The month of September slipped by in a haze of dusty tomes and quiet, focused isolation for Orion. The Restricted Section had become his second home.
While the rest of the school dealt with the mundane realities of coursework and the escalating absurdity of Lockhart's DADA classes, Orion spent his afternoons surrounded by books that occasionally whispered, vibrated, or smelled faintly of copper blood.
Robin the Niffler often accompanied him on these excursions, riding quietly in the expanded pocket of Orion's robe. The restricted stacks were a dangerous place for a creature driven purely by greed.
"Robin wants to touch the shiny book," the Niffler had chirped eagerly on one of their visits, eyeing a book bound in what looked like silver scales.
"No," Orion had commanded softly, pulling the creature back. To demonstrate, Orion had carefully maneuvered a copy of the Monster Book of Monsters: Dark Arts Edition from a lower shelf using his wand. The moment the latch was undone, the book had practically unhinged a row of jagged paper teeth, snapping violently at the air where Orion's hand had been seconds before. Orion quickly cast an Incarcerous to bind it shut and shoved it back on the shelf.
Robin had watched this display with wide, horrified eyes.
"Books have teeth here?" Robin squeaked, shrinking back into the pocket.
"Books have teeth everywhere, Robin," Orion replied cryptically. "But here, they don't just bite your mind. Stay close, and only touch what I give you."
From that day on, Robin contented himself with sitting on Orion's shoulder, occasionally chewing on a Fool's Jewel candy, and treating the library with the respectful terror it deserved.
The quiet rhythm of Orion's Saturday study session in the common room was shattered when Draco practically threw himself onto the adjacent sofa, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Today was brilliant," Draco announced, his Quidditch robes still slightly damp from the morning dew. He kicked his boots onto the coffee table, ignoring the glare from a passing sixth-year prefect.
Orion didn't look up from his Arithmancy chart. "Define 'brilliant', Draco. Did you finally manage a Feint without looking like you were having a seizure, or did you just find a new flavor of Bertie Bott's?"
"Better," Draco crowed. "You might not know this, considering you live in the library, but Potter actually made the Gryffindor team. He's their new Seeker."
"I am aware," Orion murmured. He had known since tryouts. It was a notable downgrade from the original timeline. No 'Youngest Seeker in a Century' title. No miraculous mid-air catch on his first broom ride. Potter had simply attended the open tryouts with several other hopefuls and won the spot because he happened to be faster than Cormac McLaggen. He was just a standard, second-year player now.
"Well," Draco continued, leaning forward eagerly, "Flint had booked the pitch for the morning. Specifically so I could get more practice time on the Nimbus against the team. But then Wood marches out with his entire squad, claiming he had special permission from McGonagall to train Potter."
"A scheduling conflict," Orion noted dryly. "Riveting."
"It gets better," Draco grinned maliciously. "Weasley and Granger were trailing behind them like stray kneazles. They started mouthing off about our new brooms, getting jealous. Weasley got so riled up he tried to hex me with that splintered, taped-together piece of firewood he calls a wand!"
Orion stopped writing. He finally looked up.
"He tried to hex you?"
"Yeah!" Draco laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "He pointed it right at my face and yelled some spell! But because the wand is broken—from when they crashed into the tree, remember?—the spell backfired! It blasted Weasley right off his feet!"
Draco slapped his knee, tears of mirth in his eyes. "And the best part? It was a Slug-Vomiting Charm! He's probably sitting in that oaf Hagrid's hut right now, puking up giant, slimy slugs into a bucket! It was the funniest thing I've ever seen!"
Orion stared at his brother. He processed the information. He knew, Weasley was stupid and the reason why he has cast the spell. But the question was whether Draco had used that word or not.
"And what," Orion asked, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm, quiet tone, "was the reason Weasley chose to cast a hex in the middle of the Quidditch pitch? I highly doubt he decided to start vomiting slugs over simple banter about broomsticks."
Draco's laughter faltered. The gleeful shine in his eyes dimmed slightly under Orion's piercing blue stare. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding the lint on his robes fascinating.
"Well... Granger said something about how nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Draco muttered defensively. "She said they got in on pure talent."
"And your response?" Orion prompted, his voice colder now.
Draco hesitated, looking sheepish for the first time. "I... I just told her that no one asked her opinion. Called her a Mudblood."
Silence fell over their corner of the common room.
Orion closed his eyes. He let out a long, slow breath through his nose.
Then, with a speed that startled even the nearby older students, Orion leaned forward and smacked Draco on the back of the head.
Thwack.
"Ow!" Draco yelped, rubbing his head and glaring. "What is wrong with you today?!"
"Stupid," Orion hissed, his voice a lethal whisper. "Absolutely, monumentally stupid."
"It's just a word!" Draco argued, rubbing the spot. "Father uses it all the time! They're filthy—"
"I don't care about the ideology, Draco, I care about the optics!" Orion snapped, cutting him off. He leaned in close, ensuring his voice didn't travel past their sofa. "Just because some no-name witch decides to insult your Quidditch position does not mean you immediately default to a blood-slur."
"It put her in her place!"
"It put you in the wrong!" Orion corrected fiercely. "Listen to me. She insulted your wealth. You could have insulted her hair. You could have insulted her teeth. You could have mocked her desperate need for academic validation. But by using that specific word, in front of the entire Gryffindor team... you stopped being a rival and became a bigot in their eyes."
Orion sat back, shaking his head in profound disappointment.
"It shows you have a limited vocabulary, Draco. It shows a lack of wit. If your only defense is to parrot a slur you learned at the dinner table, it proves Granger right: you didn't earn your place with skill, you bought it with your name."
Draco's face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He had expected Orion to laugh with him, to praise him for putting the Gryffindors down. Instead, he was being lectured like a toddler.
"It wasn't that bad," Draco pouted, crossing his arms and looking away. "Weasley is the one puking slugs. I won."
"You won the skirmish," Orion sighed, picking up his quill again. "But you lost the moral high ground. You gave them a justifiable reason to hate you, rather than just a petty one. You still have so much to learn, Draco."
"Whatever," Draco grumbled, standing up abruptly. "I'm going to go find Crabbe. At least he appreciates a good joke."
He stormed off toward the dormitories, his mood thoroughly soured.
Orion watched him go, shaking his head. He looked down at his Arithmancy chart, the numbers blurring for a moment.
"I swear," Orion muttered to Sparkle, who was currently displaying an animated GIF of a slug crawling across the screen. "He spends almost twenty-four hours a day with me. He sees how I operate. How is he still so staggeringly blunt?"
"He's a twelve-year-old boy raised by Lucius Malfoy," Sparkle pointed out gently. "You are a reincarnated adult with a cheat system. The learning curves are slightly different."
"I suppose," Orion conceded, dipping his quill in ink. "But still... 'Mudblood'? It's just lazy parroting of ideologies."
He went back to his homework, the incident filed away in the back of his mind. The word had been spoken. The tension had escalated.
The Chamber of Secrets arc was officially moving into its second act, and Orion Malfoy was ready for the show to begin.