The morning after Halloween brought a strange, muffled atmosphere to the Great Hall. The usual cacophony of owls and chatter was dampened, replaced by the clinking of cutlery and hushed whispers. The pumpkins were gone, the bats had been banished, and the enchanted ceiling reflected a pale, non-committal grey sky that seemed to mirror the collective mood of the student body.
Orion sat at the Slytherin table, nursing a cup of tea. There were no lectures today—a mercy granted by the staff, ostensibly to let the students recover from the "excitement," though Orion suspected it was actually because the staff was busy scrubbing troll blood off the third-floor walls.
"You look smug," Sparkle observed. Her interface was currently displaying a news ticker of Orion's recent accomplishments, scrolling across the top of his vision. Troll Defeated. Dark Lord Disembodied. Canon Shattered.
"I am merely content," Orion replied internally, buttering a scone. "The plan worked. I am alive. My enemies are... incapacitated. And the breakfast is excellent."
"For someone who claims to hate politics," Sparkle teased, her voice vibrating with amusement, "you certainly navigate them like a shark in a paddling pool. Manipulating your brother, weaponizing rumors, playing the teachers... you're a natural politician, Orion. Admit it."
"It isn't a choice, Sparkle," Orion sighed, taking a bite. "It is in the blood. A Malfoy cannot simply exist. We must maneuver. If I don't play the game, the game plays me."
He scanned the hall. The Slytherins were eating quietly, their eyes downcast or focused on their own conversations. They had accepted Orion's version of events: Flitwick was the hero, Orion was the bystander. It was a safe, boring narrative that required no awe.
But as Orion looked around, he noticed something odd.
The other tables weren't looking at him either.
Usually, after a major event, the rumor mill churned out stares and whispers. But the Ravenclaws were reading. The Hufflepuffs were huddled together. The Gryffindors looked shell-shocked.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley sat halfway down the Gryffindor table. They looked sullen, picking at their food. Hermione Granger was notably absent, likely recovering in the Hospital Wing or hiding in the library from sheer embarrassment.
But no one was glaring at Harry. No one was whispering about the "Troll Slayers."
"It seems Dumbledore has put a lid on the information," Orion mused. "Total blackout. Interesting."
He was just finishing his tea when a shadow fell over his table.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Orion turned. Professor Snape stood there, looking as if he hadn't slept in a week. His skin was sallow, his eyes dark pits, and his presence instantly lowered the temperature in the immediate vicinity.
"Professor," Orion said, standing up politely.
"Come with me," Snape said, his voice low. "The Headmaster wishes to see you."
A ripple of interest went through the nearby Slytherins, but Snape's glare silenced them before they could whisper. Orion nodded and fell into step behind his Head of House.
They walked out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall. The walk was silent at first, the only sound the rhythmic tapping of their boots on the stone.
"You were foolish," Snape said suddenly, not breaking his stride. "And incredibly lucky."
"Professor?"
"Going up against a Mountain Troll," Snape sneered, though there was a lack of heat in it. "Using fireworks and bad smells to lure a beast that could snap your spine like a twig. I would have expected such reckless suicidal tendencies from Potter. Perhaps even Draco, in a fit of bravado. But not you."
Orion kept his gaze forward. "Expect the unexpected, Professor."
Snape stopped. He turned to face Orion, his black eyes boring into the boy's blue ones.
"Do not give me platitudes, Orion. You calculated the risk. Why?"
"I was aware I could not fight a troll," Orion said calmly, meeting the gaze without flinching. "I am not foolish enough to believe a first-year duel would suffice. But I knew the terrain. I knew the environment."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"A Slytherin with ambition is not always a coward, Professor. Self-preservation is paramount, yes. But sometimes, the best way to preserve oneself is to remove the threat entirely. You know that."
Orion paused, letting a small, knowing smile touch his lips.
"After all, you are brave too, Professor. In your own way."
Snape froze.
For a second, the mask slipped. A flicker of genuine shock—and perhaps something darker, like fear—flashed in his eyes. He stared at Orion, searching for the source of that comment. Did the boy know? Could he know?
Orion merely blinked, his expression innocent.
Snape composed himself instantly, the walls slamming back up. He turned on his heel, his robes snapping.
"Walk," Snape commanded harshly.
They continued in silence until they reached the stone gargoyle on the second floor.
"Sherbet Lemon," Snape spat at the statue.
The gargoyle leaped aside, revealing the spiraling staircase. They ascended to the circular office at the top.
The Headmaster's office was bathed in morning light. The silver instruments on the tables whirred and puffed smoke. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk. But he wasn't alone.
Professor McGonagall sat stiffly in a tartan armchair. Professor Flitwick was perched on a stack of cushions. Professor Sprout stood near the window, tending to a potted plant that looked like it was trying to bite her.
"Ah, Orion," Dumbledore smiled, though the twinkle in his eyes was dimmer than usual. "Please, take a seat. Thank you, Severus."
Snape moved to the corner of the room, standing like a dark sentinel in the shadows. Orion sat in the empty chair opposite the desk.
"Headmaster," Orion greeted them. "Professors."
"I wished to speak with you regarding the events of last night," Dumbledore began, folding his hands on the desk. "Specifically, the aftermath."
He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to age him.
"It appears that the situation regarding the troll was... more complex than initially thought. Our investigation has revealed that Professor Quirrell was... compromised."
Orion raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Compromised, sir?"
"Possessed," Dumbledore corrected gently. He did not say by whom. "It was Professor Quirrell who allowed the troll into the castle. He intended it as a diversion to allow him access to the Third Floor corridor."
The other Professors shifted uncomfortably. McGonagall looked particularly grim.
"However," Dumbledore continued, looking at Orion over his spectacles. "Professor Quirrell underestimated the... defenses of that corridor. Specifically, the creature you call Fluffy."
"And the troll," Orion added helpfully.
"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded slowly. "It seems that when you lured the troll into that room and sealed the door... Professor Quirrell was already inside. He was attempting to bypass the dog."
Dumbledore paused, choosing his words with extreme care.
"The arrival of an enraged Mountain Troll, combined with the awakening of the Cerberus... created a chaotic environment. Professor Quirrell attempted to subdue the beasts, but in the confined space... he lost his wand."
"And his life," Snape's voice cut from the corner, cold and final.
"Tragically, yes," Dumbledore agreed somberly. "By the time Severus and Rubeus entered the room, the conflict between the creatures had... resulted in the Professor's demise."
Orion kept his face perfectly neutral. So that's the story, he thought. Quirrell got caught in the crossfire. No mention of the face on the back of his head. No mention of the wraith fleeing.
"That is... unfortunate," Orion said, keeping his voice steady.
"It is tragic," Dumbledore repeated. "However, the underlying issue, Orion, is that this entire scenario placed innocent students in mortal danger. Yourself, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger were all in the line of fire."
Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing.
"I must apologize for that failure of security. Hogwarts should be a safe haven. Last night, it was not."
"Apology accepted, Headmaster," Orion said.
"I am beyond grateful that you are physically and spiritually unharmed," Dumbledore said softly. "You showed remarkable resourcefulness. However..."
Here it comes.
"Involving the wider community in the specific, grisly details of this event would serve little purpose other than to spread fear," Dumbledore said. "The official statement will be that Professor Quirrell resigned due to health reasons, and the troll was a freak accident contained by staff."
He looked pointedly at Orion.
"Your father, Lucius, is a Governor. He is a man who... worries deeply for the safety of his children. If he were to hear that a teacher died due to a security breach involving a dark creature... it would make the situation infinitely more complex. It could destabilize the school at a time when we need stability."
Dumbledore let the silence stretch. It wasn't an order. It was a request, wrapped in the heavy blanket of authority.
"I hope," Dumbledore finished quietly, "that you will consider last night an unfortunate, isolated incident. And that we can count on your discretion to keep the specifics... within these walls."