The fragile peace of Hogwarts shattered the very next evening, replaced by a cold, suffocating terror.
Orion sat in the Slytherin common room, a book on advanced Runes open on his lap, but his attention was focused on the frantic whispering of the older students near the fireplace. The news had just broken, carried down to the dungeons by a breathless fifth-year.
Justin Finch-Fletchley had been found petrified.
And, in a bizarre, horrifying twist that defied magical logic, Nearly Headless Nick had been petrified alongside him.
"A ghost?" Daphne Greengrass murmured, her usually poised demeanor cracking slightly as she leaned toward Orion. "How do you kill something that's already dead? Or turn it to stone?"
"You don't," Orion said calmly, turning a page. "You paralyze the magical imprint. Whatever the beast is, its power operates on a fundamental, conceptual level, not just a biological one."
Draco, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since his humiliation at the Dueling Club, suddenly sat up straight. A vindictive, terrified smile crossed his face.
"It was Potter," Draco announced loudly, drawing the attention of the surrounding Slytherins. "It has to be. Finch-Fletchley practically accused him in front of the whole school during the duel. He called him out for siccing that snake on him. And now? Less than twenty-four hours later? Finch-Fletchley is a statue."
"It fits," Theodore Nott agreed darkly. "The motive is there. The timing is perfect. And the method... only the Heir speaks Parseltongue."
The common room buzzed with a newfound, grim certainty. The Hufflepuffs were likely barricading their doors. The Ravenclaws were analyzing the statistics. And the Gryffindors... the Gryffindors were likely staring at Harry Potter as if he were a ticking time bomb.
Orion closed his book, his expression neutral. To the rest of the school, the narrative was clear: Harry Potter was the monster in the walls. The open argument between Justin and Harry the previous day had cemented the Boy Who Lived as the prime suspect in the court of public opinion.
To Orion, it was simply the plot moving forward. The Basilisk was hunting, guided by the fragmented soul in the diary.
There was, however, one significant downside to the escalation.
Later that evening, Professor Snape swept into the common room, his face a mask of furious, exhausted stone. He delivered a brief, harsh lecture on curfews, the buddy system, and the absolute necessity of avoiding the corridors alone.
And then, he dropped the anvil.
"Furthermore," Snape sneered, his black eyes sweeping over the assembled students. "Due to the... current climate of hysteria and the obvious inability of the student body to handle basic combat spells without inflicting bodily harm or summoning dangerous reptiles... the Dueling Club activities have been suspended indefinitely."
A groan went up from the older students.
"Silence," Snape barked. "Focus on your exams. If you wish to duel, ensure you survive the year first."
Orion leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet, frustrated sigh.
"A letdown," Orion thought. "I was looking forward to testing the green Expelliarmus on a live target eventually."
The following week, Orion retreated to his sanctuary: the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor.
The room had been cleared of the shattered desks from his disastrous Carpe Retractum experiment. In the center of the space stood his new, prized possession—the Automated Combat Construct he had earned from his victory over Harry.
It was an eerie piece of magic. It was a smooth, faceless, grey mannequin mounted on a heavy, wheeled base. It had a simple wand in its hands, whicg glowed with a faint, magical latency.
"Level Two," Orion commanded, tapping the construct with his Hawthorn wand.
The dummy hummed to life. Its featureless head snapped toward Orion. Without warning, it raised an arm and fired a localized, stinging hex—a fast, yellow streak of light.
Orion sidestepped it smoothly, bringing his wand up.
"Expelliarmus!"
The dummy didn't just stand there. It rolled backward on its base, dodging the red light, and fired two rapid Knockback Jinxes in return.
Orion threw up a Protego, absorbing the impacts, and returned fire with a Reducto aimed at the dummy's base.
For an hour, the classroom echoed with the sounds of simulated combat. The dummy was relentless, its movements unpredictable and its spellcasting surprisingly accurate. It was the perfect training partner—one that didn't complain, didn't tire, and didn't care if Orion occasionally used spells that were not on the Hogwarts syllabus.
Sweat beaded on Orion's forehead as he finally called a halt, the dummy freezing in place and powering down.
He walked over to a desk, picking up a towel to wipe his face.
"You know," Sparkle's voice broke the silence, her interface appearing next to the resting dummy. "You are spending an awful lot of time practicing for a war you aren't supposed to be fighting."
"I am practicing for survival," Orion corrected, taking a swig from a water flask. "The trio is currently brewing Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It's the centerpiece of their second-year investigation."
"And it is a prime opportunity for achievements," Sparkle noted. "But Orion... I have to ask. You are so hell-bent on being the villain of Harry's story. You humiliated him at the duel. You stole his moment with the troll and the stone on third floor. You are actively planning to ruin his Polyjuice infiltration."
The blue waveform spiked, indicating a rare moment of genuine concern.
"Aren't you afraid it might come back to bite you? He is the protagonist, Orion. He is the Golden Boy. The narrative bends around him. If you push him too far, the universe might push back."
Orion stopped wiping his face. He lowered the towel, his blue eyes cold and hard in the dim light of the classroom.
"I didn't start this, Sparkle," Orion said quietly.
He tossed the towel onto the desk and leaned against the wood, crossing his arms.
"I minded my own business in my first year. I stayed in the shadows. I studied. But Potter and Weasley? They decided I was a dark wizard purely because my last name is Malfoy and my tie is green. They orchestrated a wild conspiracy theory that I lured a troll into the school to kill Hermione Granger."
He let out a short, humorless laugh.
"They judged me without knowing me. They assumed my guilt based on a prejudice as deep and blind as any my father holds."
He looked at his Hawthorn wand, turning it over in his hands.
"I am not the kind of person who wastes time trying to explain to a misguided hero that his logic is flawed. Especially when that hero is a boneheaded Gryffindor who thinks charging headfirst into danger is a substitute for planning."
"But he has the aura," Sparkle reminded him. "He has the destiny."
"And I have beaten him twice," Orion stated flatly. "I disarmed him while literally gloating like a super-villain. I hung him upside down in front of the entire school. I am not afraid of Harry Potter."
He stood up straight, his magical core humming with a confident, steady rhythm.
"I am improving. I am growing. My understanding of magic is expanding exponentially while he is still struggling to turn a beetle into a button. Sure, there might come a time when he is more powerful. When his 'Chosen One' aura kicks in and he starts throwing off the Imperius Curse or surviving killing curses twice as much."
A wicked, genuinely amused smirk spread across Orion's face.
"But by the time he reaches his peak, he will be too busy fighting a resurrected Dark Lord and an army of Death Eaters to waste his time on me. I'll be long gone from his immediate radar."
Orion chuckled, picturing the future.
"Honestly, Sparkle, I can see it now. Ten years down the line. The war is over. Potter has defeated Voldemort. And somewhere in the back pages of The Quibbler, there will be a tiny article stating: 'Orion Malfoy: One of the very few people to have unequivocally bested the Savior of the Wizarding World in a duel.'"
Orion laughed aloud, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
"That," Orion declared, "would be a frame-worthy article."
Sparkle's interface let out a long, digital sigh, a sound that conveyed a profound mixture of exasperation and grudging respect.
"Well," she muttered, her waveform settling into a steady hum. "If that is your goal... you better start preparing for the duo's stumbling entrance into the Slytherin common room on Christmas. Because if you want to keep your title as the undefeated villain, you're going to have to outsmart two Gryffindors wearing the faces of your roommates."
"Oh, I'm ready," Orion promised, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "I'm so ready for this."