The fallout from Dobby's sudden emancipation hung over Malfoy Manor like a localized thunderstorm.
For the next three days, Lucius Malfoy was an entity of pure, seething fury. He paced the corridors, his cane striking the marble with sharp, angry cracks, glaring at the portraits, the remaining house-elves, and occasionally, his sons.
However, after subjecting both Orion and Draco to intense, interrogative glares over breakfast—met only with Draco's genuine, bewildered confusion and Orion's flawless, aristocratic blankness—Lucius was forced to conclude they were innocent. The blame shifted entirely to the absent elf.
"The creature must have planned it," Lucius muttered darkly to Narcissa in the drawing room, pacing furiously. "It waited until the timing was correct, dropped that infernal blanket, and stole its own freedom. A treacherous, deceitful little beast. It proves you cannot trust them."
Orion, seated near the window with a book on runic translations, listened with mild, detached amusement. The cognitive dissonance required for Lucius to believe an elf orchestrated a complex physical trap while completely ignoring the blatant magical impossibility of an elf summoning a blanket from thin air without being ordered to do so was staggering.
He sees what he wants to see, Orion noted mentally. A treacherous servant is easier to accept than an invisible saboteur.
Later that afternoon, Orion retreated to the expanded sanctuary of his trunk.
He sat before the Vanishing Cabinet, carefully tracing a newly translated runic sequence along the interior doorframe with a piece of chalk. It was painstaking work; he was attempting to re-establish the sympathetic resonance loop without accidentally triggering a spatial collapse.
"So," Sparkle's interface hummed, hovering near the ceiling of the trunk. "Now that you've successfully emancipated one elf... are you planning to start a revolution? Going to march into the Hogwarts kitchens next year and start tossing socks at them like confetti?"
Orion paused, his chalk hovering over a complex geometric rune. He looked at the blue screen, genuinely baffled.
"Huh?" Orion asked, his brow furrowing. "No. Why on earth would I do that? I am an academic and a strategist, Sparkle. I am not a messiah on a crusade to free magical indentured servants. Besides, mass emancipation is a profoundly stupid, genocidal decision."
"Tell that to Hermione Granger," Sparkle teased.
"Canon Granger's perspective on the matter was painfully naive," Orion sighed, setting his chalk down and turning his chair to face the interface. "I understand her initial outlook. She saw how happy Dobby was, she saw the abuse he suffered under Lucius, and she extrapolated that all elves must desire the same freedom. The sentiment is understandable for a Muggle-born raised on concepts of human rights."
He leaned forward, his expression turning serious.
"But she was projecting human sociology onto a symbiotic, magical species. She clearly wasn't aware of the biological reality of the bond. House-elves need that magical tether to survive. Break the bond without replacing it, and they wither and die. They are magical parasites—benign ones, but parasites nonetheless."
He pointed toward the ceiling, in the general direction of Hogwarts.
"Dobby was a 'free' elf, yes. But in Dobby's understanding, 'freedom' meant the freedom to choose his master and negotiate his terms. He didn't just wander out into the woods to live alone. He immediately bonded himself to the ambient magic of Hogwarts and took a job in the kitchens. He transferred the symbiosis. That is what made him different; he demanded agency within his biological constraints."
"Most elves wouldn't want that agency," Sparkle noted.
"Exactly," Orion agreed. "Typically, elves are only transferred between owners; they don't get to choose where to work. Dobby is an anomaly. He is special in his own way. If I started throwing clothes at the Hogwarts elves, they wouldn't appreciate it. They would be terrified, insulted, and fundamentally endangered."
He stood up, stretching his legs.
"However," Orion mused, a calculating glint entering his eye, "I am going to use this incident as leverage. Tonight at dinner, I will 'subtly' hint to Father that perhaps the reason Dobby orchestrated his own escape was due to the... physical discipline he received."
"You're going to lecture Lucius Malfoy on elf rights?"
"I'm going to lecture him on asset management," Orion corrected. "Despite him being my father, the blast Dobby gave him was well deserved. Lucius is arrogant. He won't ever treat the elves with true dignity or respect. But he is smart. And he is greedy."
Orion smirked.
"House-elves are expensive, Sparkle. They are a status symbol. Lucius is fuming at the loss of a highly skilled servant. I will make him realize that beating them with his cane is what cost him the asset. He won't make the same mistake again, purely out of fear of losing another one. It's pragmatic compassion."
He sat back down, shaking his head.
"That is where Granger lacked vision. She is brilliant, but if she had just taken ten minutes to actually speak with an elf—even Dobby—she would have realized that S.P.E.W. was a complete logistical mess. She shouldn't have been advocating for the freedom of elves; she should have been advocating for the fair treatment of elves under magical law."
Orion rolled his eyes, a sudden wave of irritation washing over him.
"I have no idea what canon Hermione actually accomplished once she became the Minister for Magic. I didn't read that ridiculous eighth-part play script. Albus Severus Potter? Really? What was canon Potter thinking naming his child that? It sounds like a bad fanfiction insertion! The man had dozens of people who actually supported him in a much better way, like say Lupin, or even Longbottom for that matter!"
Orion threw his hands up in genuine, bewildered frustration.
"Anyways, forget about that rant," Orion sighed, rubbing his temples. "The point is, I want to see if this Hermione will also follow that misguided crusade. She has no connection to Dobby in this timeline. It will be interesting to see if her social justice warrior instincts still trigger without the personal catalyst."
DING.
The familiar sound echoed in the trunk. The blue interface flashed brightly.
[ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! ]
Tier: 1 (Basic)
Name: The Cursed Child Critique
Description: You successfully executed a passionate, entirely unprompted rant about a piece of non-existent literature (for this universe) that you vehemently refuse to classify as canon. Your sheer disdain for the naming conventions of future generations is palpable. The fandom (at least some part) agrees with you, Orion.
Reward: 1x Calming Draught (Extra Potent. For when the timeline gets too stupid to handle).
Orion stared at the notification. He opened his mental Inventory grid and saw the glowing vial of blue potion sitting in a new slot.
"I am perfectly calm," Orion stated flatly to the interface. "I do not need a potion."
"Your blood pressure spiked," Sparkle pointed out gently. "Just keep it in the inventory. You never know when someone is going to name their kid 'Gilderoy Voldemort Weasley'."
Orion shuddered visibly at the thought.
He didn't remove the potion from the inventory, deciding to save it for a time when Draco inevitably did something truly monumental. He turned his attention back to the chalkboard, picking up his piece of chalk.
"Back to the runes," Orion murmured, refocusing his mind on the complex geometry of the Vanishing Cabinet.