Orion sat in silence for a long moment, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest of his chair. The Headmaster's office was quiet, save for the gentle whirring of silver instruments. The weight of Dumbledore's request hung in the air: silence in exchange for stability.
Finally, Orion looked up, his expression one of polite understanding.
"It is fine, Professor," Orion said smoothly. "I know that neither you nor any member of the staff would deliberately endanger children. Accidents happen. Dark wizards happen. It is the nature of our world."
He leaned back slightly, adopting a tone of casual reflection.
"As for my father getting involved... I was personally not planning on contacting Lucius. I find bureaucracy tedious, and frankly, I'd rather not spend my weekend recounting the smell of a troll to a Lucius of all people."
The Professors visibly relaxed. McGonagall let out a small breath she seemed to have been holding.
"However," Orion added, his voice dropping just a fraction, "Draco was... spirited last night. He was saying something about writing a letter. I'm not sure of the exact contents, but he seemed particularly fixated on the initial announcement."
Orion looked at Dumbledore with wide, innocent eyes.
"He kept mentioning how Professor Quirrell screamed that the troll was in the dungeons... and yet, your immediate instruction was to send all Slytherins to the dungeons. I told him it was likely a strategic oversight in the heat of the moment, but Draco... well, he was quite confused. I just went to sleep."
The atmosphere in the room tightened instantly. McGonagall's lips thinned. Even Snape shifted in his corner.
Dumbledore, however, didn't flinch. He chuckled lightly, though the sound lacked its usual mirth.
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, nodding slowly. "I can see how that might be construed. Perhaps then we can expect Lucius to arrive either way."
He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. "For the record, Orion, I would like to clarify. I was aware, through the castle's internal wards, that the troll was not in the dungeons the moment Quirrell made his announcement. The wards track large magical signatures. I knew the creature was on the upper floors. Thus, sending Slytherin House to their common room—which is secure and fortified—was, in fact, the safest option."
"Of course," Orion nodded sagely. "I expected as much. Wards are precise things. But try explaining ward theory to a terrified eleven-year-old boy who thinks he's being marched to his doom. Or to his father."
Before Dumbledore could respond, a flash of fire erupted near the ceiling.
Fawkes the Phoenix swooped down in a burst of red and gold. He circled the room once, his tail feathers trailing sparks, before landing gracefully on the armrest of Orion's chair.
"Interesting," Orion whispered.
He reached out a hand. Fawkes didn't peck. He nudged his head against Orion's fingers, trilling a soft, melodic note.
To everyone else in the room, it was just a bird singing.
To Orion, thanks to the All-Speak ability, it was a monologue.
"Good flight. Very good flight," Fawkes crooned, his voice echoing in Orion's mind like a violin playing words. "Stretch the wings. Burn the ash. Oh, hello small human. You smell like the giant owl-bird. The one with the orange eyes. Titan? Yes. Respectable plumage on that one."
Orion kept his face impassive, scratching the phoenix's neck gently.
"And look at him," Fawkes continued, tilting his head toward Dumbledore. "Wearing the purple again. I told him. I sang it to him in C-Major. 'Albus, the purple clashes with the stars'. Does he listen? No. He thinks it looks majestic. It looks like a bruised plum."
The bird let out a trill that sounded suspiciously like a sigh.
"And the beard. It's getting too long. He trips on it. Last Tuesday, on the stairs? Nearly tumbled. I have to sing calming songs just to keep his blood pressure down when the Ministry sends letters. The old man cares, yes. He cares too much. But by the spark, his fashion sense died in the start of 19th century."
Orion fought the urge to laugh. He didn't respond. He didn't look at Fawkes with understanding. He just pet the bird, maintaining his cover.
"He seems to like you," Dumbledore observed, smiling at the interaction. "Fawkes is rarely so affectionate with strangers."
"Perhaps he senses a kindred spirit," Orion said vaguely. "Or maybe he just agrees with my unspoken opinions on... aesthetics."
Dumbledore blinked, glancing down at his purple robes, then back to the bird.
"Well," Dumbledore cleared his throat, returning to business. "The matter of Lucius remains."
He turned to the corner. "Severus."
"Headmaster," Snape stepped forward.
"I believe it would be prudent for you to contact Lucius yourself," Dumbledore instructed. "Immediately. It is best he learns of the... incident... from a trusted source. From his son's Head of House and Godfather. Rather than from Draco's undoubtedly colorful and panic-stricken letter."
"I shall floo him within the hour," Snape nodded curtly. "I will frame it as a... containment success. The prime culprit being the absconding Defense Professor."
"Excellent," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples. "Meanwhile, I must consider how to mitigate the political fallout. The Board will have questions about Quirrell's hiring... and his 'run'."
He looked back at Orion.
"Thank you, Orion. For the apparent warning of the upcoming fireworks. You may return to your dormitory."
"Headmaster. Professors."
Orion stood up. Fawkes let out one last trill—"Bring a cracker next time. Or a mouse. I'm not picky."—and flew back to his perch.
Orion left the office, descending the spiral staircase in silence.
Once he was in the corridor, the blue interface popped up.
"Achievement Unlocked," Sparkle giggled.
Tier: 1 (Basic)
Name: Flaming Chicken Talks
Description: You successfully petted a Phoenix while listening to it roast the most powerful wizard in the world. Who knew legendary magical creatures were just sassy fashion critics? You maintained your poker face while hearing Dumbledore described as a "bruised plum." Commendable self-control.
Reward: 1x Bag of Phoenix Ash (Great for potions, terrible for seasoning).
Orion smirked, banishing the screen.
"So," Sparkle asked as they walked toward the dungeons. "What do you expect from this chaos? You poked the bear with the Lucius threat."
"Not much, to be honest," Orion admitted internally. "Technically, this does not benefit me directly. Lucius will storm in, Dumbledore will placate him, Snape will smooth it over. The status quo will likely remain."
He turned the corner, his eyes sharp.
"However," he continued, "this keeps Albus and the Professors focused entirely on Lucius. They will be so busy managing the political firestorm, so busy worrying about the Board of Governors and the Ministry inquiry into Quirrell's 'escape'... they won't have the bandwidth to analyze me."
"A smokescreen," Sparkle realized.
"Exactly. If they had time to think, they might wonder how a First Year knew exactly what spells would be best for distraction. Or why I was carrying a stink pellet. Or why I wasn't scared. But now? Now they have to deal with an angry Malfoy patriarch."
Orion stepped into the dungeon corridor.
"They won't have time to cook up theories about my abnormal tendencies when they are fighting for their jobs."
"Clever," Sparkle conceded. "Ruthless, but clever."
"It's survival," Orion said.
He reached the stone wall. "Pure Ambition."
The door slid open. He walked into the common room, ready to watch the drama unfold from the comfort of the sidelines.