The flickering, smokeless blue flame of the Lumos ring illuminated the small, expanded space inside Orion's trunk. He leaned back in his leather chair, surveying the stacks of parchment he had just finished duplicating with a flick of his Hawthorn wand.
He had produced fifty identical copies. The handwriting was deliberately unremarkable—standard, slanted, and according to him, entirely untraceable to the sharp, elegant script he usually employed for essays.
"Right," Orion murmured, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension of the last hour. "Phase one of the 'Nargle Remediation Project' is ready."
He tapped his fingers on the desk, the rhythmic sound echoing softly in the enchanted space.
"Dobby."
CRACK.
The house-elf appeared instantly, standing at attention near the ladder. He looked significantly less frantic than his previous appearances, the overwhelming stress of the "bad book" having evaporated.
"Master Orion calls Dobby!" the elf squeaked, bowing low.
"I do, Dobby," Orion said, his tone shifting into the crisp, professional register of a commander briefing an operative. "And firstly, I must commend you. Your surveillance of Ginny Weasley was flawless. The primary objective is secured. You performed exceptionally well."
Dobby's large, tennis-ball eyes shone with unshed tears of pride. His chest puffed out, and he stood a little taller. "Dobby is honored to serve the great Master Orion! Dobby watched the girl, and Dobby did not blink when the hissing started! Master is safe!"
"Master is very safe," Orion agreed smoothly, deciding not to mention the minor detail of almost being eaten by a millennia-old snake. "That operation is concluded. I will handle the artifact personally from here on out."
Orion stood up and walked around the desk, stopping in front of the eager elf.
"However," Orion continued, his voice dropping an octave, "I have a new, highly sensitive assignment for you. It requires the utmost stealth, precision, and... a touch of theatricality."
Dobby leaned forward, his ears twitching in anticipation. "Dobby loves theater! Dobby is very sneaky!"
"I know you are," Orion smiled slightly. He picked up the stack of duplicated parchments from the desk and held them out.
"There is a First-Year student in Ravenclaw," Orion explained, his expression hardening into cold calculation. "Her name is Luna Lovegood. She has long, blonde hair and often wears unusual jewelry."
Dobby nodded vigorously. "Dobby has seen the girl with the radish earrings! She speaks different!"
"She does," Orion confirmed. "Unfortunately, her housemates do not share her unique perspective. They have taken to bullying her. Specifically, they are stealing her personal belongings—shoes, clothes, books—and hiding them to humiliate her."
Dobby's face contorted in sudden, fierce indignation. "Bad students! Stealing from a nice girl is wrong!"
"I agree," Orion said softly, his blue eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. "And since Miss Lovegood refuses to report them, it falls to us to provide a... deterrent."
Orion handed the stack of letters to Dobby, who took them with trembling reverence.
"Here is your mission, Dobby," Orion instructed clearly. "You are to monitor the Ravenclaw girls' dormitories. Stay out of the bathrooms, please. Do not engage. Just observe. If you see anyone take an item belonging to Luna Lovegood—a pair of shoes, a scarf, a textbook—you let them take it. Do not stop them."
Dobby looked confused. "Let the bad students steal?"
"Yes," Orion nodded. "Let them commit the crime. But that very night... you are going to escalate the situation."
Orion leaned down, ensuring the elf absorbed every word.
"When the thief is asleep, I want you to go into every single girls' dormitory in Ravenclaw Tower. From the First Years all the way up to the Seventh Years. I want you to take the exact same type of item the thief stole from Luna—if she stole shoes, you take everyone's shoes. If she stole a cloak, you take everyone's cloaks."
Dobby's eyes widened to the size of saucers, realizing the sheer scale of the heist.
"And then," Orion finished, a wicked, satisfied smirk spreading across his face, "you are going to take that massive pile of stolen belongings, and you are going to stuff it under the bed of the girl who originally stole from Luna."
Dobby gasped, his hands flying to his mouth.
"Finally," Orion pointed to the stack of parchment in Dobby's hands, "you will place one of those letters directly on the thief's bedside table, where she will see it the moment she wakes up surrounded by contraband."
"Dobby understands!" the elf squealed, vibrating with excitement at the sheer, chaotic brilliance of the plan. "Dobby will be a phantom! Dobby will make a mountain of shoes under the bad girl's bed!"
"Do not get caught," Orion warned firmly. "And do not deviate from these instructions. You are dismissed."
CRACK.
The elf vanished, leaving Orion alone in the quiet study.
He walked back to his desk, sinking into the leather chair with a deep, contented sigh. He picked up his quill, twirling it idly between his fingers.
"Okay, I have to ask," Sparkle's voice broke the silence, her interface popping up with a large, glowing question mark. "What exactly did you write in that letter? Did you threaten them? Curse them? Tell them you're watching?"
"Threats are boring, Sparkle," Orion chuckled, leaning back. "Threats create martyrs. I created a psychological horror story."
He flicked his wand, summoning the original draft of the letter from the corner of the table and floating it over to the interface.
"Let me read this," Sparkle muttered digitally.
The text hovered in the air:
Hello, love of my life,
I have been admiring you from afar for quite some time. I couldn't help but notice you have a fascinating hobby: stealing other people's things. It's so... unique.
Seeing you work so hard, I decided I wanted to help you. So, I took the liberty of stealing everyone else's things in the tower and bringing them directly to you! I hope you like the collection.
There is no need to thank me. Seeing your beautiful smile is reward enough.
Yours always,
Your Secret Admirer.
Silence stretched in the expanded trunk for a full five seconds.
Then, Sparkle's waveform exploded into a frantic, jagged pattern of pure, unadulterated hilarity.
"Oh my god!" she cackled, the sound echoing loudly in Orion's mind. "You didn't! You wrote a stalker letter! You framed them as the object of a terrifying, kleptomaniac obsession!"
"Please don't insult Robin. Besides, it is the perfect crime," Orion laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. "Think about the psychology of it."
He leaned forward, analyzing the trap.
"The thief wakes up. Her entire house is screaming because their shoes are missing. She looks under her bed, and she has fifty pairs of stolen footwear. She is immediately the prime suspect for a mass theft."
"And she can't explain it!" Sparkle added gleefully.
"Exactly," Orion nodded. "She can't go to Flitwick and say, 'I only stole Luna Lovegood's shoes, I didn't steal the rest!' That admits guilt to the initial crime. And if she shows the letter to anyone... she has to admit she has a deranged stalker who breaks into dormitories to bring her 'gifts'. It isolates her. It terrifies her."
He vanished the draft with a flick of his wrist.
"She will be so utterly horrified by the prospect of 'helping' her stalker that she will never touch another student's belongings again. The Nargles," Orion smirked, "are about to experience a severe drop in morale."
"It's brilliant," Sparkle conceded, her interface shifting to a satisfied gold. "It's psychological warfare without casting a single hex. Slytherin indeed."
"It's just basic consequence management," Orion yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He was suddenly very tired. The adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours was finally catching up to him.
He stood up, extinguishing the magical lights in the trunk, and began the climb up the wooden ladder toward his dormitory.
"Goodnight, Sparkle," Orion whispered, pushing the trunk lid open and stepping out into the cold, green-tinted light of the Slytherin dungeon.
"Sweet dreams, Twilight," Sparkle teased.
Orion shut the trunk, sliding into his four-poster bed and drawing the heavy velvet curtains tight. He fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming of raining shoes and the baffled expressions of Ravenclaw bullies, completely oblivious to the fact that a small, black Niffler was currently trying to pry a brass button off his pajama top.