The winter sunlight filtered softly through the tall arched windows of Orion's bedroom in the East Wing of Malfoy Manor, casting long shadows across the Persian rug.
Standing on a sturdy wooden easel near his desk was a brand-new, slate-black chalkboard. Orion had dispatched Kreacher to the drafty shops on the outskirts of Knockturn Alley earlier that morning with a handful of galleons to purchase it, seeing as his preferred, enchanted chalkboard remained firmly anchored within the study of his expanded trunk back in the Slytherin dormitory.
Chalk in hand, Orion stepped back, surveying the dense, geometric web of high-stakes infiltration blueprints he had sketched out.
At the top, written in bold, clean lettering, was: OPERATION: GRAND THEFT GRINGOTTS.
"Any magical obstacle can theoretically be bypassed through superior preparation, counter-curses, or sheer kinetic output," Orion murmured, his voice quiet in the spacious bedroom. "Wards can be unraveled. Locks can be picked. Guards can be stunned."
He tapped a piece of white chalk sharply against a single, circled phrase near the center of the board.
The Thief's Downfall.
"Except this," Orion sighed, shaking his head with profound irritation. "The ultimate mechanical middle finger to espionage. A subterranean waterfall enchanted to actively wash away every single trace of concealment magic, transfiguration, glamour, and mental compulsion. You cannot shield against it while riding a cart, and you cannot deceive the water."
"If you walk in wearing Polyjuice, you get washed clean and arrested at the bottom of the cavern," Sparkle pointed out from her interface, hovering lazily over his nightstand. "And you can't exactly stroll in as Orion Malfoy. Your family has vaults there; the tellers know your lineage. If a thirteen-year-old Order of Merlin holder is caught sneaking into the deepest security tier, the fallout destroys the Malfoy reputation instantly."
"And we certainly cannot use Bellatrix's likeness, or a Lestrange proxy," Orion agreed, his indigo eyes narrowing. "A Lestrange descending to their high-security vault right now would trigger an immediate, red-level lockdown. The goblins would leak it, the Aurors would swarm the lobby, and Tom Riddle would deduce in three seconds that his Horcrux is being hunted. The entire operation collapses."
He tossed the chalk into the tray, a sharp, cold smirk spreading across his face.
"Which means," Orion declared, "we need a scapegoat. A completely disposable, politically isolated target whose identity can take the fall, draw the initial scrutiny, and leave zero breadcrumbs pointing back to Wiltshire."
He turned toward the door. "Kreacher."
POP.
The ancient elf appeared instantly, bowing low. "Master Orion?"
"Ask my Aunt Bella to come to my room," Orion instructed smoothly. "Tell her I have a task that requires her specific... talents."
"Kreacher will fetch her at once," the elf rasped, vanishing with another soft pop.
Two minutes later, the heavy oak door swung open, and Bellatrix Lestrange glided into the bedroom. She looked around the opulent space with dark curiosity, her fingers twitching near the wand she kept tucked into her sleeve.
"You called for me, my clever godson?" Bellatrix purred, stepping up to the desk. "Are we going hunting?"
"Not quite yet, Aunt Bella," Orion smiled, motioning toward the chalkboard. "Though I do have a rather enticing side project in development. One that requires your delicate touch."
Bellatrix tilted her head, her wild dark curls spilling over her shoulder. "A side project?"
"I am currently working on a personal acquisition," Orion lied effortlessly, projecting an aura of dark, aristocratic ambition. "And to facilitate the later stages of my research... I require a dragon. Specifically, I intend to liberate one of the ancient beasts currently enslaved in the subterranean caverns of Gringotts."
Bellatrix froze. Her heavy-lidded eyes widened in absolute, breathless delight. A wild, unhinged cackle tore from her throat, echoing off the bedroom walls.
"A dragon?!" she laughed, clapping her hands like a child at a carnival. "You want to steal a Gringotts dragon?! Oh, Orion... you truly are a Black! The sheer, glorious audacity of it!"
"Don't worry," Orion held up a calming hand. "I am not asking you to storm the bank and wrestle a Ukrainian Ironbelly for me. The physical extraction will be handled entirely by my own contingencies."
His expression shifted into something significantly colder.
"What I do need from you... is the key to the front door. I need you to acquire our scapegoat."
Bellatrix leaned over the desk, her eyes glittering with lethal anticipation. "Name them."
"Dolores Umbridge," Orion stated flatly.
Bellatrix sneered instantly, her lip curling in pure, visceral disgust. "That vile, simpering pink toad?"
"The very same," Orion nodded. "She is currently useless to everyone, despised by her peers, and conveniently positioned with high-level Ministry clearance. I need you to capture her for me, Aunt Bella. Silently. Efficiently."
He tapped the desk, outlining the strict parameters of the assignment.
"There must be absolutely no alert raised. No broken doors, no screaming witnesses. I need you to forge or force a written message from her office indicating that she has taken an abrupt, personal leave of absence due to extreme stress. Make sure no one at the Ministry bothers to look for her for at least a week. And above all... it must look entirely disconnected from the Death Eaters, the Malfoys, or any escaped convicts. Can you manage that level of subtlety?"
Bellatrix's manic grin widened, revealing sharp, white teeth. The familiar bond thrummed with pure, devoted eagerness to please him.
"A silent snatch-and-grab of an arrogant bureaucrat?" Bellatrix whispered, leaning in until her cold breath brushed his cheek. "It will be a masterpiece, little star. She will vanish like a bad dream, and the Ministry will simply assume she is choking on her own pink tea somewhere in London."
"Excellent," Orion smiled. "Secure her in the secondary cellar beneath the old stables. Do not break her mind entirely; I need to speak with her while she is coherent. I will also require her hair for the Polyjuice."
"Consider it done," Bellatrix bowed with exaggerated, theatrical reverence, spinning on her heel and sweeping out of the bedroom to organize her hunt.
Orion watched the door click shut, exhaling a slow, steady breath.
"Okay," Sparkle's interface manifested, glowing a vibrant, approving gold. "So Umbridge is seen walking into Gringotts, draws the immediate attention of the tellers, and acts as the diversion. What about the actual vault? Even if you reach the deep caverns, you cannot use the Lestrange vault key without alerting the goblins, and the goblins have other blood-locks on the door."
"I don't need a key," Orion smirked, opening his mental Inventory grid.
He highlighted an item resting in the upper tier, acquired during his first-year heist in the Room of Requirement.
[The Skeleton Key: One-Time Use. Unlocks any physical or magical barrier, bypassing all localized locking enchantments, blood-wards, and alarms.]
"The Skeleton Key," Orion murmured, tapping his temple. "While the Umbridge diversion occupies the surface and draws the security details, Dobby will utilize elf-magic to navigate the deep tunnels. He slips through the shadows, uses the Skeleton Key on the Lestrange vault door, steps inside, and retrieves Helga Hufflepuff's Cup."
"A silent breach," Sparkle deduced, her digital eyes widening.
"Completely silent," Orion confirmed. "The Skeleton Key does not shatter the door; it unlocks it natively. No alarms trip. No goblin blood-wards flare. The door opens, the Horcrux is placed into a stasis pouch, the door is relocked, and Dobby vanishes. The goblins won't even realize the Lestrange vault was compromised until months later, long after the chaos has cleared."
Orion leaned back against his desk, crossing his legs.
"Two of the primary hurdles are officially solved. We have the scapegoat to absorb the entry liability, and we have the universal bypass to secure the prize without tripping the alarms."
He looked back at the fresh chalkboard, his eyes locking onto the final two obstacles written in harsh white chalk.
The Thief's Downfall.
The Guardian Dragon.
"Which leaves the physical descent," Orion mused, rubbing his chin. "If the cart passes through the waterfall, any Polyjuice disguise on the surface melts instantly. And at the bottom of the track... sits a chained, half-blind, fire-breathing Ukrainian Ironbelly trained to incinerate anything that moves without the sound of the Clankers."
Orion paused.
His eyes drifted down to his open Inventory screen. He scrolled past the potions, past the Grimoire of Old Magick, down into the darkest, most neglected corner of the grid.
Sitting right there, gleaming with dark leather and polished silver studs, was the reward he had furiously ordered buried after the Bellatrix incident.
[The Subjugation Collar: Forces absolute, unquestioning obedience upon any targeted magical creature.]
Orion stared at the collar.
A heavy, profound silence descended over the bedroom.
Slowly, the corner of Orion's mouth twitched. The twitch grew into a faint smirk, and the smirk blossomed into a dark, utterly breathless laugh that echoed off the mahogany furniture.
"Orion...?" Sparkle asked, sounding deeply alarmed. "Why are you looking at the dog collar like that?"
Orion raised a hand, covering his eyes as he continued to chuckle softly to himself.
"Wait," Orion whispered, the sheer, ridiculous convergence of his arsenal hitting him with the force of a Bludger. "Wait a second..."
He dropped his hand, his indigo eyes blazing with sudden, brilliant madness.
"Maybe I wasn't bluffing to Aunt Bella after all," Orion declared, staring directly at the silver-studded collar in the void.
He leaned forward, slamming his hands onto the desk, his grin widening into something truly terrifying.
"Maybe I do want a pet dragon."