The crisp chill of the Sunday morning barely registered as Orion focused his intent, spinning the Reflection Clone into existence.
"Have fun with Professor McGonagall," Orion smirked, handing the clone his school bag. "Try not to let Tonks's groaning distract you from the intricacies of Transfiguration."
The clone rolled its eyes, grabbed the bag, and climbed out of the trunk, heading off to serve Orion's punishment.
Alone in his trunk, Orion patted his pocket, feeling the reassuring, vibrating lump that was Robin the Niffler. He pulled the blank parchment of the Marauder's Map from his inventory, tapping it lightly with his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The ink blossomed across the page, revealing the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts. He quickly scanned the seventh floor. Empty.
"Dobby," Orion whispered.
The elf appeared instantly. "Master Orion?"
"Side-along to the seventh-floor corridor, directly opposite the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry," Orion instructed. "Standard stealth protocol."
Dobby grabbed Orion's hand. The suffocating compression of elf-apparition hit him, and a fraction of a second later, they materialized silently in the deserted hallway.
Orion dismissed Dobby and paced before the blank wall three times, focusing on the need for a place to hide things.
The door materialized. He stepped through, pulling it shut and sealing the room from the outside world.
The Room of Hidden Things stretched out before him, a cathedral of forgotten magic and discarded history. But it looked significantly different than his first visit.
Thanks to the nightly memory synchronizations, Orion was already intimately familiar with the layout his clone had established over the past few days. He navigated the precarious aisles with ease, stepping into a large, newly cleared central area.
The clone had been incredibly efficient. The chaotic sprawl of junk had been roughly organized into distinct, tactical zones.
To his far left was a massive, towering mountain of broken furniture, rusted cauldrons, shattered mirrors, and completely useless, mundane detritus. It was the 'junk' pile.
To his right was a significantly smaller, but much more interesting section. Here, the clone had neatly arranged items of potential value or utility. There were several antique brooms that looked salvageable, ornate silver mirrors, intricately carved wooden chests, and even the life-size, stuffed troll statue that Orion immediately recognized as prime material for a future prank.
Directly ahead was a neatly stacked library. Hundreds of books, scrolls, and loose parchments covering various branches of magic had been salvaged from the rot. Orion noted several dark, leather-bound tomes that radiated the unmistakable, heavy aura of blood magic and soul theory. Those would require careful, isolated study later.
And finally, nestled safely in the center of the cleared area, was a glittering, chaotic mound of pure wealth. A small pile of polished silver goblets, tarnished gold coins, and a heavy wooden box overflowing with loose, uncut jewels.
Robin didn't wait for permission. The moment Orion's hand dipped into his pocket, the Niffler scrambled out, launching himself through the air like a furry missile.
"My shiny!" Robin squealed telepathically, diving headfirst into the pile of treasure and burrowing beneath the gold coins until only his wiggling back paws were visible.
Orion chuckled, rolling his shoulders and drawing his Hawthorn wand.
"Well," Orion said to the vast, quiet room. "Let's start the excavation."
The pattern for the next two weeks was established seamlessly.
Orion had practically vanished from the public eye during the days, at least hypothetically. He would spend almost every waking hour inside the Room of Requirement. When night fell, Dobby would Apparate him back to his trunk in the Slytherin dungeons, where he would absorb the clone's academic memories, sleep, and repeat the process the next morning.
His clone flawlessly handled the tedious reality of being a third-year student. It attended lectures, answered questions with Orion's signature arrogant brilliance, completed homework assignments, and dutifully sat through the agonizing weekend detentions with McGonagall, Potter, and a perpetually miserable Tonks.
Orion's dinners were taken inside the Room, delivered piping hot by Dobby. His entertainment consisted of uncovering ancient, forgotten spells hidden in old diaries and tomes.
During this extended isolation, Orion didn't just sort the hoard; he actively experimented with the fundamental nature of the Room itself.
He began by attempting to repair the damaged items his clone had set aside.
He pointed his wand at a shattered, intricately carved mahogany chair. "Reparo."
The splintered wood flew back together, the magical glue holding it firm. It was a standard, expected result.
But then, Orion tried something different. He lowered his wand, focusing entirely on a rusted, dented brass telescope lying on a table. He didn't cast a spell. He simply used his Level 2 Mind Arts to project a clear, perfect, detailed image of the telescope in pristine condition outward into the ambient magic of the room.
He willed the room to fix it.
Before his eyes, the heavy dents in the brass smoothed out as if pushed by invisible hands. The rust flaked away, revealing gleaming metal. The cracked glass lens fused back into a perfect, convex curve.
Orion walked over and picked up the telescope. It was flawless.
"Incredible," Orion breathed, looking around the cavernous space.
The Room of Requirement didn't just hide things; it was a massive, highly sophisticated transmutation engine. It possessed the ability to repair, alter, and even transfigure the objects within its domain based purely on the focused intent of the user.
This realization led Orion down a fascinating rabbit hole of magical architectural theory.
"When a student walks past that wall and asks for a specific room," Orion murmured to Robin, who was currently trying to fit a silver ring over his snout, "say, a room filled with pink tables and comfortable armchairs... the Room doesn't just conjure those items from nothing. That violates Gamp's Law."
Orion gestured to the mountain of broken furniture.
"It uses Legilimency. The ambient magic of the castle scans the user's mind, extracting the exact, subconscious parameters of their 'Requirement'. And then, the Room utilizes this massive stockpile of abandoned junk. It takes a broken, rotting wooden desk from the pile, and instantly transfigures it into the pink table the user desired."
He looked at the vast ceiling, profoundly impressed by the sheer, terrifying scale of the magic Rowena Ravenclaw had woven into the castle's foundation.
"It is a masterclass in localized, intent-based reality warping," Orion concluded. "Extremely high-level magic. It recycles its own history to provide for the present."
Orion smiled, his mind whirring with the tactical applications. If he could learn to consciously manipulate the Room's transfiguration engine from the inside... he wouldn't just be finding treasure. He would be able to build whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, utilizing the castle's own forgotten resources.
The Room of Requirement wasn't just a closet. It was a forge. And Orion intended to master it.