The morning light streaming into the Headmaster's office seemed at odds with the heavy, morbid nature of the conversation.
Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his high-backed chair, his blue eyes watching Orion with a mixture of profound sorrow and quiet appraisal.
"There is one last thing we must address, Orion," Dumbledore said softly, the silence stretching comfortably between them. "And I want you to listen to me not as your Headmaster, but simply as an old man who has seen too much of death."
Orion remained still, his hands resting on his knees.
"The demise of Professor Quirrell, and the tragic passing of Lord Higgs... these are heavy burdens," Dumbledore continued, his voice barely a whisper. "But they are not your burdens to carry. You acted in defense of the school, and in defense of your fellow students. You must not let the shadows of their ends weigh upon your soul. The choices that led them to their fates were made long before you stepped onto the Third Floor."
Orion met the Headmaster's gaze without flinching. He didn't have to feign his lack of guilt—he truly didn't feel any—but he knew how to frame it so Dumbledore would understand.
"I don't carry their ghosts, Headmaster," Orion replied, his voice calm and resolute. "The spirit that possessed them, that drove them to desperation and ruin... that is the one to blame for what has happened. I was a simple bystander at best."
Dumbledore's eyes softened, a flicker of genuine relief washing over his ancient features. It was a remarkably mature, almost poetic perspective for an eleven-year-old, yet it lacked the cold callousness Dumbledore had feared.
"Well spoken," Dumbledore sighed. "Very well spoken indeed. I would ask that you focus now on your upcoming examinations. Rest. Recover. And, if I may ask a personal favor... give Harry and his friends a chance to see past their own assumptions. Time and distance offer a clearer perspective."
"I will give them a wide berth, sir," Orion promised diplomatically.
"And one last request," Dumbledore added, peering over his half-moon spectacles. "I ask that you keep the specific, darker details of this night out of your father's purview. Lucius has... a particular way of handling Ministry affairs. The school requires stability right now, not a political firestorm."
Orion offered a faint, reassuring smile. "You have my word, Professor. I had no intention of involving Lucius anyway. He tends to make things unnecessarily loud."
Dumbledore chuckled, a dry, weary sound. "That he does. Thank you, Orion. You may go."
Orion stood, offered a respectful bow, and descended the spiral staircase.
As the stone gargoyle ground shut behind the boy, a sudden burst of golden flames erupted near the ceiling. Fawkes the Phoenix materialized, swooping down to land gracefully on his golden perch. He let out a soft, inquisitive trill.
"Thank you for staying out of sight, my friend," Dumbledore murmured, standing up and walking over to stroke the bird's vibrant plumage. "I needed him to be upfront. Your presence tends to elevate his confidence, and I needed to see the unvarnished boy."
Fawkes cooed, nudging Dumbledore's hand.
Dumbledore looked toward the door, his mind replaying the surface-level scans he had gently applied to Orion's mind during their conversation.
"It is fascinating, Fawkes," Dumbledore whispered. "I looked for malice. I looked for the dark, twisting ambition that characterized Tom Riddle at that age. But I found none. Do you know what I saw when he thought about the Third Floor?"
The phoenix tilted his head.
"A puzzle," Dumbledore said, a sense of wonder in his voice. "A challenge. An architectural and magical labyrinth waiting to be solved. He didn't go down there for power, or for immortality. He went down there because the lock existed, and he wanted to see if the key he had fit."
Dumbledore walked back to his desk, heavily lowering himself into his chair.
"It is not evil. It is not even inherently bad. The Weasley twins have prodded at those defenses for months out of sheer mischief. Orion merely treated it as a test of his own competence."
He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"He is safe. But Harry... Harry's paranoia is deeply concerning. The boy has been under severe pressure, yes, but to attack a fellow student based on prejudice and a fabricated narrative..."
Dumbledore looked at the empty fake stone on his desk. "I must take some time to speak with him as soon as Madam Pomfrey allows it. The world is rarely as simple as Gryffindor versus Slytherin. He must learn that before it is too late."
Down in the subterranean chill of the dungeons, the Slytherin first-year dormitory was a sanctuary of silence.
Orion lay on his bed, the green velvet curtains pulled tightly shut around him, creating a private, enclosed pavilion.
Hovering just above his chest, flapping its small, velvety wings with surprising aerodynamic efficiency, was the Animated Dragon Plushie.
It was utterly adorable. It was pitch black, with large, expressive button-eyes and a tail that swished like a contented cat. Every few seconds, it would open its plush jaws and let out a tiny, hiccup-like sneeze, producing a small puff of genuinely warm, glowing orange fire that dissipated before it could singe the blankets.
Orion reached up and scratched it under its plush chin. The dragon let out a sound that was half-purr, half-rumble, and curled up on his stomach, radiating a comfortable heat like a magical hot water bottle.
"You're a good secret to keep," Orion murmured, pulling the Marauder's Map from under his pillow. He had no intention of letting Draco or the others see the plushie. It clashed horribly with his carefully cultivated aura of cold superiority.
He tapped the map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The ink webbed outward. Orion scanned the Hospital Wing.
Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger were all clustered together in the room. Madam Pomfrey was pacing nearby.
"Still resting," Orion noted, petting the dragon plushie. "Good. Let him recover. The plot is officially concluded for the year."
"So, we are officially in the post-game lobby?" Sparkle's voice hummed lazily.
"We are in the academic wrap-up," Orion corrected. "Exams are in two weeks. It is time to focus entirely on studies. I have a reputation to maintain, and a three-hundred-point gap to solidify. There is nothing else of interest remaining in the timeline for this year."
He folded the map and vanished the ink.
"But next year..." Orion's blue eyes glinted in the dim light of the enchanted fire.
"Next year is the Chamber of Secrets," Sparkle chimed in, picking up on his excitement. "A giant basilisk. A sentient diary. A fraudulent Defense Professor."
"Exactly," Orion smiled. "This year, I played the ideal student. I stayed in the shadows, I built my foundation, and I only stepped out when the timing was absolutely perfect. I controlled the narrative by playing defense."
He looked around the small, enclosed space of his bed.
"But because of that, I haven't actively explored the castle. I snatched the Cabinet, yes, but there are so many secrets at Hogwarts waiting to be dismantled. I haven't fully mapped the Room of Requirement. I haven't ventured into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. I haven't even begun to look at the entrance to the Chamber."
The dragon plushie let out a small, fiery sneeze, warming Orion's hands.
"Next year," Orion whispered, a thrill of anticipation running down his spine, "I am not going to wait for the plot to come to me. Next year, I am going to unleash myself on this castle. Hogwarts is going to tremble under the chaos."