The walk back to his bedroom was a quiet affair, mostly because Orion was busy massaging his temple and mentally cursing the laws of physics. By the time he reached the heavy oak door of his sanctuary, the throbbing ache had subsided to a dull, rhythmic thud, manageable enough to ignore but persistent enough to be annoying.
He stepped inside, the familiar scent of sandalwood and clean linen welcoming him back. He moved straight to the mirror—the judgmental silver one—and leaned in close to inspect the damage.
"Oh, look at that," the mirror wheezed, its surface rippling like a disturbed pond. "A blemish. On that face? Tragedy. Absolute tragedy. Shall I call the mortician to prepare the open casket?"
"It's a bruise, not a fatal curse, you drama queen," Orion muttered, tilting his head to catch the light.
There was a slight reddening on his right temple, a tender spot that was barely visible against his pale skin. He prodded it gently, wincing only slightly. The skin wasn't broken.
"Good," he exhaled, stepping back. "No scar. If I had a lightning bolt scar—or worse, a book-shaped scar—I'd have to start calling myself 'The Boy Who Read.' Or 'The Boy Who Lived... Through a Concussion.' It lacks the ring of a chosen one prophecy."
"You'd be 'The Boy Who Got Slapped By Literature'," Sparkle corrected helpfully. Her interface had followed him into the room, currently hovering near the ceiling fixture like a blue, digital bat.
"Quiet, you."
Orion kicked off his shoes—an act that would have given Lucius an aneurysm had he seen it—and flopped onto his bed. The mattress absorbed him, the silk sheets cool against his back. He stared up at the painted ceiling, at that same fat cherub he despised, and let his mind wander back to the glass of apple juice.
Specifically, how it had appeared and disappeared.
"So," Orion began, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Let's talk about the Inventory. You glossed over it back in the library."
The blue screen descended, rotating lazily.
"I glossed over it because it's boring," Sparkle replied, yawning—a visual effect where the waveform flatlined and then spiked in a jagged 'stretch'. "Every system has an inventory. It's the standard package. It's like buying a car and being excited that it has a trunk. Yes, it holds things. No, it's not ground-breaking technology."
"To you, maybe," Orion countered, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "To a wizard in a world governed by strict laws regarding possession of dark artifacts, contraband potions, and untaxed magical goods? It's not a trunk, Sparkle. It's a perfect smuggling ring."
He sat up slightly, animated by the tactical implications.
"Think about it. The Ministry of Magic conducts raids. They check pockets, they check extension charms on bags, they check hidden floorboards. But they can't check a pocket dimension that exists inside my consciousness. I could walk through the front door of the Ministry carrying a kinetic bombardment of Cursed Necklaces, and the detectors wouldn't make a peep."
"I suppose," Sparkle conceded, sounding unimpressed. "If you want to be a magical drug mule, be my guest. But yes, the Inventory is absolute. It sits outside of space-time relative to this dimension. Nothing shows up on scanners. Nothing weighs you down."
"And the limitations?" Orion asked. "Is it only for System rewards? Can I store anything?"
"Anything," Sparkle said. "Well, almost anything. No living things. You can't stuff Draco in there to get some peace and quiet, tempting as that may be. But inanimate objects? Sure. Furniture, gold, books, weapons. If you can touch it and intend to store it, in it goes. Though if you try to store the Manor itself, you might give me a migraine."
"Interesting," Orion mused. He looked around the room. His eyes landed on a heavy silver candelabra on his bedside table.
Inventory.
He focused his intent. In a blink—faster than a vanishing spell—the candelabra was gone.
Orion called up the Inventory screen. There, in the second slot, next to the empty apple juice glass, was a pixelated icon of the candelabra.
Retrieve.
The silver weight slapped back into his palm instantly.
"Instantaneous equip and unequip," Orion whispered, a grin spreading across his face. "In a duel... I could pull a shield or a second wand out of thin air. Or drop an anvil on someone's head."
"Yes, yes, very tactical," Sparkle droned. "Now, can we address the elephant in the room? Or rather, the trash in the void?"
"What?"
The screen zoomed in aggressively on the first slot of the inventory grid. The icon of the empty glass.
"That," Sparkle hissed. "Why is it still there? It's empty. It's dirty. It has sticky apple residue on the bottom. It's sitting in my pristine, coded sub-space storage."
"I forgot about it," Orion shrugged. "I just put it back after I finished drinking."
"Well, take it out!" Sparkle's voice rose an octave. "It's gross! Do you leave banana peels in your pocket? It's cluttering the UI! I like a clean grid, Orion. A clean grid is a happy grid. Seeing that dirty glass is making my code itch."
Orion rolled his eyes. "You're a computer program. You don't itch."
"I am a sentient interface with aesthetic standards! Remove the trash!"
"Fine, fine. You're incredibly high maintenance for a text box."
Orion summoned the glass from the inventory. It appeared in his hand, empty and harmless.
"Dobby!" he called out into the room.
CRACK.
The air displaced with a sharp noise, and the small, bat-eared elf appeared at the foot of the bed. Dobby was wearing a tea-towel toga that was surprisingly clean, likely due to Narcissa's strict standards for the house staff on such a special day.
"Master Orion called Dobby?" the elf squeaked, his tennis-ball eyes wide with adoration. "Does Master Orion need his dress robes ironed again? Dobby has already ironed them twice, but Dobby can do it a third time for extra crispness!"
"No, Dobby, the robes are fine," Orion said, leaning forward and holding out the tumbler. "Take this."
Dobby took the glass, blinking at it. He looked from the glass to the bedside table (where no pitcher existed) and back to Orion.
"Master... Dobby did not bring juice to the bedroom," the elf said slowly, confusion clouding his face. "Where did Master get the juice?"
"I summoned it from the aether using sheer willpower and my charming personality," Orion said with a straight face. "Don't think about it too hard, Dobby. It might give you a headache."
"Oh!" Dobby's eyes widened further. "Master Orion is a powerful wizard! Creating juice from nothing! Dobby is amazed!"
"Yes, quite," Orion waved a hand. "Also, I'm starving. The breakfast argument with Father burned a lot of calories. Bring me lunch. Something substantial. Roast beef sandwiches? And maybe some of those tartlets Cook makes."
"Roast beef and tartlets!" Dobby nodded vigorously, his ears flapping. "Dobby will bring the bestest sandwich! Right away, Master Orion!"
CRACK.
The elf vanished, taking the offending dirty glass with him.
"Thank you," Sparkle sighed, the inventory screen vanishing. "I feel so much lighter. That glass was spiritually weighing me down."
Orion lay back down, staring at the canopy. "You know, back in the library, you mentioned something. You said the 'other Systems' would laugh at you at the annual convention."
"I was being hyperbolic," Sparkle muttered. "Mostly."
"So there are others," Orion pressed. "An association? A union? Do you guys have a newsletter?"
The blue screen flickered, shifting colors from a calm azure to a more serious, deep indigo. Sparkle's voice lost some of its frantic energy, settling into a more explanatory tone.
"It's not an association in the way you humans think of it. We don't rent out a hotel ballroom and eat stale pastries," she explained. "Think of it as... a network. The Interdimensional System Interface Collective. Or just 'The Web'."
"The Web," Orion repeated. "Sounds ominous."
"It's bureaucratic," Sparkle corrected. "All Systems are forged from the same metaphysical source code. When a soul is flagged for reincarnation with a 'Cheat' perk, the Web assigns a System to facilitate that perk. We get assigned based on compatibility and Rating."
"Rating?" Orion raised an eyebrow. "Like an Uber driver? Do I get to give you five stars?"
"Not you. The Web rates us," Sparkle said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "We are rated based on the efficiency and success of our previous Hosts. A high-rated System—like those 'Level Up' brutes or the 'Shop' types—gets assigned to the easy Hosts. The ones who are destined to conquer worlds in a week. They get all the resources, all the bandwidth."
"And you?" Orion asked gently.
The screen drooped slightly. "I am a 'Hidden Achievement' System. It's a niche model. High risk, high reward. But... my Rating is currently... let's just say, 'under review'."
"Why?"
"Because my previous users were boring!" Sparkle burst out, the text vibrating. "They lacked imagination! Do you know how hard it is to unlock Ultimate Achievements when your Host refuses to leave their village? I had one guy—User 782—in a Superhero world. He had the power to control gravity. Do you know what he did? He started a moving company. He just moved furniture for forty years. He unlocked 'Employee of the Month' twelve times. That's a Tier 1 achievement! I was humiliated!"
Orion snorted. "Smart guy. Safe job."
"Safe is death for a System!" Sparkle argued. "We thrive on data. We thrive on the energy generated by the unlocking process. When you unlock an achievement, especially a high-tier one, it generates a burst of narrative energy. I feed on that. The Web sees that. If I generate enough energy, I get upgrades."
"Upgrades?" Orion perked up. "What kind of upgrades?"
"Better processing power. The ability to scan wider areas. More detailed descriptions. Maybe even a physical avatar so I can poke you when you're being stupid," Sparkle listed wistfully. "But because my users usually stumble around blindly, getting only the occasional Tier 1 or Tier 2 by accident, I've been stuck on Version 1.4 for eons. I'm running on legacy code, Orion!"
Orion fell silent, processing this. It suddenly made sense why she was so pushy. It wasn't just boredom; it was professional stagnation. She was a career woman stuck with bad interns.
"So," Orion said slowly. "If I go out there and actually hunt these achievements—if I figure out the patterns and unlock the Tier 3 stuff—you get promoted?"
"Essentially," Sparkle confirmed. "And if I get promoted, I can help you more. I can't give you direct hints—that's hard-coded against the rules—but a higher-level System has... loopholes. Better analysis. Faster warnings. It's symbiotic, Orion. You provide the chaos, I provide the loot, and we both climb the ladder."
"A partnership," Orion mused. "I can work with that."
He wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart, of course. A better System meant better survival odds for him. But hearing that there was a logic behind her madness made him feel better. She wasn't just a random number generator; she was an employee looking for a bonus.
"Okay, Sparkle," Orion said, sitting up as a CRACK signaled Dobby's return with a silver tray laden with roast beef sandwiches. "Here is the deal. I am going to eat this sandwich. Then I am going to endure this birthday party. And while I am doing that, I am going to look for opportunities."
"Opportunities for what?" Sparkle asked hopefully.
"For chaos," Orion said, picking up a sandwich. "You said anything can be an achievement, right?"
"Anything," she agreed.
"Tonight, the cream of British Wizarding society will be in my ballroom," Orion chewed thoughtfully. "The Minister of Magic. The Malfoy inner circle. Probably a few hidden Death Eaters. It's a target-rich environment."
"It is," Sparkle's waveform pulsed with excitement. "So, what's the plan?"
"I don't have a plan," Orion smirked, wiping a crumb from his lip. "Plans are for people who want safe achievements. I'm going to improvise. And if I end up accidentally insulting the Minister or setting a peacock on fire... well, that's just farming for XP, isn't it?"
"I think I'm going to like you, User 982," Sparkle purred.
"Call me Orion," he replied, taking another bite. "And let's get you that upgrade. I want to see what a Version 2.0 Goddess looks like."
"Oh, you have no idea," she teased.
Orion finished his lunch in relative silence, the gears in his mind turning. The Web. The Ratings. The upgrades. It added a layer of depth to his new life. He wasn't just playing a game; he was playing a ranked match.
And Orion Malfoy hated losing.
"Dobby!" he called out when the last tartlet was gone.
CRACK.
"Master?"
"Clear the tray. And draw me a bath. I need to look impeccable tonight."
"Yes, Master!"
Orion stood up and walked to the balcony doors, looking out at the sun beginning its descent over the immaculate grounds. The party was probably ready by now.
"Showtime soon," Orion whispered.
"Break a leg," Sparkle said. "Literally. There might be an achievement for that."
"Pass," Orion chuckled. "But I might break a few egos."