Harry Potter : A family??

The air smelled like old fire and lavender.

Maximus Moriarty opened his eyes to the sound of wind scratching against ancient glass. Heavy stone walls surrounded him, lit by flickering chandeliers and the low hum of magical wards.

He was home.

Though he'd never been here before, he knew it — down to the very blood in his veins. Moriarty Castle, carved into the cliffs of Northern England, a fortress older than most nations and renowned across continents.

Evelyn stirred beside him, rising slowly from a crimson-draped bed too regal for either of their tastes.

She blinked. "We made it."

Maximus nodded once, his bare feet hitting the black marble floor. "Seems like it."

She joined him by the tall windows, eyes scanning the moors below. Dozens of gargoyle sentinels lined the battlements. Floating sigils in the sky pulsed with the Moriarty crest — a golden lion standing on a dragon corpse with a shield and a sword behind it.

A soft chime echoed through the room.

A scroll materialized midair, sealed in Gringotts platinum and bearing an emerald wax crest.

Maximus caught it with one hand. His pulse skipped.

The Will.

They stood at the study table, Evelyn in a long midnight robe with silver etchings. Maximus wore black trousers and an open shirt, his perfect muscles still aching with the memory of past lives.

The scroll unrolled itself.

To Lord Maximus Moriarty, rightful heir of the House of Moriarty, I, Arcturus Moriarty, your father, confess the following: I once fathered two children with a Muggle woman. I never claimed her, nor did I claim the daughters she bore: Petunia and Lily Evans. But the boy Lily left behind… he carries Moriarty blood. He is your nephew. By ancient right, and by magical law, guardianship passes to you upon this reading. His name is Harry Potter. Yes, from the ancient and most noble house of Potter, He lives still. You must find him.

The scroll shimmered gold. Magic surged in the air — ancient, binding, absolute.

A flash of energy wrapped around Maximus like chains of fire and fate, then faded.

It was done.

Harry Potter was his now. His nephew. His responsibility. His son — if fate allowed it.

Minutes later, Evelyn kicked open the doors to the ancestral owl chamber.

For people who just reincarnated, they acted ..... normal .... like it's an everyday occurrence. 'I guess it is because we are the same people in the two worlds; we are just Max and Eve. ' Maximus thought to himself as he followed his wife.

Maximus scrawled a message on enchanted parchment

To: Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic

From: Lord Maximus Moriarty, House Moriarty

I have claimed guardianship over my nephew, Harry James Potter, via magical will and inheritance rites.

Kindly provide the address where he is being held. I shall retrieve him at once.

Delay will be... unwise.

– Lord Moriarty

He sealed the letter with black wax and the family crest, then whistled. A massive, eagle-sized ash-feathered owl descended from the rafters and vanished into the night.

Ministry of Magic – Minister's Office .... later that day ...

The letter exploded onto Fudge's desk in a burst of dark green flame. as he opened it

He yelped, knocked over his tea, and nearly choked on a biscuit.

"Sweet Merlin—" he muttered, tearing the scroll open.

As his eyes skimmed the words, the color drained from his face.

House Moriarty.

The name hadn't been whispered in the corridors of power for over a decade — not since the Salzburg Purge, when Maximus personally dismantled a dark cult in Austria using nothing but a wand, a sword, and a pencil. Yes, a god damn pencil.

Fudge's hands trembled.

He rang a bell. "Amelia! Dolores! Anyone! Bring me the location of Harry bloody Potter! Now!"

Hogwarts – Headmaster's Office ...

The silver instruments on Dumbledore's desk hissed and shattered as wards flared across Britain.

Moriarty magic had awakened.

He knew the signature. It was unmistakable — old, imperial, and wild. Like dragons soaring into the skies. Like lions roaring in the savannahs.

Albus Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair.

Fawkes the phoenix let out a mournful cry.

He had planned to bring Harry into Hogwarts gently, with control and guidance. The boy would be shaped, watched, groomed to play his part. he would become the lord of light the hero of the magical world he was always meant to be.

But the board was shifting.

And now… the Moriartys had entered the game.

No force in Britain — no law, no prophecy — could challenge them directly.

Not even him.

Moriarty Castle .... Lord's office ....

Maximus was pacing.

In a room filled with daggers, maps, and cursed relics — the most dangerous man alive was sweating bullets.

"We can't do this," he muttered.

Evelyn stared at him from the sofa, chewing her lip. "You've fought necromancers and dark lords in this life. Survived chemical warfare and countless wars in the previous one. Hell, you even killed a basilisk and a dragon with a sword in Cairo."

"This is different!" Maximus snapped. "This is a kid! A real one! With feelings and questions and… cereal preferences."

Evelyn rubbed her face. "What if he hates us?"

"He will hate us."

They both paused.

Then started laughing — the kind of exhausted, nervous laughter that only comes after you've survived a lifetime of war and are now preparing for a tea party with a ten-year-old.

Evelyn stood. "Max."

"…Yeah?"

"We don't have to be perfect."

"…No?"

She placed her hand on his chest. "We just have to be better than the Dursleys."

He paused.

Then nodded.

"…Let's go get our nephew."

Number Four, Privet Drive ...

The neighborhood was painfully normal.

Each lawn, each fence, each drape — manicured into submission.

When Maximus and Evelyn Moriarty stepped onto the street, time seemed to pause. He wore a black wool coat over a charmed suit, wand sheathed like a dagger at his hip. Evelyn wore a silver-gray coat, her blonde hair loose in the breeze, eyes sharp behind mirrored sunglasses.

They looked like royalty.

No — like judgment.

They stopped at the curb in front of Number Four.

Evelyn took a deep breath.

Maximus adjusted his collar. "Ready?"

"No."

"Me neither."

They walked up and rang the bell.

The door opened.

Vernon Dursley stared at them — blinking, sweaty, lips already curling into a complaint.

Before he could speak, Maximus's voice cut through the air.

"I am Lord Maximus Moriarty. This is my wife, Evelyn Hayes-Moriarty."

He held up a glowing parchment.

"I've come for my nephew."

To be continued...