The next few days were a masterclass in meticulous, paranoid preparation.
Orion treated the upcoming confrontation with the Chamber of Secrets not as an adventure, but as a military operation. He spent every spare moment in the library, his Ring of the Midnight Reader glowing softly as he scoured bestiaries for obscure references to serpentine biology.
He found surprisingly little. Basilisks were bred, not born, and the specifics of their creation—hatching a chicken egg under a toad—were heavily censored. What little information existed corroborated his fears: impenetrable scales, lethal venom, and a gaze that severed the soul from the body.
"I need a backup plan," Orion decided one blustery Thursday afternoon. "Or rather, a localized distraction that doesn't involve me throwing myself at its fangs."
He closed a heavy tome on Venomous Serpents of Antiquity and stood up. He knew exactly where to find the raw materials for a diversion.
Orion wrapped his heavy, silver-lined winter cloak tightly around himself and stepped out of the castle's heavy oak doors. The grounds were slick with a recent, icy rain, the grass crunching slightly under his dragon-hide boots.
He set off down the slope toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the smoke from Hagrid's chimney curling into the grey sky.
As he approached the hut, Orion noted that the usually welcoming atmosphere of the gamekeeper's home was absent. The pumpkins in the patch looked neglected, and Fang was not barking happily at the door.
Orion stepped up to the massive wooden door and knocked firmly.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
A heavy silence followed. Then, the sound of shuffling feet and the unmistakable clack-clack of a heavy latch sliding back. The door swung open a fraction of an inch.
Through the crack, staring down at him with a mixture of suspicion and profound exhaustion, was Rubeus Hagrid. More importantly, filling the gap in the doorway was the dark, polished wood and lethal iron of a massive, loaded crossbow. The bolt was pointed squarely at Orion's chest.
"What d'yeh want, Malfoy?" Hagrid growled, his beetle-black eyes narrowed under his tangled hair.
Orion didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He looked at the crossbow, then up at Hagrid's face, a polite, almost gentle smile playing on his lips.
He knew Hagrid. He knew the man's heart. Despite the towering size and the menacing weapon, Hagrid was fundamentally incapable of shooting a child in cold blood. The man would require triple-verified, indisputable proof from Dumbledore himself that the twelve-year-old standing on his porch was Lord Voldemort reincarnate before he even considered pulling the trigger. And even then, he would probably hesitate and try to offer the Dark Lord a rock cake first.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hagrid," Orion said smoothly, his voice lacking any of the typical Malfoy sneer. "I apologize for the intrusion. I merely wished to visit."
"Visit?" Hagrid grunted, lowering the crossbow an inch, though he didn't open the door any wider. "I ain't got time fer visits from Slytherins. Specially not after what happened with... well, never mind that."
"I heard about the roosters," Orion said softly, cutting to the heart of the matter.
Hagrid froze. The suspicion in his eyes flickered, replaced by a deep, genuine sadness.
"I heard they were found dead," Orion continued, his tone sympathetic. "I... I am someone who has a great appreciation for animals, Mr. Hagrid. Magical and otherwise. Finding them slaughtered like that... it is a senseless cruelty. I do not like it when creatures are harmed for no reason."
Hagrid stared at him, clearly struggling to reconcile the name 'Malfoy' with the empathy in the boy's voice.
To sell the point, Orion didn't say another word. He simply reached into the expanded pocket of his cloak and whistled a low, sharp note.
A small, furry black head popped out instantly. Robin the Niffler sniffed the cold air, his beady eyes locking onto the shiny brass fittings of Hagrid's crossbow.
"Shiny!" Robin squeaked happily.
Hagrid's jaw dropped. The crossbow lowered completely, pointing at the dirt.
"Is that... is that a Niffler?" Hagrid gasped, his whole demeanor transforming from guarded hostility to absolute, childlike delight.
"This is Robin," Orion introduced, gently pulling the creature out and letting it perch on his arm. "He is my... research assistant. And occasionally, a terrible menace."
Hagrid pushed the door fully open, a massive, genuine grin breaking through his tangled beard. "A Niffler! I ain't seen a tame one in years! Usually, they're tearin' up Gringotts or burrowin' under manors!"
"He tries," Orion smiled. "May we come in? It's rather brisk out here."
"Oh! Right! Get in, get in!" Hagrid ushered them inside, leaning the crossbow against the wall. Fang immediately bounded over, drooling heavily, but Orion simply scratched the massive boarhound behind the ears while Robin eyed the dog's shiny metal collar tags.
Within five minutes, Orion was seated at the massive wooden table, a mug of tea the size of a bucket in front of him. Robin was completely unsupervised, currently scurrying across the tabletop, eagerly collecting a small pile of brass buttons, a tarnished silver spoon, and a shiny pebble Hagrid had found in the forest.
Hagrid was watching the Niffler with the same adoring expression he usually reserved for lethal dragons.
"He's a beauty, he is," Hagrid chuckled as Robin tried to stuff the spoon into his pouch, realized it was too long, and indignantly threw it back on the table. "Got a good coat on 'im."
"He's well-fed," Orion agreed, sipping his tea. He smoothly steered the conversation back to his objective. "I was wondering about your flock, Mr. Hagrid. The ones that were killed. Were they a specific magical breed? Augureys? Or perhaps something rarer?"
Hagrid's smile faded, his massive shoulders slumping. "No, no. Just normal roosters. Rhode Island Reds, mostly. Good, strong birds. Raised 'em from chicks."
"I see," Orion nodded thoughtfully, tracing the rim of his mug. "It just seems so strange. Why would anyone target mundane chickens? Nothing makes sense."
He looked around the hut, admiring the various pelts and oddities hanging from the ceiling.
"Whatever the case might be, even non-magical animals possess a certain... charm," Orion noted, his voice warm. "You don't need to breathe fire to be magnificent."
"Exactly!" Hagrid boomed, slamming a hand on the table that made Robin jump and drop a button. "That's what I always say! Look at elephants, fer instance! Muggles have 'em. No magic at all, but they're massive! Majestic! Could stomp a troll flat if they wanted to!"
"Their sheer size commands respect," Orion agreed smoothly, wondering where Hagrid heard or saw an elephant. "A perfect example of nature's engineering."
They spent the next hour discussing the merits of mundane beasts versus magical ones. Orion listened attentively, occasionally injecting a thoughtful observation that kept Hagrid enthusiastically engaged. It was a masterclass in building rapport.
By the time the shadows outside the hut lengthened into evening, Orion stood up.
"I should return to the castle, Mr. Hagrid. Curfew is approaching, and the corridors are... less than welcoming these days."
"Aye, they are," Hagrid sighed, walking him to the door. "You be careful, Orion. Keep that Niffler safe. He's a good lad."
"I will," Orion promised.
Before he left, he reached over to Robin, who was currently trying to discreetly waddle toward the door looking significantly rounder than when he had arrived.
Orion picked the Niffler up, flipped him upside down, and gave him a gentle shake.
Clatter, clink, thud.
A pile of buttons, the silver spoon, a spare key, and a shiny piece of quartz tumbled out of the bottomless pouch onto the table.
Robin let out a squeak of profound betrayal. "Thief! You steal my hard work!"
"Not yours," Orion corrected softly, stuffing the indignant Niffler back into his pocket. He looked up at Hagrid, offering a small smile. "I apologize. He struggles with the concept of personal property."
Hagrid bellowed with laughter, slapping his thigh. "Don't worry 'bout it! Bring him back anytime!"
"I will. Good evening."
Orion stepped out into the crisp, darkening air. The visit had been a success. His relation with Hagrid was still on positive note and most importantly, he now knew he had a task of securing roosters since he now knew the ones with Hagrid were dead.
He began the walk up the sloping lawn toward the castle lights.
As he neared the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the treeline a wall of black against the twilight, a flash of pale color caught his eye.
Orion paused, his hand instinctively resting on his wand holster. He looked toward the shadow of a massive, ancient oak tree just inside the forest boundary.
Someone was there.
It wasn't a teacher patrolling, and it certainly wasn't Hagrid. It was a student.
A young girl, possessing long, straggly, dirty-blonde hair that glowed faintly in the dying light, was standing barefoot in the freezing grass. She wore her Ravenclaw robes loosely, looking entirely unbothered by the biting cold.
In her outstretched hand, she held a bright red apple.
Orion watched, fascinated, as a skeletal, leathery head emerged from the deep shadows of the forest. The Thestral—its white eyes unblinking—stepped forward, its jagged wings folded tight against its flanks.
It didn't look aggressive. It looked... gentle.
The beast lowered its terrifying head and took the apple from the girl's palm with surprising delicacy, its sharp teeth avoiding her skin entirely.
The girl smiled, a serene, dreamy expression on her face, and patted the creature's bony snout.
"Luna Lovegood," Orion whispered into the quiet evening, recognizing the First-Year Ravenclaw from the Sorting feast.
He stood perfectly still, watching the girl who could see death feed an apple to a monster, realizing that he wasn't the only one in this castle who understood the beauty of the things that lurked in the dark.