The opening Quidditch match of the season concluded exactly as Orion had predicted.
Without the apocalyptic interference of Dementors swarming the pitch, the match was decided purely by skill and broom superiority. And while Draco Malfoy rode the fastest broom in the world, Harry Potter simply flew better.
Potter ran absolute circles around Draco in the driving rain, anticipating the Slytherin's aggressive marking tactics and executing a flawless dive that sent Draco skidding dangerously close to hitting the stands before Potter pulled out, his hand closed triumphantly around the Golden Snitch.
The Gryffindor celebration was deafening, echoing even down into the dungeons later that evening.
Draco was inconsolable. He spent the entire duration of dinner glaring furiously at his plate, and the remainder of the evening pacing the dormitory, muttering darkly about 'unfair weather conditions' and 'reckless flying'.
Orion ignored the mumbling entirely. He climbed into his four-poster bed, drew the heavy green velvet curtains tight, and cast a silencing charm on the enclosure.
He settled back against his pillows, eager to see the results of his morning heist. The recent acquisition of the Lord's Ambition and the Clone skill, not to mention Time had significantly raised his expectations for the System's rewards.
"Alright, Sparkle," Orion whispered into the quiet dark. "Show me the achievement for the Diadem. Three Horcruxes secured. That has to be worth something spectacular."
The blue interface blinked into existence. It didn't flash with gold. It didn't pulse with silver. It just looked... aggressively mundane.
"Prepare to be underwhelmed," Sparkle warned, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm.
[ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! ]
Tier: 1 (Basic)
Name: A Wizard is Never Late, Nor is He Early
Description: You arrived precisely when you meant to... which, in this case, was apparently whenever you finally felt like getting around to it. You left a piece of a Dark Lord's soul sitting in a junk pile for months purely for aesthetic reasons. It's arrogant, it's petty, and it completely mocks the urgency of the narrative.
Reward: 1x Novelty T-Shirt.
Orion stared at the screen. The silence in the bed was absolute.
"Inventory," Orion said flatly.
He pulled the item out. It was a black, cotton, Muggle-style T-shirt. Printed across the chest, in large, obnoxiously bold letters that were currently glowing a sickly, luminescent green in the dim light of the bed curtains, were the words:
FASHIONABLY LATE
Orion looked at the shirt. He looked at the blue interface.
He dropped the shirt onto the duvet and flopped backward onto his mattress with a heavy, dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his eyes.
"Sigh," Orion muttered. "I had genuinely forgotten that this System occasionally decides to be incredibly stingy just to spite me."
"So Ungrateful," Sparkle huffed digitally. "It glows in the dark! That's highly practical for midnight bathroom trips!"
"I am an Order of Merlin holder, Sparkle," Orion retorted, his voice muffled by his arm. "I do not wear glowing novelty shirts. Vanish it to the bottom of the grid with the honking duck."
The next few days were characterized by a sullen, gloomy atmosphere within Slytherin House. The loss of the opening Quidditch match to Gryffindor was a bitter pill to swallow, and Marcus Flint was practically terrorizing the team with extra practice sessions.
Orion, entirely unaffected by the sports-induced depression, utilized the somber mood to maintain his rigorous, dual-processing schedule.
His clone was proving to be an invaluable asset. The nightly memory synchronizations revealed that the clone was being meticulously thorough in its categorization of the Room of Hidden Things. It had already cataloged several dozen useful, uncursed magical artifacts, separated a small fortune in raw galleons and jewels (mostly thanks to Robin's enthusiastic assistance), and isolated a massive pile of dangerous, cursed objects for later study or disposal.
Orion was content to leave the logistical nightmare of sorting a millennium of hoarding to his duplicate.
His primary physical goal for the week was mastering the specific, harmlessly humiliating spell required for the upcoming prank on Professor Snape.
He stood in the center of the abandoned fourth-floor classroom, the afternoon sun streaming through the dusty windows.
He raised his Hawthorn wand, his brow furrowed in concentration. He wasn't casting a hex or a shield; he was modifying a charm usually reserved for domestic chores.
"Aqua Bubble," Orion murmured.
He carefully controlled the output, visualizing surface tension and containment.
A sphere of water emerged from the tip of his wand. It was a perfect, shimmering globe, roughly the size of a grapefruit, held together by a thin, elastic layer of magic.
Orion reached out and caught the water bubble in his free hand.
It felt strange—cool, slightly yielding, like a very fragile water balloon, but perfectly dry on the outside. He tossed it lightly into the air and caught it again. The magical tension held.
"Perfect," Orion smiled, admiring the spellwork.
The Aqua Bubble charm was typically used by witches and wizards to transport small quantities of water for washing dishes or watering plants without needing a bucket.
But Orion had modified the release parameters. The tension holding the bubble together was fragile. It could be carried and thrown without bursting, but upon making solid contact with a target—be it a wall, the floor, or a person—the magical surface tension shattered instantly, releasing a freezing, soaking splash of water.
Crucially, it possessed absolutely no concussive force. It didn't hurt on impact; it just soaked the target.
"Colovaria," Orion cast casually, pointing his wand at the bubble in his hand.
The clear water instantly shifted, swirling into a vibrant, bright pink.
"Aesthetic customization," Orion noted approvingly.
"That's very pretty, Orion."
Orion turned, juggling the pink water balloon. Luna Lovegood was sitting on a desk near the back of the room, her legs swinging. She was currently wearing her Ravenclaw tie as a makeshift headband.
"Thank you, Luna," Orion said, tossing the pink bubble to her.
Luna caught it gently. She giggled as the cool, slightly squishy texture shifted in her hands. "It feels like a very cold, very round toad."
"It's for the prank," Orion explained, conjuring three more bubbles in rapid succession, coloring them bright green, blinding yellow, and neon blue.
He tossed them into the air, keeping them aloft with a subtle levitation charm, practicing the rapid-fire deployment sequence he would need Harry Potter to execute.
"I remember you mentioning that," Luna said, tossing the pink bubble back to him. Orion caught it smoothly. "You said you were going to use Harry Potter to splash Professor Snape. Why?"
"Because," Orion smiled, a genuine, chaotic light dancing in his indigo eyes as he juggled the colorful, floating ammunition, "sometimes, Luna, the best way to unite divided factions is to provide them with a common, spectacularly humiliating spectacle to witness."
He caught the blue bubble and threw it hard against the stone wall.
SPLAT.
The magical tension broke, sending a burst of freezing blue water cascading down the masonry.
"And besides," Orion added softly, wiping a drop of stray water from his cheek. "He really does need to wash his hair."