The week following the Troll Incident—or the "Great Quirrell Vanishing Act"—settled into a rhythm of deceptive peace. For most of the school, it was business as usual. Draco spent every spare moment at the Quidditch pitch, shivering in the stands as he watched the Slytherin team practice, his eyes tracking every movement of the Snitch with zealous devotion. Orion mentally wished him luck, knowing that the absence of Harry Potter in the air meant Draco actually stood a chance of claiming the spotlight next year.
For Orion, however, peace was just another word for stagnation.
He attended his lectures, answered questions with perfect precision, earned points for Slytherin like he was collecting frequent flyer miles, and maintained his impeccable façade. But underneath, the engineer's mind was itching. He needed a project. He needed a breakthrough.
And he had failed.
It was Wednesday evening. The library was bathed in the warm, dusty orange of sunset filtering through the high windows. Orion sat at his usual table, slumped over The Theoretical Framework of Matter Creation. He looked, for the first time since his reincarnation, genuinely defeated.
"Nothing," Orion sighed, resting his chin on his folded arms. "Absolutely nothing. No dark plot. No hidden danger. The castle is just... a school."
"Boo hoo," Sparkle's voice dripped with digital sarcasm. "Your life is peaceful and luxurious. How tragic. Want me to play a sad violin?"
"Shut up, Sparkle," Orion muttered. "I told you. Without a central conflict, I have no benchmark. How do I get a Tier 3 achievement for 'Attending Transfiguration on Time'?"
"You don't," she confirmed. "You get it for punching a god. Or saving a species. Speaking of saving things... why are we here? The library is an achievement dead zone."
"I am here," Orion said, straightening up and glaring at the open book, "because of Avis."
The bird-conjuring spell. His white whale.
"I tried again yesterday," Orion confessed quietly. "Nothing. Not even a feather this time. Just a puff of blue smoke that smelled like burning chicken."
"I told you," Sparkle sighed, sounding bored. "Conjuration is hard. Your magical pathways aren't ready. It's a hardware issue, Orion. You're running First Year software on a powerful CPU, but the drivers are missing. Give it time."
"Time is not the issue," Orion argued, flipping a page aggressively. "I have a conjecture. A counter-point to your hardware theory."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"In the canon timeline—Draco's timeline—in our Second Year, during the Dueling Club... Draco casts Serpensortia. He conjures a live snake. A fully formed, venomous snake. At age twelve."
Orion tapped the table.
"Draco is... competent. But he is not a genius. If my brother, who currently thinks poker involves bluffing with a pair of twos, can conjure a complex reptile in a year's time... then surely, I should be able to conjure a few stupid canaries now."
"Maybe snakes are easier?" Sparkle suggested. "Less feathers. More tube-shaped."
"Maybe," Orion grunted. "Or maybe I'm missing a fundamental component of the intent. I need to understand the bridge between 'nothing' and 'something'."
He closed the book with a heavy thud. It wasn't helping. The theory was sound; his execution was flawed.
He stood up, intending to return the book to the shelf and find something—anything—that might explain the nuances of aviary conjuration.
As he moved toward the shelves, he paused.
Two rows down, huddled behind a stack of Hogwarts: A History, were two heads. One messy black, one fiery red.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
They weren't reading. They were staring. At him.
Orion didn't react visibly, but internally, he groaned.
"Leeches," Orion thought. "Why are they staring? Do they think I'm secretly casting dark spells on the library books? Or are they just fascinated by my hair routine?"
"They suspect you," Sparkle noted. "You saved them, but you also acted suspicious as hell doing it. Potter has a hero complex; he needs a villain. Maybe, he thinks you are a nascent Dark Lord, looking to grow your power here at Hogwarts."
"Flattering," Orion deadpanned.
He slid Theoretical Framework back onto the shelf, pulled out The intricacies of Magical Biology, and walked back to his table. He ignored the Gryffindors completely, sitting down with an air of profound boredom.
He had barely opened the book when a shadow fell across his page.
Orion looked up.
Standing in front of him, clutching a bag like a shield, was Hermione Granger. Behind her, at a "safe" distance near the stacks, Ron's face was a mask of sheer horror, as if he expected Orion to turn Hermione into a newt any second. Harry looked wary, hand twitching toward his pocket.
Hermione was fidgeting. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish.
Finally, she blurted it out.
"Thank you."
The words rushed out in a single breath.
Orion stared at her. He blinked slowly. "Excuse me?"
"For Halloween," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly but gaining volume. "For... for distracting the troll. For leading it away from us."
She took a breath, steeling herself. "So... thank you. For saving my life."
Orion looked at her. Really looked at her. The frizzy hair, the large front teeth, the terrified yet determined expression.
"It's fine," Orion said, his tone dismissive as he looked back down at his book. "Don't mention it. Literally, don't."
Hermione didn't leave. She stood there, chewing her lip.
"But... why?" she asked quietly.
Orion stopped reading. He looked up again, an eyebrow raised. "Why what?"
"Why help me?" Hermione asked, clutching her bag tighter. "I mean... you're a Malfoy. Ron says your family hates... well, people like me. Muggleborns. And you're in Slytherin. You're supposed to hate Gryffindors."
She frowned, confusion warring with her logical mind. "Everyone says you're... aloof. Mean, even. But you saved Neville with that charm... and you saved me... and..."
Orion sighed. It was a long, suffering sound. He closed Magical Biology, marking the page with a silver slip.
He turned in his chair to fully face her.
"What gave you the impression," Orion asked coolly, "that I care enough about your lineage to hate you?"
Hermione blinked, taken aback. "I... well... your brother calls people—"
"Draco is loud," Orion interrupted smoothly. "Draco repeats what he hears at dinner parties because he thinks it makes him sound important. I am not Draco."
He leaned back, crossing his legs.
"You assume I hate Muggleborns because of a last name. You assume I hate Gryffindors because of a scarf color."
He gestured vaguely toward Potter and Weasley, lurking in the background.
"I don't look at you with malice, Granger. I don't look at you with kindness either. To be perfectly honest... I barely look at you at all."
Hermione's face flushed pink. It wasn't the reaction she expected. Indifference was somehow more cutting than hatred.
"I am not an advocate of my father's prejudices," Orion stated calmly. "His worldview is antiquated and inefficient. Hating talent because of blood status is a waste of resources."
He pointed a finger at her.
"You are a brilliant witch, Granger. Annoying? Yes. A know-it-all? Absolutely. But capable. Neville Longbottom is a walking disaster zone with a wand, but his Herbology skills are commendable."
He smirked, a sharp, arrogant expression.
"And I? I am better than all of you. Not because of my blood, or my money, or my house. Simply because, I am Orion Malfoy."
He stood up, gathering his books.
"So, don't mistake my competence for benevolence, Granger. I saved you because a troll rampage is messy and I prefer my school year to be orderly. That is all."
He turned and walked away, his robes swishing.
He left Hermione standing there in the middle of the library, staring after him, her mouth slightly open.
"Wow," Sparkle whispered. "Brutal honesty mixed with narcissism. The 'I'm not racist, I just think I'm god' defense. Bold move."
"It shuts down the 'friendship' arc," Orion thought as he headed for the exit. "She won't try to bond with me now. She'll just be confused. And confusion is better than attachment."
As he passed the shelves, Harry and Ron ducked back.
"See?" Ron whispered loudly. "Told you he was a git."
"He saved her, though," Harry muttered, watching Orion go. "He's a git... but a confusing one."
Orion exited the library, the quiet sanctuary giving way to the bustling corridor.
"You still have the Avis problem," Sparkle reminded him.
"I know," Orion scowled. "Back to the drawing board. I refuse to let Draco beat me to Conjuration."
He headed for the dungeons, the weight of his boredom and his failure pressing down on him, eager to find a solution to both. Or at least, a new target for his chaos.