The dusty, forgotten corridor on the fifth floor was silent save for the ragged, furious breathing of the Ice Queen of Slytherin.
Orion listened carefully, his face a perfect mask of calm attentiveness, absorbing every nuance of anger in Daphne Greengrass's voice.
His mind, however, was rapidly constructing a new branch in the timeline.
So this is how the Protagonist Halo functions when aimed away from the main plot, Orion analyzed. It drags hidden narratives into the light and dumps them at my feet.
He wondered briefly why this particular crime had never surfaced in the canon timeline. Looking at the sheer, desperate fury radiating from Daphne, the answer became chillingly obvious.
She's in the mindset of going full Gryffindor on him right now, Orion deduced, watching her knuckles turn white around the glossy spine of Lockhart's book. If I weren't here to intercept this, she would likely confront him alone. And Lockhart, for all his staggering incompetence, is a maestro with a Memory Charm. He would wipe her mind clean of the suspicion before she even drew her wand. The secret would die in his office, and by the end of the year, Lockhart's mind is wiped anyway, making the entire truth irrelevant.
It was a quiet, unseen tragedy that had likely played out countless times over the fraud's career.
Orion adjusted his stance, leaning comfortably against the stone wall.
"I understand your anger, Daphne," Orion said softly, his voice a soothing, pragmatic anchor in her storm of emotion. "It is a violation of the highest order. But I must ask... why bring this to me?"
He gestured toward the window, where the distant, faint outline of a patrolling Auror could be seen near the courtyard. "You have the journals. You have proof. Why not go to the Ministry? We currently have a significant DMLE presence stationed within these very walls. Why not present your case to them?"
Daphne's expression tightened into a bitter, helpless scowl. She clutched her uncle's old diary to her chest.
"It's no use, Orion," she whispered harshly, tears of frustration shining in her eyes. "I already owled my father about taking it to the Aurors. He told me to stand down. No one will believe that Gilderoy Lockhart stole this. My uncle's diary is a personal, handwritten account. It's not a published, dated text. It's just old ink on parchment."
Orion nodded slowly. It was the harsh reality of wizarding politics.
The Greengrass family was powerful, wealthy, and firmly entrenched in the neutral faction of the pureblood elite. But against a man like Lockhart? A celebrity author bearing an Order of Merlin, Third Class, with a massive, fanatic following and a PR team that could likely spin a murder into a heroic rescue? A single, unpublished diary wouldn't even dent his armor. Unless they possessed undeniable, irrefutable proof—a pensieve memory, or a confession—the Ministry would dismiss it as the jealous ramblings of a fading family trying to steal the spotlight.
"True," Orion conceded, his voice dropping into a cold, analytical register. "The court of public opinion heavily favors the handsome liar."
He looked at her, his blue eyes piercing.
"Frankly speaking, Daphne... I have no stakes in this," Orion stated, his tone devoid of any comforting warmth. "Exposing Lockhart yields nothing of tangible value to me. It does not advance my studies, it does not secure my family's position, and it does not help me pass my exams."
Daphne flinched slightly, her fierce expression faltering as the cold logic hit her. She had come to the Slytherin prodigy hoping for an ally, and he was rejecting her plea based on a cost-benefit analysis.
"Except," Orion added softly, a slow, predatory smirk beginning to curve his lips.
Daphne looked up, hope rekindling in her icy eyes.
"Except," Orion continued, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to her, "maybe some fun. And a significant amount of chaos."
He paused, watching her reaction carefully. He let the silence stretch for three seconds, ensuring she understood the shift in dynamics.
"Thankfully, Daphne," Orion said, his voice laced with dark amusement, "chaos and fun are commodities that I currently rank significantly higher than things that are merely 'valuable'."
Daphne let out a small, shaky breath. "You'll help me?"
"I will help," Orion agreed smoothly. "But. You will have to give something in return."
Daphne's spine stiffened. The Ice Queen returned instantly, the vulnerability vanishing behind a mask of pureblood negotiation. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
"A favor," Orion replied simply.
He raised a hand before she could protest.
"Don't worry, Daphne. I am not a loan shark. The favor will remain dormant until I specifically require something from you. And to be clear on the terms: you possess the absolute right to say 'no' to anything I ask. I will not force you into a corner."
He smiled, a sharp, calculating expression that made him look remarkably like his father for a fleeting second.
"However," Orion stipulated, "the debt of the favor will not be considered 'complete' until you successfully grant at least one of the requests I make in the future. Once you fulfill any single, future wish of mine, you will be entirely free from the obligation."
He let his hand drop.
"The reason I provide this leeway is to assure you that I have absolutely no interest in forcing any sort of uncomfortable or dangerous action from you. I am helping you expose a fraud. You owe me a favor. That is the entirety of the contract."
Daphne stared at him, her sharp mind analyzing the deal. It was incredibly fair. Almost suspiciously so. She retained her autonomy, but she was bound to him until she eventually agreed to a request. It was a classic Slytherin maneuver—building a web of willing, indebted allies rather than resentful servants.
She looked down at her uncle's diary, then back at Orion.
"I accept," Daphne said firmly, her voice steady. "You help me ruin him, and I owe you a favor."
"Excellent," Orion nodded, his demeanor instantly shifting back to the pragmatic strategist. "Now, listen to me very carefully, Daphne."
He leaned in close, his tone dropping to a serious, commanding whisper.
"You are to stay absolutely quiet for the next week. You do not glare at him in class. You do not whisper about this to Tracey or Millicent. You act as if this conversation never happened, and you pretend to hang on his every word during his ridiculous lectures."
Daphne frowned. "But—"
"I need a week to arrange the plan," Orion cut her off, his eyes flashing a warning. "Do not, under any circumstances, go ahead and confront him alone. He is an idiot, but he is a maestro with memory charms. If you confront him, he will obliviate you before you can even draw your wand."
He scowled slightly, shaking his head.
"And if you get obliviated, you will forget about the favor you owe me. That will create significant administrative problems for me later."
Daphne glared at him, a spark of genuine indignation cutting through the tension. "You are worried about me forgetting your stupid favor, and not the fact that my mind would be permanently damaged?!"
"Hey," Orion protested mildly, offering a small, unapologetic shrug. "The favor is important, okay? Good allies are hard to find. Now, go back to the dormitory. Get ready to act your part for the next seven days. Leave the arranging entirely to me."
Daphne stared at him for a long moment, a mixture of profound annoyance and deep, reluctant gratitude warring on her face. She adjusted her grip on her bag, the old diary safely tucked away.
"One week, Orion," she promised softly. "Don't make me wait longer."
"I rarely miss a deadline," Orion replied.
Daphne turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the hidden corridor, her posture rigid, returning to her Ice Queen persona flawlessly.
Orion watched her go, leaning back against the cold stone wall. He let out a long, slow breath, a genuine grin finally breaking across his face.
"Well," Sparkle's voice hummed in his mind, her interface glowing a bright, inquisitive yellow. "You just acquired a major political asset for the low, low price of exposing a fraud. I have to ask... why help? You told her you like chaos, but you usually prefer your chaos to be strictly beneficial."
"Come on, Sparkle," Orion thought back, pushing off the wall and heading in the opposite direction. "Getting himself accidentally Obliviated in a collapsing tunnel is the absolute worst, most anticlimactic way for a conman of his magnitude to meet his end. The canon ending for Lockhart was terrible. It lacked poetry."
He navigated the shifting staircases, his mind already spinning with the logistical requirements of a public execution.
"Exposing the fraud," Orion continued, his internal voice practically vibrating with malicious excitement, "ripping away his fame, his awards, and his adoring fans in front of the entire school? That is true comedy. That is karma. It's going to be spectacular, so why back out?"
"I am not against it," Sparkle clarified, her waveform shifting to an approving, energetic gold. "I was just curious. You're definitely leaning into the villain persona."
"Being a villain is rewarding," Orion accepted with a smirk. "Now... we have to finalize the plan. I need a confession. A public confession. And I need a venue."