The following week at Malfoy Manor was characterized by a series of muffled, concussive sounds that, had they been audible to the general household, would have sounded suspiciously like a small war breaking out in the East Wing.
Thankfully, Orion was a pragmatist. Before he had even attempted to lift his new, temporary, and entirely hateful wand, he had summoned Dobby.
"Dobby," Orion had said, holding the vibrating Blackthorn stick between two fingers as if it were a radioactive isotope. "I am going to practice magic. It is likely going to be loud. It is likely going to be destructive. I need you to place a dampening ward around my room. Heavy duty. If a dragon roars in here, I want the people in the hallway to hear a pin drop."
Dobby, ever the enabler of Malfoy chaos, had nodded so vigorously his ears flapped. "Dobby can do! Dobby will make the silence thick like pudding!"
And so, the silence in the hallway remained thick like pudding. But inside Orion's room, it was absolute bedlam.
Orion stood in the center of his room, his emerald robes discarded in favor of a simple silk shirt and trousers, sweat beading on his forehead. The room looked like a poltergeist had thrown a rave. Several pillows were exploded, feathers drifting lazily in the air. One of the curtains was smoking slightly.
"Okay," Orion panted, glaring at the wand in his hand. "Let's try this again. You stubborn, petrified twig."
The wand—Blackthorn, rigid, and apparently possessed by the spirit of a disgruntled goblin—buzzed angrily in his palm. It didn't feel like an extension of his arm. It felt like holding a live snake that desperately wanted to bite him.
"Just a simple lighting charm," Orion muttered. "First year stuff. Toddler stuff. Come on."
He assumed the stance. He visualized the light. He pushed his magic—that deep, indigo ocean of power—through his arm and into the wood.
"Lumos."
He expected a steady, beam of light.
What he got was a seizure-inducing strobe effect.
The tip of the wand exploded with a blinding, flashing strobe of multicolored lights—red, green, purple, yellow—pulsing at a speed that would have banned a Japanese cartoon.
"Gah!" Orion shielded his eyes, stumbling back. "Stop! Nox! Nox, you infernal disco stick!"
The wand ignored him, cycling through the colors faster, accompanied by a low, rhythmic thrumming sound that sounded suspiciously like a bass drop.
"Nox!" Orion shouted, channelling his frustration into the command.
The light died instantly, plunging the room back into gloom.
Orion stood there, breathing heavy, spots dancing in his vision.
"Well," Sparkle's voice cut through the silence, her interface glowing comfortably in the dark. "If you ever want to start a rave in the dungeons, you're all set. Achievement Unlocked: Epilepsy Warning. Just kidding. No achievement for incompetence."
"It's not incompetence," Orion hissed, throwing himself onto his bed and glaring at the wand. "It's sabotage. This thing hates me. It actively fights the magical flow. I push the magic straight, it twists it. I ask for light, it gives me a light show."
He thought about the other spells he had tried.
Earlier that morning, he had attempted Wingardium Leviosa on a heavy crystal paperweight. He had done the swish and flick perfectly. He had enunciated the vowels with the precision of a choir boy.
The paperweight hadn't floated. It had launched.
It had shot off the desk with the velocity of a cannonball, smashed into the opposite wall, ricocheted off the wardrobe, and nearly taken Orion's ear off before embedding itself in the mattress.
"I fear for my life," Orion admitted to the ceiling. "I actually fear for my physical safety using this thing."
He held the wand up to the light. It looked innocent enough, but he could feel the resistance. It was like trying to push two magnets together at the wrong poles.
"I have a new hero," Orion said solemnly. "Neville Longbottom."
"The round boy with the toad?" Sparkle asked.
"The absolute unit of a wizard," Orion corrected. "In the stories, he uses his father's wand for five years. Five years, Sparkle. I've used this mismatched heirloom for three days, and I'm ready to snap it in half and go live as a Muggle. If Neville dealt with this level of resistance—this constant, active fighting against his will—and still managed to pass his classes? The kid is a titan, granted his wand was only mismatched and not harming him. He's running a marathon with ankle weights though, while everyone else is in a car."
"Or he's just really stubborn," Sparkle suggested.
"Stubbornness is a magical quality," Orion mused. "But this... this is dangerous."
He sat up. He had planned to try the Bluebell Flames charm today. Incendio was too dangerous, but the bluebell flames were supposed to be safe, cool fire. Portable heat.
But looking at the smoking curtain and remembering the projectile paperweight, Orion had a vision. He saw himself casting the bluebell flames. He saw the wand interpreting "cool fire" as "napalm." He saw Malfoy Manor burning down while Lucius stood on the lawn, looking very disappointed.
"No," Orion decided, shoving the wand into his bedside drawer and slamming it shut. "No more spells. Not until I get my own wand. This isn't practice; it's Russian Roulette."
"So you're quitting?" Sparkle taunted. "Where's the chaotic spirit? Where's the 'hold my butterbeer' attitude?"
"There is a fine line between chaos and suicide, Sparkle," Orion said, flopping back onto the pillows. "I prefer my chaos controlled. Or at least, survivable."
The next few days were a study in boredom.
Without the ability to practice magic, and with the "training wand" effectively retired to the drawer of shame, Orion found himself drifting through the manor like a ghost.
He tried to hunt for achievements. He really did.
He walked backwards through the hallways for an hour.
Result: A stiff neck and a confused stare from a portrait of a lady in a bonnet. No achievement.
He tried to balance a spoon on his nose during lunch while Lucius was reading the Prophet.
Result: The spoon fell into his soup, splashing broth on his shirt. Lucius looked over the paper, sighed, and said nothing. No achievement.
He considered the peacocks. The white, albino peacocks that strutted around the fountain like they owned the postcode.
He stood on the balcony, watching them.
"If I jump down there," Orion calculated, "and chase one. Maybe try to ride it?"
"Tier 1: Rodeo Clown," Sparkle suggested. "Maybe Tier 2: Animal Abuse. I wouldn't recommend the second one."
"If Father catches me terrorizing his prize birds, he won't just take the wand," Orion muttered. "He'll lock me in the study with Aunt Poison-Tea's portrait. And the birds have beaks. Sharp ones."
He turned away from the balcony. "Risk too high. Reward too uncertain."
He retreated to the library.
If he couldn't do magic, he would read about it. Again.
But even the library was losing its luster. He sat in the high-backed chair, the same book on Transubstantial Charms open in front of him. But he wasn't reading. He was staring at the dust motes.
Sparkle's interface hovered nearby, displaying a screensaver of bouncing geometric shapes.
"You know," Orion said, breaking the silence. "You could give me a hint. Just one. I'm dying here."
The interface didn't change.
"I ignored you yesterday," Orion reminded her. "I learned my lesson. I didn't throw a book at you. That's growth. Reward my growth."
"Growth is its own reward," Sparkle said in a monotone voice, clearly mimicking a bad motivational poster.
"You're useless," Orion sighed.
He needed stimulation. He needed a project.
He opened his Inventory. The grid appeared. There, sitting next to the empty slot where the apple juice used to be, was the deck of cards.
[ Self-Shuffling Cards (Cheat-Enabled) ]
Orion smiled. A slow, predatory smile.
"Draco," he whispered.
Finding Draco was easy. He was in the broom shed, polishing his Comet 260 for the third time that day, probably imagining performing the intricacies of the Wronski Feint—a move he probably doesn't fully understand, let alone be able to execute.
"Draco!" Orion called out, striding into the shed. "Throw away the broom. We need to bond."
Draco looked up, startled. "Bond? I was just planning to fly around the manor for a while."
"You can fly later," Orion said. "Now pay attention to me."
Draco nodded imperiously.
"What is it?" Draco asked, putting down his polishing rag. "Did you figure out another wandless trick?"
"Better," Orion said, pulling the deck of cards from his pocket with a flourish. "I am going to teach you a skill that is vital for our survival at Hogwarts."
Draco's eyes widened. "Dark Arts? Occlumency?"
"Poker," Orion said solemnly.
Draco blinked. "Poke-her? Is that a creature?"
"Sit down, Draco."
They sat on a couple of upturned crates. Orion tapped the deck twice. The cards sprang to life, shuffling themselves in a mesmerizing waterfall of paper.
Draco gasped. "Wicked."
"It's a Special game," Orion explained, dealing five cards to each of them. "People play it to pass time. It's a game of strategy, psychology, and deception. Skills a Malfoy should possess."
"Deception," Draco nodded seriously. "I am good at that. I told Mother I brushed my teeth last night, but I didn't."
"We have work to do," Orion muttered. "Okay. Look at your cards. Do not show me."
Draco immediately turned his cards around so the backs were facing him and the faces were facing Orion.
"Draco," Orion sighed. "Other way."
"Right." Draco turned them. He stared at them intensely. "I have a three, a six, a King... oh, look, the King has a sword! Like me!"
"Don't tell me what you have!" Orion rubbed his temples. "The goal is to make the best combination. Pairs. Three of a kind. A flush."
He spent the next hour explaining the hierarchy of hands. He explained the betting. He explained the concept of the 'Bluff'.
"So," Orion summarized, holding a hand that he had magically stacked to be a Royal Flush, just to see if Draco would notice. "If you have bad cards, you can pretend you have good cards. You bet high. You act confident. You make me fold."
"Lying," Draco said.
"Strategic misrepresentation," Orion corrected. "Now. Let's play a hand. We'll bet... these Bertie Bott's Beans." He poured a bag of jellybeans he brought with him onto the crate.
The cards shuffled. Orion dealt.
Orion looked at his hand. A pair of twos and nothing else. Garbage.
He looked at Draco.
Draco was staring at his cards with his mouth open. His eyes were wide. He was practically vibrating. He looked up at Orion, grinned like a maniac, and wiggled his eyebrows.
"I bet everything!" Draco shouted, pushing his entire pile of beans into the center.
Orion stared at him. "Draco. You're supposed to be subtle. You're practically holding a sign that says 'I have amazing cards'."
"I am bluffing!" Draco winked. Loudly. With both eyes.
"That's not... okay." Orion folded. "I fold. Show me."
Draco slammed his cards down. "Ha! Read them and weep, brother!"
Orion looked.
A four of hearts. A seven of spades. A two of diamonds. A Jack of clubs. And a nine of hearts.
Orion stared at the cards. He stared at Draco.
"Draco," Orion said slowly. "You have nothing. You have high card Jack. That is literally garbage."
"But I have a Jack!" Draco pointed. "Jacks are powerful! They serve the King! They are more powerful than two."
"That's not how the game works!" Orion groaned. "You just bet all your beans on a hand that would lose to a pair of twos!"
"But I won!" Draco scooped up the beans. "I bluffed you! I used the... strategic miss-thingy!"
"You didn't bluff me! You didn't know what you had!"
"Same thing!" Draco popped a bean into his mouth. "Mmm. Earwax. You want to play again? I bet I can get a King this time."
Orion looked at his brother. He looked at the self-shuffling cards, which seemed to be trembling with secondhand embarrassment. Technically, the deck had given him a winning hand as the cheat-enabled had said.
Draco didn't understand probability. He didn't understand value. To Draco, a "King" was good because kings were royalty, and Malfoys liked royalty. A "two" was bad because it was a small number. He was playing based on social hierarchy, not math.
"I give up," Orion said, standing up. "Keep the beans, Draco. You're going to need the energy for being that dense."
"I win!" Draco cheered, oblivious.
That night, Orion lay face down on his silk pillow, his arms splayed out in a posture of utter defeat.
The room was dark, save for the blue glow of Sparkle's interface hovering above his head.
"I tried," Orion mumbled into the fabric. "I really tried. I tried to teach him. I tried to bring culture to this wasteland of inbreeding."
"He won the beans, didn't he?" Sparkle pointed out. "Technically, his strategy of 'confuse the enemy with sheer stupidity' worked perfectly against you."
"It wasn't a strategy," Orion rolled over, staring at the screen. "It was a lack of brain cells. It was painful, Sparkle. Physically painful."
He sighed, staring at the notification bar.
"Surely," Orion whined. "Surely that deserves an achievement? 'Attempting the Impossible'? 'Teacher of Fools'? Something? I spent two hours trying to explain to him that a Flush beats a Straight."
Sparkle's waveform rippled. A sound that was distinctly a digital giggle echoed in his head.
"Orion, my sweet summer child," she cooed. "You didn't succeed. You quit. You folded. You let him eat the beans."
"So?"
"So," Sparkle's voice turned sharp and sassy. "Achievements are for achievers. Trophies are for winners. You, in this instance, were a loser."
Orion gaped at her.
"And as per the universal laws of gaming," Sparkle concluded with a finality that crushed his soul, "Losers don't get anything. No XP. No loot. Just the shame of knowing you were outsmarted by a boy who thinks 'poker' is a type of magical creature."
Orion stared at the blue screen for a long, long time.
"I hate you," he whispered. "I hate this system. I hate this house. I hate magic."
"See you tomorrow, boss," Sparkle chirped, and the screen vanished.
Orion groaned, grabbing a pillow and burying his face in it. He was tired. He was bored. He was unappreciated.
And worst of all, he was out of apple juice.
"Goodnight, world," Orion mumbled. "If I don't wake up with a superpower tomorrow, I'm burning the manor down."
He fell asleep to the sound of his own grievances, dreaming of a world where flushes beat straights and brothers understood basic math.