The return of the student body to Hogwarts was less a joyful reunion and more a loud, chaotic collision of cold bodies and warm food.
The Great Hall was a sea of damp, snow-dusted black robes as the students filed in from the carriages. The enchanted ceiling was a brilliant, icy blue, mimicking the clear winter twilight outside, and the air was thick with the smell of roasting meats and the excited chatter of friends catching up.
Orion sat at his usual spot at the Slytherin table, leaning casually against the edge of the bench. He had a cup of Earl Grey tea in one hand and a look of profound, detached amusement on his face.
"Here we go," he murmured to himself, his eyes tracking the flow of the Gryffindors as they poured into the hall.
The lions were boisterous, laughing and shaking snow from their scarves. But as they approached their table, the mood shifted. It wasn't a sudden silence; it was a wave of localized shock that rippled outward as eyes inevitably drifted toward the towering House Point hourglasses behind the High Table.
The Gryffindor hourglass, which had been holding steady in a respectable third place before the holidays, was now a desolate, empty tube. The rubies had vanished, leaving them mathematically devastated and firmly anchored in last place.
The chatter died. The laughter evaporated.
Orion watched the realization hit. He saw Seamus Finnigan stop mid-sentence, his jaw dropping. He saw Dean Thomas rub his eyes. He saw the older students—the Prefects, the Quidditch team—exchange looks of dawning horror and sudden, furious suspicion.
And, almost in unison, the collective gaze of Gryffindor House swiveled toward the far end of the table.
Sitting isolated in the corner, looking thoroughly miserable and determinedly fascinated by their empty plates, were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger was absent, still confined to the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey's care for her feline affliction.
The connection was immediate and undeniable. The student body didn't need the details of Polyjuice Potions or stolen boomslang skin; they just needed to see the two most notorious rule-breakers in their house looking guilty.
"It's glorious," Draco hissed from beside Orion, practically vibrating with schadenfreude as he watched a seventh-year Gryffindor angrily slam his goblet onto the table next to Ron. "They're being eaten alive by their own house. I bet Wood is going to make them scrub the pitch with toothbrushes."
Orion raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his tea.
"Tempting, isn't it?" Sparkle's voice buzzed in his ear, her interface popping up to display a cartoon bucket of popcorn. "You literally have the Endless Bucket of Caramel Popcorn in your inventory. Just summon it. One handful. It would be the most aesthetically perfect disrespect."
Orion's hand twitched. The urge was strong. It would be a cinematic masterpiece of petty villainy to sit there munching caramel corn while the Chosen One was socially executed by his peers.
But he restrained himself. "Too overt," Orion thought back, setting his teacup down smoothly. "A true Slytherin enjoys the carnage without providing evidence of their enjoyment. Let them suffer in silence."
The return of the students signaled the end of Orion's holiday relaxation. The castle was full again, which meant the timeline was fully operational.
The next few days were spent in a state of hyper-focused preparation. Orion retreated to his expanded trunk-study every evening, locking the dormitory curtains tight. He wasn't practicing levitation or disarming charms anymore; he was drafting war plans.
The Chamber of Secrets was the endgame. And Orion was going to enter it on his own terms.
He stood in front of his chalkboard, the surface covered in jagged, chalky diagrams of the castle plumbing, runic arrays, and pages of notes copied directly from the Restricted Section regarding the anatomy of a Class XXXXX magical beast.
"The Diary is the key," Orion muttered, tapping the board with his wand. "I secure the Diary from Ginny Weasley, I secure the entrance. I bypass the sink, I drop down the pipe."
He paused, his eyes narrowing at the center of the board, where he had drawn a crude, massive snake.
"And then I face the Basilisk."
He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. He had no intention of escalating the conflict beyond securing the Diary. In the canon timeline, Hermione Granger's petrification was the next major event—a vital clue for Harry and Ron that led them to the truth about the plumbing.
"But I don't need Granger to get petrified," Orion reasoned. "Her attack is useless to me. It just adds unnecessary panic to the castle and puts a student in a coma for months. If I secure the Diary before the next attack, the Chamber closes. The plot ends. No one else gets hurt."
"Except maybe you," Sparkle pointed out, her interface hovering near the drawing of the snake. "If you go down there, you are stepping into a boss arena with a monster that has a literal death gaze."
Orion sighed heavily, turning back to his notes.
"That is the problem," Orion admitted, his voice tight. "I have researched the Basilisk extensively. It is an absolute nightmare of biological engineering."
He picked up a heavy, leather-bound bestiary he had smuggled out of the Restricted Section.
"Hide more difficult to penetrate than a dragon's," Orion read aloud, tracing the text. "Spells will bounce off it. A Bombarda might just annoy it. Its venom is so potent that only Phoenix tears can neutralize it—and even then, you have minutes before your blood boils."
He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the small space.
"And the gaze," Orion whispered. "The death gaze. Direct eye contact is fatal. Indirect contact via a mirror or a puddle causes petrification."
He began to pace the length of the trunk.
"I am not Harry Potter," Orion stated flatly, his blue eyes cold and analytical. "I do not have the Protagonist Halo. I cannot rely on a magical bird dropping a Sorting Hat on my head, pulling out a goblin-forged sword, and miraculously swinging it blindly into the roof of a giant snake's mouth while dodging fangs the size of my arm."
"The Sword of Gryffindor would be handy, though," Sparkle suggested.
"The Sword," Orion scoffed, "presents itself to a 'true Gryffindor' in a moment of desperate need. I am a Slytherin who actively plots against the Gryffindor Golden Boy. If I put that Hat on my head in the Chamber, it's more likely to suffocate me than give me a weapon. The sword is a non-viable option."
He stopped pacing, rubbing his temples. "I need a failsafe. A tactical advantage. I was planning on perhaps begging Fawkes for a few tears in advance. A localized healing vial. It could be handy."
Sparkle's interface flashed a confused, bright yellow.
"Wait a minute," she interrupted, her digital voice spiking with sudden bewilderment. "Hold on. Rewind the tape. What is this sudden monster extermination plan?"
Orion blinked, looking at the screen. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Sparkle said, projecting a giant question mark. "Weren't you planning on taking the Basilisk as a pet? Or at least talking to it? You have the All-Speak! You are literally the only person in the castle besides Potter who can tell it to sit and roll over. Why are you drafting combat strategies like a Witcher?"
Orion let out a long, slow breath. He walked back to the chalkboard and picked up an eraser.
"Because I am being realistic, Sparkle," Orion said, his tone dead serious.
He wiped away a stupid plan regarding spell deflection.
"Yes, I am planning on trying to talk my way through that encounter. I will absolutely use the All-Speak to attempt diplomacy with a thousand-year-old behemoth of a snake."
He turned back to the interface, his expression grim.
"But I am not naive enough to believe that a bloody, ancient killing machine bred by a megalomaniac founder is going to turn out to be some misunderstood Princess Selena who was just bored living in the plumbing and wants a companion to play Exploding Snap with."
"You don't know that!" Sparkle argued. "It's been alone for centuries! Maybe it just needs a friend!"
"This is not a fanfiction story, Sparkle," Orion countered harshly. "This is reality. And in reality, a starved, magically conditioned apex predator does not usually respond well to a twelve-year-old boy showing up in its lair, regardless of what language he speaks."
Orion slapped the eraser onto the desk.
"I am preparing myself to eliminate a nuclear monster capable of killing hundreds. And the fact that I do not possess 'Potter Luck' means I am playing this game on 'Hard Difficulty'. If diplomacy fails—and I must assume it will—I need a way to kill it that doesn't involve me getting bitten in half."
He leaned over the desk, staring at the drawing of the snake.
"We wait for the Diary," Orion decided firmly. "We secure the access. And then we see if we can find any more weaknesses for a giant snake before we step into the ring."
The planning phase was far from over. The Chamber awaited, and Orion Malfoy was determined not to be its next victim.