With Bellatrix Lestrange's dramatic departure into the winter wilderness, an eerie, fragile peace settled over Malfoy Manor.
The suffocating, electric tension that had gripped the estate for weeks noticeably dissipated, yet the psychological scars remained. Lucius still walked as though the floorboards might detonate beneath his boots, and Narcissa, while visibly relieved, was still extremely alert of her surroundings.
Draco, however, was a complete disaster.
Even with their deranged aunt physically absent, Draco lived in absolute, paralyzing terror of her sudden reappearance. He ate his meals with one eye glued to the doorway, jumped violently whenever a house-elf popped into the room with a tea tray, and suspiciously prodded his roast beef as though expecting Bellatrix to have transfigured it from an adder.
To compound his misery, the approach of New Year's Eve brought a profound, sulking depression.
There would be no lavish gala this year. Lucius had officially barred any large-scale gatherings, terrified that an unannounced return from Bellatrix, would shatter the fragile illusion of Malfoy innocence. For Draco, who measured the passage of time almost entirely by social events where he could brag about his Nimbus 2001, missing both his birthday gala and the New Year's celebration felt like a personal attack from the universe.
Orion sat in the library on the evening of December 30th, watching his brother stare miserably out the frost-bitten window.
He is going to drive me insane if he continues moping like a Victorian orphan, Orion thought, running a hand through his dark hair. A change of pace is necessary.
Later that night, Orion retreated to the privacy of his bedroom and summoned Dobby.
CRACK.
"Master Orion calls Dobby!" the elf squeaked softly, standing at attention in his clean knitted vest.
"Dobby," Orion commanded in a low, level murmur. "I have an assignment for you. First thing tomorrow morning, before dawn, I need you to go to Gringotts. Access my personal trust vault, withdraw three hundred Galleons, and immediately convert the entire sum into Muggle currency."
Dobby's large green eyes blinked in surprise. "Muggle paper money, Master?"
"Pounds sterling, yes. Large denominations and small," Orion instructed. "Once that is done, return here. Keep yourself hidden. Tomorrow morning, you will be providing Side-Along Apparition for me and Draco to the outskirts of London. Be ready."
"Dobby will have the funny paper money ready for Master!" Dobby bowed low and vanished with a quiet pop.
New Year's Eve dawned cold and dreary, the sky painted a uniform, miserable grey.
At the breakfast table, Draco was aggressively poking a bowl of porridge, looking as though he might burst into tears of boredom at any given second. Lucius sat at the head of the table once more, having reclaimed his throne, nursing a black coffee and reading a heavily redacted copy of the Daily Prophet.
Orion finished his toast, wiped his hands on his linen napkin, and stood up. He walked over to Draco, clapping a firm, sudden hand onto his brother's shoulder.
Draco jumped nearly six inches out of his seat with a frightened yelp, his spoon clattering into his bowl. "What?! What is it?!"
"Get up, Draco," Orion said smoothly. "Go upstairs, change out of your lounging robes, and put on something warm and durable. We are going on a trip."
Draco blinked, his mouth dropping open. "A... a trip? Where? What are you talking about?"
Across the table, Lucius's head snapped up from the newspaper. His pale eyes flashed with sudden, authoritarian anger.
"You are going nowhere, Orion," Lucius stated coldly, setting his coffee cup down with a sharp clatter. "Have you completely lost your senses? It is extremely dangerous. The countryside is crawling with Aurors, the Dementors have only recently been recalled, and your aunt is—"
"Really, Father?" Orion interrupted, his voice dripping with cool, effortless mockery.
He leaned against the high back of Draco's chair, crossing his arms.
"More dangerous than this house currently is? More dangerous than the undeniable fact that Aunt Bella holds an open invitation to this estate, can bypass the perimeter wards at will, and might stroll in at any given moment just to snap your walking cane over her knee for amusement?"
Lucius stiffened, his face flushing a mottled, furious red. The sheer disrespect was staggering, yet the raw, undeniable truth of the statement rendered him momentarily speechless.
"I forbid it," Lucius snarled, leaning forward, his knuckles whitening against the mahogany table. "As the Head of this House, I forbid either of you from leaving the grounds!"
Orion's expression did not waver. His indigo eyes turned ice-cold, locking onto his father with an unyielding, predatory calm.
"You can forbid whatever you wish, Father," Orion drawled, his tone dropping an octave, carrying the sharp, razor-thin edge of an ultimatum. "So let us consider your options."
Orion tapped a finger against his forearm.
"Option one: you allow Draco and me to take a brief, private day-trip under our own precautions, entirely off the record. Option two: I pull out my wand right now, summon Aunt Bella back to the Manor, and politely inform her that you are actively preventing me from exploring the world. I am sure she would be thrilled to escort us personally."
Orion offered a slow, vicious little smirk.
"And we both know, Father... you cannot stop her."
Silence, absolute and suffocating, slammed down over the dining hall.
Lucius stared at his thirteen-year-old son, his mouth slightly open, the breath catching in his throat. The realization that Orion held Bellatrix Lestrange on an invisible leash was a terrifying, insurmountable reality. Lucius had spent decades playing political extortion, but he was currently being thoroughly, effortlessly out-leveraged by his own child.
Narcissa, seated quietly to the side, hid an amused, deeply satisfied smile behind her teacup.
Lucius closed his mouth. He looked down at his coffee, his jaw grinding so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. He did not speak. He could not.
Orion turned his gaze down to Draco, who was looking up at him as if Orion had just personally wrestled a dragon into submission.
Orion winked. "Go get dressed, brother. Meet me in my room in ten minutes."
Ten minutes later, Draco stood in Orion's bedroom, bundled in a heavy, dark green woolen coat, dragon-hide boots, and leather gloves. He was vibrating with an anxious, disbelieving energy.
"Where are we going?" Draco whispered frantically, looking around the room as if expecting an ambush. "How are we even leaving? Father locked the Floo!"
"Close your eyes, Draco," Orion instructed, adjusting his own charcoal overcoat.
"What? Why—"
"Close your eyes and keep them shut," Orion commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Unless you fancy vomiting your breakfast across my rug."
Draco clamped his eyes shut tight.
Orion reached out, grabbing Draco's arm with one hand and extending his other toward his other side. "Dobby."
CRACK.
The violent, twisting compression of house-elf Apparition seized them. The air rushed out of Orion's lungs, the world warping into an agonizingly tight tube of kinetic force, before snapping open with a loud, muffled pop.
The sound of howling winter wind was instantly replaced by the distant, rhythmic rumble of Muggle traffic and the hum of city life.
They stood in a narrow, snow-dusted alleyway surrounded by high brick walls, somewhere on the southern outskirts of Greater London.
"Can I open them?!" Draco gasped, stumbling slightly on the asphalt, his hands flailing.
"Keep them closed for ten more seconds," Orion said, stepping past him into the cleared space of the alley.
Orion reached into his pocket, accessing his mental Inventory grid.
Retrieve: Remote Controlled Car.
The tiny, palm-sized red sports car materialized in his hand. It gleamed with a brilliant, polished scarlet luster, a miniature masterpiece of Muggle design featuring scissor-doors, sleek aerodynamic curves, and a miniature dual-joystick controller resting neatly in his other palm.
Orion set the tiny toy down on the pavement. He drew his Hawthorn wand, keeping the motion low and discreet beneath his heavy coat.
He focused his intent, visualizing volume, mass, and kinetic integrity.
"Engorgio."
The spell struck the vehicle cleanly. With a deep, groaning hum of rapidly expanding matter, the toy car swelled.
It expanded outward and upward, stretching exponentially until it stood as a full-sized, breathtaking, ultra-luxury Muggle supercar. The metallic candy-apple red paint job caught the dim morning light, gleaming like a polished ruby. The tinted glass windows were immaculate, the wide alloy rims were spotless, and the scissor-doors automatically hissed upward, inviting them into a pristine interior of black leather and glowing dashboard dials.
Orion tucked his wand away and slipped the handheld controller into his pocket, where his fingers rested lightly against the enchanted joysticks.
"Alright, Draco," Orion said, stepping up to the open driver's side. "Open your eyes. Let's go."
Draco opened his eyes. He blinked against the grey daylight.
Then, his jaw unhinged.
Draco froze, his eyes bulging as he stared at the roaring, scarlet mechanical beast idling silently in the grimy alleyway. "What... what in Salazar's name is that?!"
"A car, Draco," Orion deadpanned, sliding effortlessly into the low leather bucket seat. "Get in."
"A car?!" Draco shrieked in a terrified whisper, scurrying over to the passenger side like a startled cat. "Is that a Muggle thing?! Like the one Potter and Weasley crashed into the Whomping Willow?!"
"This is significantly faster, and significantly less prone to being beaten to death by foliage," Orion replied dryly. "Get in before someone sees your ridiculously pureblood cape."
Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second, his pureblood conditioning warring violently with the undeniable, breathtaking coolness of the vehicle. Coolness won. He scrambled into the passenger seat, pulling his robes in as the scissor-door hissed downward, sealing them into a warm, climate-controlled cabin.
Orion rested his hands casually on the steering wheel, while his left hand in his pocket subtly engaged the remote controller. He was using his Parallel Processing ability to maintain concentration on both actions.
With a press on the controller, the enchanted, battery-less engine purred to life.
The car shot out of the alleyway with explosive, seamless acceleration, tires gripping the asphalt without a sound.
"MERLIN'S BEARD!" Draco screamed, clutching the leather armrests as his head slammed back against the headrest from the sheer G-force.
Within minutes, they were cruising along the arterial roads. The sensation was entirely different from a broomstick; there was no biting wind, no need to maintain physical balance, just raw, unadulterated horizontal velocity wrapped in heated leather.
Draco's terror evaporated almost immediately, replaced by a manic, wide-eyed exhilaration.
"Look how fast it goes!" Draco yelled over the hum of the road, grinning like an absolute lunatic as they smoothly overtook a lumbering Muggle delivery van. "It's faster than a Cleansweep! Can it turn? Turn it!"
Orion flicked the joystick in his pocket, turning the steering wheel with his hands for theatrical effect. The car cornered with surgical precision, effortlessly hugging the asphalt.
"Let me drive!" Draco pleaded, lunging slightly toward the center console, his eyes wide. "Give me the wheel!"
"Absolutely not," Orion scoffed, keeping his eyes on the road. "You don't have a license."
"Hey, hypocrite," Sparkle's voice piped up in his mind, thoroughly amused. "You don't have a driver's license in this world either!"
I possessed a valid driver's license for fifteen years in my previous life, Orion fired back mentally. My muscle memory is flawless. And besides, does the Ministry or the British Department of Transport have a specific statute regulating the operation of enlarged, enchanted toy cars on public roadways? I think not.
"Touché," Sparkle chuckled.
"What's a license?!" Draco demanded, completely oblivious to the internal debate. "I don't need a stupid Muggle paper! I can fly a Nimbus 2001! I can steer a metal box!"
"You almost decapitated yourself on a Hippogriff because you couldn't follow a simple greeting protocol, Draco," Orion reminded him coolly. "You are not driving my car."
Draco pouted, crossing his arms and sinking back into the leather seat, though his gaze remained glued to the blurring scenery outside.
After twenty minutes of driving, Orion signaled a turn, exiting the main thoroughfare and steering the red supercar down a wide, paved approach lined with towering, colorful signs.
"Where are we?" Draco asked, his curiosity instantly shattering his pout. He leaned his face against the glass window, squinting at the massive, sprawling complex emerging through the winter trees.
Orion pulled the car smoothly into an empty section of the perimeter parking lot, shifting the vehicle into park.
He gestured gracefully through the windshield toward the massive, arched entrance looming ahead, adorned with bright, sweeping banners and the towering silhouettes of colossal, twisting metal tracks looping high into the winter sky.
CHESSINGTON WORLD OF ADVENTURES RESORT
Orion smiled, a slow, immensely satisfied expression crossing his face as he looked at his thoroughly bewildered pureblood brother.
"You complained about missing a party, Draco," Orion said softly, unlocking the scissor-doors. "So, I decided to show you what a real ride looks like."