The green flames in the Headmaster's office roared to life again, illuminating the circular room with a harsh, flickering light. Albus Dumbledore stepped back, offering a polite nod.
"Permission granted, Kingsley," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but tight with anticipation.
The fire surged, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with a slow, deliberate grace stepped onto the hearthrug. Kingsley Shacklebolt cut an imposing figure in his deep purple robes, a single gold hoop glinting in his left ear. His dark eyes scanned the room, instantly assessing the threat level before turning to his superior.
"Madam Bones," Kingsley reported in a deep, rumbling baritone. "The perimeter teams are in position outside the castle walls. I have brought the specialized units you requested."
He stepped aside, allowing the Floo network to disgorge its payload.
What followed was a masterclass in Ministry mobilization. It was not a chaotic mob, but a silent, disciplined procession of magical force.
First came the Hit Wizards—twelve men and women wearing sleek, dark grey combat robes that looked heavy with embedded shield charms. They moved with a terrifying efficiency, fanning out around the office, wands drawn but held loosely at their sides. They were the muscle, the blunt instruments of the DMLE.
Next came two individuals dressed in thick, heavily padded dragon-hide leather, clutching sturdy iron cages that moved and rustled softly.
"Creature handlers," Kingsley explained to Dumbledore, gesturing to the cages. "Four mature roosters. Kept under silencing charms for the journey."
Orion, leaning against a silver instrument, let out a silent breath of profound relief. He had successfully supplied Hagrid with the biological countermeasures, but having trained Ministry professionals handle the squawking artillery was infinitely preferable to wrangling poultry himself while dodging a basilisk.
Following the handlers were two older, weary-looking witches wearing utility belts bristling with specialized tools and dark-detectors. Curse Breakers, likely pulled from the Department of Mysteries or Gringotts specifically for the task of dismantling any ancient, lethal traps Salazar Slytherin might have laid beyond the entrance.
Finally, a squad of younger individuals emerged from the flames. They wore the standard navy-blue robes of the Auror Office, but they looked tense, their eyes wide as they took in the legendary office and the formidable presence of Dumbledore.
"Trainee Aurors," Kingsley rumbled, noticing Amelia's questioning glance. "Mad-Eye Moody insisted they accompany the deployment. He believes field experience in localized threat containment is essential. I have instructed them to station themselves at the dormitories and secure the immediate vicinity of the entrance."
Orion watched the deployment with clinical, silent approval. This, he thought, is a solid, professional response. Overwhelming force. Specialized skills. A textbook raid.
He was mentally composing a letter of commendation to Madam Bones when the final member of the trainee squad stumbled out of the Floo.
She didn't step out gracefully; she practically fell out of the grate, tripping over the hem of her own navy robe and careening into a spindly table covered in delicate silver whirlygigs.
"Whoa! Sorry!" Nymphadora Tonks yelped, her hair currently a vibrant, electric blue. She frantically steadied the wobbling table, nearly knocking over a delicate glass sphere before regaining her balance. She offered an apologetic, lopsided grin to the room at large.
Orion closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Of course, Orion sighed internally. A flawless military operation, punctuated by a walking disaster area.
One of the Hit Wizards stepped forward, carrying a heavy, lead-lined case. He set it gently on Dumbledore's desk and popped the clasps. Inside, resting on black velvet, were dozens of small, crystal vials filled with a glowing, pearlescent liquid.
"We requisitioned the emergency reserve of Phoenix tears from St. Mungo's, as requested," Kingsley stated.
Amelia Bones turned her monocled gaze to Dumbledore. The unasked question hung heavily in the air: If the resources are exhausted, then?
Dumbledore smiled faintly, gesturing toward the golden perch near the window. "A wise precaution, Kingsley. Though I assure you, Fawkes will, of course, be available should the need arise."
Fawkes the Phoenix puffed out his chest, ruffling his magnificent crimson and gold feathers. He let out a loud, proud trill that echoed through the silent office.
"Heck yeah I am," the bird's voice rang out clearly in Orion's mind, translating via the All-Speak. "I am the MVP. The undisputed champion of this castle."
Orion's eyes widened slightly. He stared at the immortal bird.
MVP? Orion thought, bewildered. Since when does a mythological creature of fire and rebirth use sports acronyms? Has he been secretly watching Muggle football?
Amelia Bones clapped her hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brought everyone's attention back to the mission.
"Very well," Amelia announced, her voice brooking no argument. "Let us proceed. Formation protocols: Hit Wizards and Curse Breakers will take the vanguard. Aurors and Creature Handlers will remain behind them to secure the path. We move quietly."
Dumbledore raised a hand, interrupting the flow of command.
"Severus and Minerva will accompany the vanguard," Dumbledore stated, his tone polite but inflexible. "As will Harry and Orion. For reasons."
Amelia frowned, her severe gaze sweeping over the two twelve-year-old boys. "Albus, involving children in a Class XXXXX containment operation is highly irregular. It goes against every Ministry safety protocol."
"Harry's specific linguistic abilities are required to bypass the entrance," Dumbledore explained calmly. "And Orion is the only individual who possesses a complete, verified understanding of the immediate plumbing architecture and the nature of the threat. They are indispensable assets for this initial breach."
Amelia looked as though she wanted to argue the point, her jaw tightening. But she looked at the grim determination on McGonagall's face, and the cold, unyielding mask of Snape, and finally nodded shortly.
"Fine. Keep them in the center of the formation," Amelia ordered. "If things go south, your priority is to evacuate them immediately. Filius, Pomona, you will remain here and coordinate communications."
"Understood, Amelia," Flitwick squeaked, looking unhappy to be left behind but recognizing the necessity. Sprout nodded firmly.
The deployment began.
Harry moved instinctively, sticking as close to Dumbledore's plum-colored robes as physically possible, his knuckles white around his holly wand.
Orion remained near the back of the room, smoothing his dark cloak. As he stepped forward to join the procession, a heavy hand clamped firmly onto his shoulder.
He didn't flinch. He looked up into the furious, pitch-black eyes of Severus Snape.
Snape didn't speak a word. He didn't have to. The grip on Orion's shoulder conveyed a profound, terrifying mixture of anger, reluctant protectiveness, and a promise of monumental retribution if Orion did anything remotely foolish. Snape positioned himself bodily beside Orion, ensuring the boy stayed exactly where he could see him.
The trainee Aurors were dispatched. "You five, secure the House corridors and the Great Hall," Kingsley ordered. "Tonks, Hook, you will secure the perimeter of the second-floor lavatory."
Tonks offered a sharp salute, then caught Orion's eye as she turned to leave. She grinned, her hair flashing a brief, cheerful neon pink, and offered him a jaunty wave. She promptly tripped over the edge of the hearthrug on her way out, cursing softly as she scrambled to catch up with her fellow Auror.
We are doomed, Orion thought, shaking his head slowly as he fell into step beside Snape.
The procession moved out of the Headmaster's office, descending the spiral staircase in absolute, tension-filled silence. The Hit Wizards led the way, their wands glowing with muted light, moving with a practiced, predatory grace through the empty, echoing corridors of the castle.
They reached the second floor. The air grew damp and cold, smelling of mildew and old stone.
Amelia Bones raised a hand, halting the vanguard.
They stood before the heavy, water-stained wooden door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The silence was absolute.
"Positions," Kingsley rumbled softly, drawing his own wand.
The Hit Wizards fanned out, flanking the door. Snape tightened his grip on his wand, stepping slightly in front of Orion. Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on Harry's trembling shoulder.
The endgame of the Chamber of Secrets had arrived, not with a frightened child sneaking through the dark, but with an army at the gates.