The Slytherin common room looked as if a minor localized hurricane had swept through it. A coffee table was shattered, a silver tray of pastries lay scattered across the rug, and the fire snapped aggressively in the grate.
Draco was standing over the immobilized, slowly normalizing forms of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, his chest heaving, a small trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth where a rogue elbow had caught him. He looked furious, betrayed, and terrifyingly vindicated.
"I can't believe it," Draco panted, staring at the redhead who no longer looked anything like Vincent Crabbe. "They were sitting right there. Polyjuice Potion! That's... that's N.E.W.T. level brewing!"
"Or a very desperate attempt by someone with an encyclopedic memory and a stolen library book," Orion corrected, dusting a speck of ash from his pristine sleeve. "Now is not the time for academic marveling, Draco."
He turned to his brother, his expression cool and commanding.
"Go," Orion instructed sharply. "Run to the Gryffindor Tower and fetch Professor McGonagall immediately. Do not dawdle. Do not speak to anyone else. The Head of Gryffindor must witness this firsthand before they try to spin a tale of being kidnapped and forced to drink it."
Draco frowned, wiping the blood from his lip. "Why not Snape? He's just down the corridor. He'll expel them on the spot!"
"Because," Orion sighed with the patience of a saint explaining gravity, "if Snape arrives first, they will claim he set them up. Or that I set them up with his blessing. We need the Gryffindor matriarch here to see her golden lions caught red-handed in the snake pit on Christmas night. She needs to see the objective truth. Now, go. Then fetch Snape."
Draco's eyes widened as the political genius of the move clicked into place. Without another word, he spun on his heel and sprinted out the stone door, leaving Orion alone with his prisoners.
Orion took his time.
He drew his wand, cast a silent Mobilicorpus, and floated the unconscious Ron Weasley onto the remaining intact sofa, arranging him somewhat comfortably. He then turned his attention to the bound, rigidly furious form of Harry Potter on the floor.
Orion pointed his wand, levitating Harry into a seated position against the armrest of the sofa.
Harry glared at him. If looks could cast the Killing Curse, Orion would be a pile of ash.
Orion walked over and casually leaned against the high back of the leather chair opposite them. He crossed his arms, gazing down at the Boy Who Lived with an expression of mild, academic curiosity.
"Ease up on the glare, will you, Potter?" Orion sighed, sounding genuinely bored. "You look like a very angry owl. I am not the one who broke half a dozen school rules tonight. What exactly did you think was going to happen when you chose to waltz in here?"
Harry struggled against the magical ropes, his voice tight with suppressed rage. "I know it's you, Malfoy. I've known it all along."
"Known what, exactly?" Orion prompted lazily. "That I have better hair? Or that I actually read the assigned textbooks?"
"Dobby," Harry spat the name like a curse.
Orion blinked. He hadn't expected that particular piece of evidence to surface quite so aggressively.
"He's your elf," Harry accused, his green eyes burning in the dim light. "He was the one who was stopping my mail all summer! He was the one who sealed the barrier at King's Cross and stopped us from getting on the train! He's the one who enchanted that rogue Bludger to try and kill me on the pitch!"
Harry leaned forward as much as the ropes allowed. "He admitted it! He said he had to protect me from the 'dark plot' at Hogwarts. Your plot. The Heir of Slytherin."
Orion maintained a perfectly impassive face, though internally, Sparkle was cackling.
"Dobby, you absolute snitch," Sparkle giggled. "The elf literally confessed his crimes to the victim to prove how much he cared. That's adorable."
Orion raised a single, elegant eyebrow. "And? Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that my family's house-elf did all those things. What do you think I gain from you not coming to school, Potter? Why would I waste my time orchestrating a convoluted plot involving stolen mail and a rogue iron ball just to keep you in Surrey?"
"Because," Harry gritted his teeth, "you know the only one who can stop you is me. You know I'm the only one who can out you as the Heir."
Silence stretched for a long moment. Only the crackle of the green fire disturbed the quiet.
Orion didn't laugh immediately. He simply stared at Harry, processing the sheer, monumental scale of the boy's narcissistic worldview. Then, slowly, he raised his hands and began a slow, mocking clap.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
"Brilliantly flawed deduction, Potter," Orion said, shaking his head in profound, pitying disbelief. "Truly. It belongs in a textbook under 'Confirmation Bias'."
He dropped his hands, pushing off the chair and taking a step closer.
"Such a one-directional view of the universe," Orion murmured, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "You honestly believe you are the center of every plot. That every shadow in this castle exists solely to challenge you. Someday, Potter, that arrogant assumption is going to be the reason for your own downfall."
Orion leaned in, lowering his voice further.
"If I wanted you gone," he stated coldly, "I wouldn't use a house-elf. And I certainly wouldn't use a Bludger. I would just let you continue making incredibly stupid decisions—like breaking into the Slytherin common room, actively turning back into yourself, and I would watch you self-destruct."
Before Harry could retort, the heavy stone door ground open with a sound like a thunderclap.
Professor McGonagall stormed into the room, looking as though she had been roused from sleep by a fire alarm. Her expression was one of apocalyptic fury.
Behind her, Professor Snape swept in like a wraith, his black eyes already scanning the wreckage of the room and the two Gryffindors. Draco brought up the rear, pointing a triumphant finger.
"There they are!" Draco announced.
McGonagall stopped dead, taking in the scene. Ron, snoring on the sofa in oversized Slytherin robes. Harry, bound in ropes on the floor. The shattered coffee table.
Snape didn't hesitate. He flicked his wand, releasing the ropes around Harry and waking Ron with a sharp Ennervate. Ron gasped, sitting bolt upright, looking wildly around the enemy territory before his eyes locked onto his furious Head of House.
"Polyjuice Potion," Snape breathed, his voice a lethal, silken. "A complex brew. One that requires Lacewing Flies... Boomslang skin... and Bicorn horn."
Snape's black eyes snapped toward Harry and Ron. "Now I know who has been stealing from my private stores."
"Professor, we didn't—" Harry started, scrambling to his feet.
"Silence!" McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip. Her Scottish accent broadened in her anger. "Stealing from a master's stores! Brewing a highly regulated, N.E.W.T. level potion without supervision! Sneaking into a rival House's common room! On Christmas night!"
She looked at the two boys as if she had never seen them before. The disappointment was palpable.
"This is exactly what I was trying to avoid this year," McGonagall seethed, her hands trembling slightly. "After the disaster of the Philosopher's Stone... I thought you had learned that rules exist for your protection. Apparently, I was mistaken."
Harry looked down, his face burning. Ron looked physically sick.
"Professor," Orion interjected smoothly, stepping forward and seamlessly breaking the tension of the scolding. "While their punishment is undeniably warranted, I believe the Trio is missing a member."
He looked at Harry with an innocent, inquisitive expression.
"Where is Miss Granger? Surely, she didn't brew the potion and then refuse to partake in the trespassing?"
McGonagall's eyes widened slightly. She turned back to Harry. "Mr. Potter. Where is Hermione?"
Harry hesitated. He looked at Ron, then at Snape, then finally surrendered to the inevitability of defeat.
"She's... she's in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor," Harry mumbled, staring at his shoes. "She took the potion too. But she wouldn't come out of the stall. We left her there."
"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Snape sneered. "An abandoned, flooded lavatory. A fitting laboratory for such a wretched endeavor."
"I will take these two to the Headmaster immediately," Snape announced, grabbing Harry and Ron by the scruffs of their robes with a grip like iron. "The Headmaster will decide their fate. And I will inventory my stores to calculate the exact cost of their thievery."
"I shall retrieve Miss Granger," McGonagall sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And join you in Albus's office."
As Snape hauled the protesting Gryffindors toward the door, Orion stepped closer to McGonagall.
"Professor," Orion asked politely. "May I accompany you?"
McGonagall frowned. "Why, Mr. Malfoy? This is a disciplinary matter."
"I am merely curious, Professor," Orion offered a respectful, academic smile. "To see a makeshift laboratory capable of brewing Polyjuice... and to ascertain just how much quantity they managed to produce. If they have extra reserves hidden away, it presents an ongoing security risk to the castle. I feel it is my duty to assist in the full containment of this breach."
McGonagall looked at him. The logic was sound, the tone was helpful, and frankly, she was too exhausted to argue with the one student who had actually followed protocol tonight.
"Very well, Orion," she agreed wearily. "The bathroom is abandoned anyway. Come along. Let us see the extent of this folly."
Orion fell into step beside her, offering a brief, victorious smirk to Draco before they exited the dungeons. The night was far from over, and the best part was yet to come. It really pays to be in the good graces of the strictest professor in the school.