The atmosphere in the Great Hall the following morning was thick with a bizarre, almost suffocating mixture of awe, jealousy, and sheer, unfiltered shock.
Orion sat at the Slytherin table, his posture immaculately relaxed, casually slicing a piece of melon. He could feel the weight of a hundred stares pressing against his back.
From the Gryffindor table, the scrutiny was particularly intense. Ron Weasley's glare felt hot enough to melt solid stone; it was boring a hole directly into Orion's skull. The jealousy was palpable, radiating off the redhead in waves. The fact that Orion's historic accolade—an Order of Merlin, First Class—was directly tied to the unmasking of the pet rat Ron had carried in his pocket for years was a jagged, salty knife twisted into a very deep, very fresh wound.
"He looks like he wants to throw his porridge at you," Pansy noted, following Orion's line of sight and sniffing disdainfully. "It's so terribly undignified."
"Let him stare, Pansy," Orion murmured, taking a bite of melon. "Jealousy is a heavy burden for those who refuse to improve themselves. I do not care."
And he genuinely didn't. The opinions of the general student body were irrelevant noise. The only opinions that carried any structural weight in his personal matrix were those of the incredibly small, highly selective circle of people he tolerated.
Luna Lovegood, for instance, had simply drifted past him in the corridor earlier that morning, offered a serene, airy smile, and said, "Congratulations on your shiny medal, Orion. I hope it doesn't attract too many Nargles. Robin would probably love it though." He had offered a genuine smile in return. She was reliably, wonderfully chill.
Draco, however, was a different story entirely.
For the entire first half of the day, Draco had been uncharacteristically, terrifyingly quiet. He didn't boast. He didn't strut. He didn't even insult a single Gryffindor. He walked beside Orion like a tightly coiled spring, constantly casting sidelong, conflicted glances at his twin.
Draco was experiencing a massive, system-crashing existential crisis. On one hand, he was fiercely competitive; his brother had just achieved a level of public glory and historical significance that Draco could barely comprehend, let alone match. On the other hand, the glory was attached to the Malfoy name. It was a paradox of pureblood vanity and sibling rivalry.
Draco was so distracted, in fact, that he didn't even notice when Robin, utilizing the silence of the library, slithered up the leg of Draco's chair, expertly unlatched his inner robe pocket, and made off with a newly owl-ordered, solid-gold hair comb.
"Target secured," Sparkle whispered as Robin dove back into Orion's expanded pocket with a triumphant squeak. "He didn't even blink. You could probably steal his shoes right now."
"I prefer him distracted," Orion thought back, patting his pocket. "It gives me peace."
The crisis finally broke that evening.
Orion stepped through the concealed stone door into the Slytherin common room after dinner. He stopped just inside the entrance, taking in the scene.
Draco was standing on top of a heavy, leather sofa, entirely commanding the attention of a large crowd of younger students, and even a few skeptical fifth-years. His earlier silence had completely evaporated, replaced by a booming, aggressive arrogance.
"...and you shouldn't be surprised!" Draco shouted, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten apple. "The Malfoys are great! We have always been great! It's in our blood! My brother is the youngest Order of Merlin holder in history, and it just proves that when a Malfoy decides to act, the entire Ministry has to bow down and give us a medal for it!"
Crabbe and Goyle were nodding furiously, practically glowing with borrowed pride.
Orion leaned against the stone archway, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face.
He's an idiot, Orion mused affectionately, watching his brother practically vibrate with familial pride. He is loud, vain, and his logic is terribly flawed. But he really does care for his family. He can't handle being overshadowed, so he just co-opts the shadow and claims it belongs to the whole house.
It was a comforting, familiar dynamic.
Wednesday arrived with the frantic, organizational energy of a military deployment.
Tomorrow was Halloween. Tomorrow was the ceremony at the Ministry.
Snape had cornered Orion after Potions. "Your mother will be arriving via the private Floo connection in my office at eight o'clock," Snape instructed, his voice clipped. "You will return to Malfoy Manor with her, get a decent night's sleep, and prepare your formal attire. You will travel directly to the Ministry Atrium tomorrow afternoon. Do not be late."
Orion had nodded politely. "I will go pick up Robin from the dorm, and gather a few essentials. I shall see you at eight, Professor."
However, instead of heading straight for the dungeons, Orion took a detour.
He needed to stretch his wings. Literally.
He made his way out of the castle, wrapping his thick cloak tightly against the biting, late-October wind. He avoided the main paths, slipping through the shadows toward the desolate, rocky shoreline of the Black Lake.
Over the past two months, Orion had meticulously practiced his Animagus transformation in the privacy of his expanded trunk and sometimes in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. The shift from boy to Mute Swan was now seamless, a rapid, almost instinctual flow of magic that required barely a conscious thought.
The only remaining frustration was the lack of aerial testing.
While his new form was incredibly handsome—sleek, powerful, and undeniably regal—it possessed a glaring, tactical flaw: it stuck out like a sore thumb.
Even in the pitch black of night, his pristine white feathers seemed to glow, catching the moonlight like a beacon. Orion knew that Mute Swans were native to Europe, and found in areas of Scotland too, but they were also migratory birds. If he was spotted circling the Astronomy Tower or gliding over the Forbidden Forest, it would raise immediate alarms. The last thing he needed was Hagrid trying to capture him for a 'conservation effort', or worse, a trigger-happy student taking a shot at a strange glowing bird.
A little bit of swimming, however, close to the reeds and the shadows of the shoreline, was an acceptable risk.
He checked the perimeter. The shoreline was deserted. He focused his intent.
The transformation took two seconds. The dark robes melted away, replaced by the heavy, waterproof down of the swan. He waddled awkwardly across the pebbles—a brief moment of profound indignity—and slid smoothly into the freezing, dark water of the lake.
The chill didn't penetrate the feathers. He paddled gracefully, enjoying the sheer, muscular power of the form, the rhythmic, effortless glide across the surface.
"Well," Sparkle's voice hummed in his avian mind, her interface a faint, blue overlay on his widened peripheral vision. "Tomorrow, this quest officially ends, huh? The medal is the final boss drop of the Pettigrew arc."
Yes, Orion replied, dipping his long neck to splash some water over his back. A clean, highly profitable conclusion.
"Which means," Sparkle continued, sounding incredibly eager, "for the rest of the year, you can focus entirely on the Horcruxes."
True, Orion agreed, paddling toward a thick patch of reeds near a curve in the shoreline. There were detached thoughts circulating his mind as he moved around.
As he glided past the reeds, his sharp, avian eyes caught movement on the shore.
Someone was walking along the rocky boundary of the lake.
It was a small figure, bundled in a thick, lumpy sweater and a long, colorful scarf that dragged on the ground. Thankfully, the girl was wearing shoes today, albeit a pair of mismatched, brightly colored boots that clashed horribly with her Ravenclaw colors.
Luna Lovegood.
She was wandering slowly, occasionally stooping to inspect a particularly interesting rock or a patch of frost.
Orion paddled silently, keeping to the shadows, intending to let her pass. But Luna's gaze drifted out over the dark water. She spotted the glowing white shape almost immediately.
She didn't run. She didn't look for a teacher. She simply turned her path, walking directly toward the edge of the water where Orion was floating.
She stopped a few feet away, her breath pluming in the cold air. She raised a hand, her radish earrings bobbing, and offered a small, cheerful wave.
Orion hesitated. His cover was flawless. She had no reason to suspect the swan was anything but a swan. But the sheer, uncanny perception the girl possessed always gave him pause.
He paddled slowly forward, breaking from the shadows, gliding until he reached the shallow water near her boots.
Luna smiled, her silvery eyes reflecting the pale sky.
"Hello, Orion," Luna said softly, her voice carrying over the wind. She didn't sound surprised. She sounded entirely, perfectly certain. "You look very handsome today."