The emerald flames faded, leaving the Headmaster's office smelling faintly of soot and cedar.
Albus Dumbledore sank back into his high-backed chair, his steepled fingers resting beneath his chin. He looked at Orion with a gaze that was equal parts weary and analytical.
"That was incredibly risky of you, Orion," Dumbledore said quietly, the twinkle in his eyes entirely absent. "Exposing a man like Lockhart in such a spectacular, public fashion... this could have backfired on you terribly. If the Aurors had not been present. If Lockhart had panicked and used some kind of dangerous spell so close to the student body. The resulting chaos would have been devastating."
Orion didn't flinch. He maintained his relaxed posture, his blue eyes calm.
"I do not act without proof, Headmaster," Orion replied smoothly. "And I do not act without securing the perimeter. I was fully aware of the Aurors' presence. I relied on their training to neutralize him before he could escalate. It was a calculated risk, mitigated by overwhelming force."
He tilted his head slightly, adopting a tone of genuine, scholarly inquiry.
"Though, I must ask, Headmaster... why hire someone like Lockhart in the first place? Surely a wizard of your caliber suspected him after reading his books. The tactical descriptions of his supposed encounters are structurally unsound. They read like fairy tales. The dates in his books are also all overlapping and inconsistent."
Dumbledore smiled, a sad, nostalgic expression that seemed to add years to his face.
"Yes, Orion. I did suspect him," Dumbledore admitted softly. "The inconsistencies in his publications were glaring to anyone who has actually faced dark creatures. But... I like to believe in the inherent goodness of people. I like to offer the benefit of the doubt."
He gestured vaguely to the walls lined with books.
"When writing memoirs of such a sensational nature, it is completely natural—even expected—for an author to exaggerate, to dramatize, and to make mistakes. I am not the kind of person to quickly label someone a fraud, a thief of memories, unless I have absolute, undeniable proof against them."
Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples.
"And Lockhart was very careful. With Memory Charms involved, as you so astutely spoke with Madam Bones about, the law becomes incredibly murky. It is dangerous territory to navigate. The fact that Lockhart was able to rise so high in society, to the point of being awarded an Order of Merlin, Third Class, meant that he was not merely dabbling. He was a true master of the Obliviation spell. He left no physical evidence, and no witnesses capable of testifying against him."
"So you brought him here," Orion deduced, leaning forward slightly. "You put him in a position of authority, hoping the pressure of the job, or the sheer incompetence he possessed, would eventually expose him to the staff."
"It was a consideration," Dumbledore acknowledged, a glint returning to his eye. "Though I admit, I did not expect a second-year student to expedite the process quite so dramatically."
He paused, his expression turning grave once more.
"However, the primary reason I did not seek out a more... qualified candidate... is simply because there are very few people left in Britain who actually want to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Orion frowned. "Because of the danger? The history of accidents?"
"Because of the curse," Dumbledore corrected quietly.
The word hung in the air, heavy with dark magic.
"There is a tangible curse on the position, Orion," Dumbledore explained, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "A powerful, enduring jinx that ensures no teacher lasts longer than a single academic year. Some suffer accidents. Some are disgraced. Some... as we saw with poor Professor Quirrell... meet darker ends."
Dumbledore looked away, his gaze fixed on the dying embers in the fireplace.
"It is a curse I believe was applied many years ago, by a former student who was denied the position by myself when he tried to apply for it. It is a curse even I have not been able to find, despite searching the entire castle for it."
Orion froze.
His mind raced, connecting the dots with lightning speed. A former student. Denied the position by Dumbledore. A curse of incredible, enduring power.
Tom Riddle.
Voldemort wanted to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? Orion thought, sheer, unadulterated shock rippling through his usually calm facade. The Dark Lord wanted to teach children?
It was a staggering revelation. It reframed the entire context of Voldemort's connection to Hogwarts. This was something he had no knowledge about, or maybe he did not remember reading about it in the canon. Orion would be the first to admit, he had glossed over the sixth installment of the books, too much hormones in the teenagers and Riddle's backstory was boring as hell. Maybe, that was where this was mentioned.
No wonder he possessed Quirrell, Orion realized, the pieces clicking together flawlessly. Quirrell was originally the Muggle Studies professor. Voldemort possessed him, and immediately made him switch to Defense Against the Dark Arts for his first year back. He didn't just want the Stone; he wanted the classroom. He wanted the prestige he felt he was owed.
It was a level of petty, vindictive obsession that Orion hadn't fully appreciated until this moment. The Dark Lord was holding a grudge over a rejected job application for half a century.
Orion slowly turned his head.
Standing in the shadows near the bookcases, Professor Snape was glaring at Dumbledore with an intensity that could have melted lead. The Potions Master's hands were clenched so tightly by his sides that his knuckles were white.
Orion looked at his godfather, and suddenly, another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
Snape, Orion thought, suppressing a smirk. Snape has wanted the Defense position for ages. Everyone knows it. Our family knows it better than most. He applies every year, and Dumbledore denies him every year.
Orion had always assumed Dumbledore kept Snape in Potions because he didn't trust him with the Dark Arts, fearing it might trigger a relapse into his old Death Eater habits.
But looking at the sadness in Dumbledore's eyes, and the curse hanging over the position... Orion understood the truth.
He's protecting him, Orion realized, a wave of profound respect for the Headmaster washing over him. Dumbledore needs Snape alive. He needs his spy. If he gives Snape the job, the curse will trigger. Snape will be gone within a year. Dumbledore denies him the position he craves, enduring Snape's hatred, simply because he does not want to lose him to the curse.
It was cold. It was calculating. And it was brilliant.
"I see," Orion murmured softly, breaking the silence. "A cursed position. It makes the recruitment process significantly more challenging."
"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled wearily, turning back to the boy. He clapped his hands together lightly.
"Well, the hour grows late, and you have had a rather eventful evening, Orion. I suggest you return to the dungeons and get some sleep. I believe the coming week will once again be quite hectic... and, perhaps, fun at the same time."
"Fun?!"
Professor McGonagall, who had been listening in furious silence near the window, finally exploded.
"Albus!" she snapped, her Scottish brogue thickening with outrage. "There was absolutely nothing fun about this evening! A fraudulent professor, a public scandal, Ministry intervention... it is an administrative nightmare!"
"Come now, Minerva," Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling madly as he looked at the stern Deputy Headmistress. "One must find the humor in the absurdity of life, or else the paperwork will simply bury us alive."
"I will bury you in paperwork if I have to field another Howler from a panicked parent tomorrow morning," McGonagall threatened darkly.
Orion stood up, offering a polite bow to the room.
"I shall leave you to your administrative joys, Professors," Orion said smoothly, edging toward the door. "Goodnight, Headmaster. Professor McGonagall. Uncle Sev."
Snape didn't respond, merely closing his eyes as if praying for strength.
Orion slipped out of the office, the heavy oak door closing behind him. As he descended the spiral staircase, a genuine, wide smile broke across his face.
Lockhart was gone. The curse of the Defense position had been confirmed. And Orion had a brand new piece of crucial intelligence regarding the Dark Lord's petty insecurities.
The year was shaping up to be far more entertaining than he could have ever hoped.