Dolores Umbridge lay flat on her back on the freezing, algae-slick flagstones, wheezing like a punctured set of bellows. The kinetic shockwave to her sternum had driven every molecule of oxygen from her lungs, and the sudden backward plunge had rattled her skull against the stone.
She opened her eyes, groaning weakly, staring up into the yawning, shadowy vault of the Chamber.
Orion stood unhurriedly from his chair.
He didn't rush. He casually drew his Hawthorn wand from his sleeve, flicking it in a slow, elegant upward spiral.
A silver tether of magic gripped the fallen furniture. The heavy wooden chair, with Umbridge still securely bound to it, rose slowly into the air, hovering three feet above the ground.
Umbridge let out a terrified whimper as she found herself floating horizontally. "P-please... don't—"
Orion's wand gave a slight, microscopic twitch.
The levitation snapped.
SLAM.
The chair plummeted three feet, crashing down onto the stone floor with a violent, bone-jarring CRACK. Umbridge let out a loud, pained shriek as the impact rattled her spine, her head snapping against the wooden slats.
"Oops," Orion said, his tone entirely devoid of apology. He tilted his head, watching her squirm. "My deepest apologies, Dolores. My wand control appears to be somewhat clumsy today. They truly do not teach us practical magic with enough rigor at Hogwarts these days."
He flicked his wand again, lifting the chair smoothly this time, rotating it mid-air, and planting it upright on its four legs with a heavy, definitive clatter.
Before Umbridge could draw another ragged breath, Orion slashed his wand downward.
"Adhaero."
A pulse of pale blue light sealed the base of each chair leg directly to the flagstones. The wood fused to the ancient stone, completely immovable.
Orion stepped closer, leaning down slightly, smiling with sickening sweetness.
"If only someone of your immense brilliance and bureaucratic discipline had come to teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts, Dolores," Orion mused softly. "I bet your classes would have been an absolute, undisputed favorite for so many students. You would have maintained such impeccable order. Alas... I suppose we will never know."
Umbridge stared at him through tear-streaked, soot-covered eyes, panting heavily, unable to decipher if the boy was mocking her or genuinely insane.
Orion holstered his wand and walked back to his side of the table. He pulled his chair back out, sat down comfortably, and picked the matte-black Hydro-Kinetic Pistol up from the wooden surface, balancing the metal slide across his fingers.
"Well, Dolores," Orion said, resting his elbows on the table and leveling the muzzle directly at her face once more. "Back to our game."
Umbridge flinched, shrinking back into the newly anchored chair as far as the ropes allowed.
"I hope you now possess a comprehensive, visceral understanding of the position you occupy," Orion continued, his voice dropping into a harsh, instructional register. "When I ask you a question in this room, I require the correct answer. The unvarnished truth."
He tapped the barrel against the wood.
"When I asked you why you orchestrated the Azkaban breakout, I did not need you to waste my valuable time arguing over whether you did it or not. I am not an Auror gathering evidence for a trial; I am an inquisitor. I am already entirely aware of the fact that you did it. What I require is the why. Beware of that distinction going forward, or Player Two will take another kinetic bludgeon to the chest."
Umbridge swallowed hard, her double chin trembling violently, nodding in frantic, terrified submission.
"Now then," Orion murmured, leaning back, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Upon further reflection, I realize my first question was perhaps a bit too broad. In fact, a mind of my caliber can easily deduce the primary parameters of your initial scheme without your help."
He raised a single finger.
"First and foremost: you helped Peter Pettigrew escape specifically to disrupt my Order of Merlin ceremony on Halloween."
Umbridge's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.
"I understand human nature, Dolores," Orion drawled, his lips curling into a cold, mocking smirk. "Jealousy is such a pedestrian, predictable motivator. You despised the fact that a thirteen-year-old boy was being elevated to the highest historical standing in the Ministry. You likely suggested the specific date of the ceremony to Fudge yourself, timing the prison transport so the chaos of the breakout would completely overshadow my public triumph."
He raised a second finger.
"Secondly: the deal itself. You did not assist Pettigrew out of the goodness of your blackened little heart. You handed that rat the layout, the security schedules, and the specific locations of the most prominent, dangerous Death Eaters in the maximum-security wing. And in return? You expected them to act as your private, clandestine hit squad. You thought they would eliminate your political rivals within the Ministry, clear your path to the Minister's seat, and do the dirty work you were far too cowardly to execute yourself. Ambitious. Disgusting, but strategically understandable."
Orion leaned forward, his indigo eyes piercing through her soul.
"However, Dolores... you fundamentally misunderstood the creatures you were dealing with. You severely underestimated Peter Pettigrew. The moment that cowardly rodent tasted freedom, he abandoned your little political alliance immediately and fled to find his true master. And the Lestranges? Bellatrix Lestrange would rather flay you alive, than take an order from a pink colored toad."
He stopped, his expression hardening into pure, razor-sharp focus.
"Which brings us to the anomaly."
He pointed the black gun directly between her eyes.
"Pettigrew fled. The Lestranges ignored you. But Antonin Dolohov remained engaged. Dolohov was present at the Shrieking Shack, right in the center of Hogsmeade. And you, Dolores... you were the only individual with high enough clearance in the Ministry's beast-liaison office to secretly manipulate the Dementors and point them toward that village on a scheduled student visit day."
The temperature in the Chamber seemed to plummet, the dripping water echoing like a death knell.
"So, here is your second question, Dolores," Orion whispered, his finger resting lightly on the cold trigger.
"What specific deal did you strike with Antonin Dolohov? And what was the true, underlying motive behind orchestrating a Dementor assault on a village full of children?"