The stone corridor leading to the Slytherin common room was silent, save for the echoing footsteps of Professor Sprout and Orion. The Hufflepuff Head of House walked with a brisk, protective energy, casting occasional worried glances at the boy beside her.
"Mr. Malfoy," Sprout said softly as they reached the stretch of bare wall that concealed the entrance. "Are you quite certain you do not wish to visit the Hospital Wing? Madam Pomfrey has excellent Calming Draughts. Shock can be a delayed reaction, you know."
Orion paused, adjusting his robes which were still faintly dusted with plaster from the Third Floor.
"I am quite well, Professor," Orion replied, offering her a tired but polite smile. "Adrenaline has a way of masking things, I suppose, but truly, I just feel the need for a quiet meal and my bed. The best cure for shock is normalcy."
Sprout nodded, looking relieved that the boy wasn't about to collapse. "Very sensible. A good dinner and sleep, then. Ten points to Slytherin, Orion. For... keeping your head when others lost theirs."
"Thank you, Professor."
She watched him speak the password—"Pure Ambition"—and waited until the stone door slid shut behind him before turning away.
Inside, the common room was a cauldron of nervous energy.
The moment the stone door ground open, the hum of frantic conversation cut off instantly. Every head turned. From the terrified first-years huddled near the fire to the seventh-year Prefects pacing the back wall, all eyes locked onto Orion.
"Orion!"
"Malfoy!"
"Is it true?"
The questions came like a tidal wave. Students surged forward, desperation etched on their faces. They had been sent to the dungeons with a warning of a troll, only to sit there listening to distant thuds and roars, unsure if the monster was coming for them.
"Quiet."
Orion didn't shout. He didn't raise his wand. He simply spoke the word with the absolute, unyielding authority of someone who had just fed a mountain troll to a three-headed dog and lived to eat a cupcake about it.
The effect was instantaneous. The clamor died in their throats. The silence that fell over the room was heavy, total, and delicious.
Orion stepped fully into the room. He didn't rush. He walked with a slow, deliberate cadence toward the center of the gathering, his dragon-hide boots clicking rhythmically on the stone. He felt the weight of their attention—fifty students hanging on his every movement.
This, Orion thought, suppressing a smirk, is what Draco tries so hard to manufacture. He screams for attention. I simply command it.
He stopped near the fireplace, the green flames casting long shadows across his face.
"I imagine," Orion began, his voice cool and steady, "that you are all wondering why the castle sounded like it was being demolished."
"Quirrell came bursting in!" Draco blurted out, unable to help himself. He pushed to the front of the crowd, looking pale but eager. "He screamed that there was a troll in the dungeons! And then he fainted! Dumbledore sent us all here immediately!"
Orion looked at his brother. Then he looked around the room, making eye contact with Marcus Flint and Gemma Farley.
"Think about that for a moment," Orion deadpanned. "Professor Quirrell screams 'Troll in the Dungeons.' And the Headmaster's response... is to send the entirety of Slytherin House to the dungeons."
A ripple of unease went through the room.
"Did not one of you find that... strategically unsound?" Orion raised an eyebrow. "Sending us directly into the path of the reported threat? If the troll had been here, we would have been served up like a buffet."
Flint's jaw tightened. "I... we followed orders."
"Blindly," Orion noted. "Fortunately for all of you, the intelligence was flawed. The troll was not in the dungeons. It was on the First Floor."
Shoulders slumped in relief throughout the room.
"I was with Professor Flitwick," Orion continued, weaving his narrative effortlessly. "We were... delayed. Discussing charm theory. We took a detour and intercepted the creature near the girls' bathroom."
He paused, letting the drama build.
"Professor Flitwick engaged the beast. He was magnificent. A true master of charms. He rescued Granger, who was—as usual—in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"And Potter?" Pansy asked breathlessly. "We heard from Professor Snape that Potter ran off!"
"Potter and Weasley arrived late," Orion said dismissively. "They shouted. They distracted the Professor. They nearly got everyone killed with their heroics. In the end, Flitwick neutralized the threat. The teachers are handling the cleanup now."
He dusted his hands off as if wiping away the memory.
"That is the gist of it. Granger is safe. Potter and Weasley are likely in detention for life. And we... we are safe."
He turned away from the crowd, his interest visibly evaporating.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I missed the feast, and I am starving."
He walked to the side table where the house-elves had laid out platters of sandwiches and pumpkin juice. He sat down, piled a plate high with roast beef, and began to eat with casual elegance.
The rest of the house stood there for a moment, processing the anti-climactic summary. They wanted blood and glory; they got a bureaucratic report. Slowly, the tension broke. Conversations resumed, though in hushed tones, dissecting Dumbledore's decision to send them to the "danger zone."
"Why lie?" Sparkle asked, hovering near his ear. "You could be the hero of Slytherin. 'The Boy Who Killed The Troll'. They would build a statue of you."
"Draco brags," Orion replied internally, cutting a sandwich. "Draco tells tall tales. If I say I lured a troll to its death using a stink bomb and a Cerberus, I sound like a liar or a lunatic. By giving credit to Flitwick, I seem humble. By downplaying the danger, I seem composed."
He took a bite.
"Besides," Orion's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't want them looking at me as a warrior yet. I want them angry. I want them questioning Dumbledore. And that requires a different kind of spark."
Later that night, the dormitory was dark, illuminated only by the faint, rippling green light from the lake windows.
Orion sat on the edge of his bed, already in his pajamas. Draco was sitting on his own bed across the room, looking restless.
"A troll," Draco whispered, breaking the silence. "In the school. Imagine if it had actually been in the dungeons, Orion."
Orion stopped folding his robes. He turned slowly to look at his twin. This was the moment. The seed needed to be planted in fertile soil.
"I have been imagining it, Draco," Orion said softly, his voice laced with a grim seriousness. "I was out there. I saw it. It was twelve feet tall. It had a club the size of a tree. One swing, Draco, and it smashed a marble sink to dust."
Draco swallowed hard, his eyes wide.
"If that thing had been down here..." Orion gestured to the stone door. "We were trapped. Dumbledore sent us into a dead end. No teachers. No escape route. Just us and a monster."
"He... he wouldn't do that on purpose," Draco stammered.
"Wouldn't he?" Orion challenged gently. "He's a Gryffindor, Draco. He protects his own. Where did he send the Gryffindors? To their tower. High up. Safe. Where did he send us? Down into the dark, where the troll was reported to be."
Orion stood up and walked over to Draco's bed, sitting beside him.
"And think about me," Orion added, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I was in the corridors. I could have been killed. If Flitwick hadn't been there... if I hadn't been quick..."
He let the sentence hang. The implication of a dead Malfoy heir hung heavy in the air.
"Father needs to know," Draco said suddenly, anger replacing the fear in his eyes. "He needs to know that Dumbledore endangered us. That security is a joke!"
"I agree," Orion nodded gravely. "A troll simply... waltzing in? On Halloween? It screams of negligence. The Board of Governors should be informed. Father is a Governor. He has a right to know that his sons were used as bait."
Orion stood up and patted Draco's shoulder.
"But maybe we shouldn't bother him," Orion mused, playing the devil's advocate perfectly. "He is so busy with the Ministry... perhaps we should just let it slide."
"Let it slide?" Draco looked indignant. "Are you mad? I'm writing to him. Tonight! Titan can fly it first thing in the morning!"
Orion hid his smile in the shadows.
"If you think that is best, Draco," Orion conceded. "You always did have a sharp instinct for politics. Just... make sure you emphasize the danger. How close we came. How Dumbledore's judgment failed."
"I will," Draco promised, reaching for his parchment and quill with zealous determination. "I'll tell him everything."
"Goodnight, Draco."
"Goodnight, Orion."
Orion climbed into his bed and drew the curtains. He lay back, staring up at the canopy.
Draco would write a letter filled with hyperbole and genuine fear. Lucius Malfoy would receive it at breakfast. He would read that a troll breached Hogwarts, that Dumbledore sent the Slytherins into the line of fire, and that his sons were nearly collateral damage.
Lucius would be apoplectic.
He wouldn't just send a Howler. He would storm the castle. He would rally the Board of Governors. He would make Dumbledore's life a living hell of bureaucracy and inquiries.
And while Dumbledore was busy fighting political fires and defending his job...
Orion would be free to explore the castle without the Headmaster's eye constantly watching him.
"Fireworks," Orion whispered, closing his eyes. "Just a different kind."
"Achievement Pending: Political Sabotage," Sparkle noted.
"I prefer to call it 'Parental Engagement'," Orion grinned.