Monday brought the resumption of the academic schedule, albeit under the watchful, nervous eyes of a rotating squad of Aurors. The heavy, suffocating dread that had stalked the corridors since Halloween was gone, replaced by a lingering, almost exciting tension.
The student body knew the Heir of Slytherin was still technically at large, but the knowledge that the primary weapon—the fifty-foot, petrifying serpent—was dead and currently being processed for potion ingredients had effectively defanged the threat. With Ministry professionals patrolling the corridors, the castle returned to its familiar rhythm of homework, whispered gossip, and frantic last-minute essay writing.
Orion embraced the newfound peace with the single-minded focus of a monk.
His days were a meticulously scheduled blend of rigorous academic performance and intense, private study. Between lectures, while the rest of the school debated the identity of the Heir, Orion was either locked inside his abandoned fourth-floor classroom perfecting the concussive force of his Bombarda against the automated dummy, or buried deep within the gloom of the Restricted Section, his Ring of the Midnight Reader illuminating texts on magical anomalies and creatures.
And when he required a moment of mind-numbing amusement, he simply retreated to the Slytherin common room and listened to his brother.
Draco had transformed the tale of the Chamber of Secrets into an epic, evolving saga.
"...and I'm telling you, it was moving so fast you could barely see it!" Draco bragged to a captive audience of first and second-years on a rainy Tuesday evening, gesturing wildly from atop a sturdy armchair. "The Aurors were terrified! They were hiding behind pillars! But I stepped right out. It lunged at me—jaws wide open, venom dripping everywhere—and I just planted my feet, ducked the fangs, and delivered a perfect, shattering uppercut right to its chin! Knocked it clean out!"
Orion, lounging on a nearby sofa with a book on Sympathetic Magical Resonance, didn't even look up. He merely let out a long, silent sigh, turning a page.
An uppercut, Orion thought, shaking his head imperceptibly. He genuinely expects them to believe he physically punched a magical tank into unconsciousness. The sheer, staggering audacity of the lie is almost impressive.
Crabbe and Goyle, predictably, looked utterly spellbound by the tale, nodding along as if it were gospel truth.
The absolute beauty of the situation, however, was that Orion's strategy had worked with terrifying, one-hundred-percent efficiency. Draco had repeated the story so many times, with so many varying, absurd details, that the novelty of the Chamber had completely worn off for the rest of the House. Not a single student had approached Orion to ask for his version of events. They were thoroughly exhausted by the topic.
He was free to be a ghost again.
There was, however, one minor anomaly in his perfectly orchestrated post-crisis environment.
While the Daily Prophet continued to milk the 'Ministry Secures Hogwarts' headline for all it was worth, printing endless, dramatic articles about the history of the Chamber and the logistical nightmare of harvesting Basilisk venom, they had not printed a single word about the duel between Orion and Harry Potter since the initial, explosive Friday morning edition.
Rita Skeeter's venomous quill had apparently been silenced on that particular subject.
More surprisingly, absolutely no one within the student body had cornered Orion to ask about it. There were no hushed, awe-struck whispers in the corridors. No Gryffindors demanding a rematch. No Ravenclaws asking for a detailed breakdown of his spellcasting technique.
It was as if the most publicized, dramatic defeat of the Boy Who Lived had simply never happened.
The mystery remained unsolved until a dreary Thursday afternoon, when Orion found himself taking a shortcut past the Hufflepuff common room corridor.
He bumped into Nymphadora Tonks, who was currently leaning heavily against a suit of armor, looking profoundly bored in her navy-blue Auror trainee robes.
"Orion!" Tonks perked up immediately, her hair shifting from a dull, protocol-mandated brown to a vibrant, electric pink. "Thank Merlin. Please tell me you have a highly illegal magical artifact I can confiscate, or a dark wizard hiding in your book bag. If I have to stare at this wall for another hour, I'm going to start casting stinging hexes at the portraits just to feel alive."
Orion offered a polite, amused smile. "Good afternoon, Tonks. The thrill of law enforcement is clearly overwhelming you."
"It's mind-numbing," Tonks groaned, pushing off the armor and falling into step beside him as he continued down the hall. "Unlike when I was a student here and actually had to worry about passing Potions, now it's just roaming these freezing corridors, waiting for an invisible Heir to pop out of a broom closet. It gets very boring, very fast."
She sighed, adjusting the heavy utility belt at her waist.
"Though," Tonks added, shooting him a sidelong glance, "I must admit, reading about the Ministry operation in the Chamber definitely broke the monotony. I was stuck guarding the Hufflepuff dorms while you were down there fighting a mythical monster and the Boy Who Lived. Talk about unfair assignment distribution."
Orion chuckled softly. "The monster was primarily handled by the professionals, Tonks. I merely provided the location and a bit of... localized distraction."
"Right, the 'distraction'," Tonks smirked. She stopped walking, crossing her arms and looking at him intently. "Speaking of which... when I read that article in the Prophet on Friday morning, the one about your little duel with Potter? I was genuinely shocked. I mean, disarming and binding the Savior of the Wizarding World? That's front-page news for a week! Unless, it gets overshadowed by the uncovering of the mysterious Chamber of Secrets, unfortunately."
Orion nodded. "It was... mildy upsetting."
"But here's the funny thing," Tonks continued, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "When I asked around the castle about it... nobody seemed to care."
"Nobody?" Orion asked, genuinely curious now.
"Not a soul," Tonks confirmed, her pink hair bobbing as she shook her head. "I asked a few of the seventh-years I was acquainted with from my time here—they were my juniors last year, you know. I thought they'd be buzzing about it. But they just shrugged."
She let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"They told me, 'Oh, yeah, Malfoy beat Potter. Again. He completely humiliated him on the Dueling Club stage earlier this year too. This isn't exactly groundbreaking news.'"
Orion stared at her, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. He slowly raised a hand, rubbing his forehead in a gesture of profound, aristocratic exasperation.
Of course, Orion thought, the sheer absurdity of the situation making him want to laugh or scream.
To the world outside Hogwarts—the world that subsisted on the Daily Prophet's sensationalized fairy tales and worshipped Harry Potter as the infallible, untouchable next Dumbledore—the idea that the boy could be soundly defeated by a twelve-year-old Slytherin was an earth-shattering, headline-grabbing scandal.
But to the student body of Hogwarts? The kids who actually watched Harry struggle to transfigure a beetle, or saw him panic during a pop quiz, or personally witnessed Orion systematically dismantle him with a heavy-metal soundtrack and a flawless Expelliarmus on a golden stage?
To them, it was old news. It was established canon.
"You literally normalized your own dominance," Sparkle whispered, her digital voice trembling with suppressed, hysterical laughter. "You beat him so thoroughly, so publicly, and so effortlessly the first time that the entire school just accepted it as a fundamental law of physics. Malfoy beats Potter. Water is wet. Gravity pulls down. It's not a news story anymore; it's a Tuesday."
"Suffering from success," Orion muttered aloud, a wry, defeated smile touching his lips.
"What?" Tonks asked, looking confused.
"Nothing," Orion shook his head, dropping his hand. "Just realizing the fickle nature of fame, Tonks. It seems my reputation has preceded me so efficiently that my current victories are considered mundane."
Tonks laughed, a bright, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet corridor. She reached out and clapped him firmly on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Well, you set the bar too high, little cousin," Tonks teased, her eyes sparkling. "If you want to surprise your schoolmates now, you'd better start practicing to defeat Snape or Dumbledore next. Beating Potter is clearly beneath your pay grade at this point."
Orion straightened his robes, adjusting his collar with a sharp, precise movement.
"Of course, Tonks," Orion drawled, his voice perfectly smooth and arrogant, though a genuine spark of ambition lit his blue eyes. "Someday, I fully intend to defeat them both. Though, I must admit, right now..."
He offered a self-deprecating, remarkably honest smirk.
"...they would not even blink before tossing me out the window. I believe I need to finish my Transfiguration homework first."