gravel of a long walk materialize out of the mulchy mud. He smiled. "Yes," he answered the cabbie. "I can."

The driver wordlessly cranked the ignition and rumbled away from the area as fast as he could.

The man continued up the walk till he came to the gate emblazoned with the family name. His fingers tingled as he placed a hand upon the iron shield emblazoned with the family crest. A sharp edge on one of the points sliced his finger, and the man drew his hand back with a grimace. His blood beaded bright red upon the black metal. Slowly, the gates creaked inward, opening to allow him entrance. He continued his calm gait up to the house.

Two people watched the man's progress with much anxiety, but whether it was over his arrival or because of it, remained to be seen. The man with long silver hair and piercing grey eyes frowned. "He passed through the gate," he remarked.

His wife smoothed the tresses of her dark hair streaked with silver. "Then is he—you know—the one He said would come?"

The lord of the manor shrugged his shoulders. "He must be; there is His blood in him. Not just anyone can get past the spells on those gates, remember."

"But why is he here?"

"Hush, my dear. He is at the door."

The short man with the greasy black hair and the wide, black eyes smiled at the lord of the manor.

"Charmed," he said politely.

They all stared at him. Then the master of the house recovered. "Forgive my manners," he said. "I am Lucius Malfoy, and this is my wife, Narcissa." He paused briefly. "And you are?"

The dark man gave him a tight-lipped smile and—very deliberately—stepped over the threshold of the house.

Such a shriek as could hardly be termed human raked over everyone's ears. In a whirlwind of black crepe she descended upon him, positively wild with rage. "Filthy Muggle!" she screamed. "How dare you come into this house unbidden! I'll tickle you with curses! I'll make you wish—"

"Bella!" Lucius barked, "Be still!"

She retreated behind her sister, and the three residents of the Manor stared wide-eyed at the oily, pale man, who merely sneered at them. He turned his back on the three wizards, gazing around the great hall of the once-great estate. "Hmm, yes," he mused as if to himself, "it was wise of you to contact me."

Narcissa and Bellatrix both glanced sidelong at the lord of the manor.

"There must be some mistake," Lucius insisted. "I never called—"

The man fixed him with a black stare. "I wasn't talking to you," he snapped. He turned and continued through the house.

Bellatrix apparated in front of him, brandishing her wand. "Is that any way to treat the master of the house?" she hissed.

He grinned at her. "Oh, I like her a lot!" he mused.

"Who are you?" Narcissa demanded behind him.

The pale man turned and looked at her slowly. "Why, don't you know? He never told you?"

"Who never told?" Why did such dread settle over the house in this strange Muggle's presence?

Suddenly his attention was elsewhere. "He said that he would meet me here; has he not arrived yet?"

Lucius followed the strange visitor. "Who?"

"Send him to me." The voice echoed from the very heart of the house—the last voice anyone wanted to hear.

The man grinned at their horrified expressions.

"Who are you?" Bellatrix gasped. "He hates Muggles!"

The man laughed, "Well, one can't really choose the family one has, unfortunately." He proceeded into the great hall, where the Dark One was waiting for him.

"My name is Moriarty; James Moriarty, and I'm here to see my cousin Tom."


James sat at the long, black table in the dining hall of Malfoy Manor. Across from him sat the Dark Lord, Voldemort—Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr. The two men studied each other silently.
"You never told me just how we were related," Voldemort mused.

Moriarty kept his gaze fixed on the pale, deformed face before him."Your father, Tom Sr., had a cousin Wilhelmina Riddle who married Seamus Moriarty—my grandfather. That makes us third cousins, if you're wondering."

Voldemort placed his gnarled fingertips against each other."I never paid much attention to that side of the family."

"Hm, yes; that explains why we never met at any family gatherings. Anyway," James made an impatient movement with his hand, "now that we've dispensed with pleasantries, let's get down to business."

"Agreed."

"You called me because, as you stated, you had a problem of the most delicate nature."

"I should have finished the boy long ago, when I had the chance."

"Ho-hum," James rolled his eyes, "we all regret something at some point in our lives. The real question is, what do you plan to do about it?"

"My plan from the beginning was to destroy the ones who have caused me such pain, and use the most powerful curse in existence to kill the one person who could conceivably stop me."

Moriarty inclined an eyebrow in unconcealed contempt. "Of course, you see as well as I do why you can't just dispose of your problems with Avada Kedavra—oh yes, don't look so shocked cousin; I make a point of researching every case that comes my way." James smiled and assumed a posture mirroring Voldemort's own. "Besides, these Chosen Hero types are all one. Kill him off to save your skin and he becomes a larger-than-life martyr and soon you're fighting an army of people who want to be just like him! No, Tom—what you want is to prolong the torture for as long as possible." James placed both hands on the table and lowered his voice as his eyes gleamed maliciously. "What you want is to be able to destroy your enemy by inches, disintegrating him into tiny little pieces that are not enshrined, they're scattered to the wind and ground into the dirt. And then, when finally his miserable existence comes to an end, you want people to be lining up to spit on his grave!"

It could be said that a shiver of something close to pleasure passed over the Dark Lord's body—the closest thing to pleasure that had ever happened to him.
"Yes!" he moaned hungrily.

James sat back, wholly satisfied. "Congratulations, cousin; I happen to be in the business of making a hero's worst nightmares come true."

Voldemort was so excited he was almost panting. "You will do this to the boy?"

James smirked, "I may have thought of an idea or two on my way over. Of course, I would have to get into this Hogwash place of yours—"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is hardly a joking matter, James."

"Hogwarts, then; get me in there, and I can begin work right away."

Voldemort resumed his keen stare that pierced right into James' soul—a far more vacant and barren place than his mind.
"How do you intend to infiltrate Hogwarts without any magic?"

Moriarty mouthed the word magic and laughed out loud. "Dear cousin Tom! You have no idea what we Muggles are capable of, do you? I don't need magic at all. I make my own 'magic.' You'll see."


A/N: Thank you to all you excited peeps! I promise, you ain't seen nothing yet! ;-D -KM