The Hogsmeade station platform was a slippery, frozen gauntlet of mud and ice, but the biting wind did little to dampen the spirits of the returning students. As the crowd surged toward the line of waiting carriages, Orion walked with a calm, measured stride, ignoring the shoving matches breaking out among the second-year Hufflepuffs.
He approached the nearest carriage. Draco, shivering in his cloak, hurried to climb inside the warm interior, eager to escape the chill. Orion, however, paused by the front wheel.
To the rest of the school, the carriages pulled themselves. To Orion, a skeletal, winged beast with white, pupil-less eyes stood waiting in the traces. The Thestral turned its reptilian head, huffing a cloud of steam into the night air.
Thanks to his All-Speak ability, the creature's low, guttural snort wasn't just animal noise. It was a complaint.
"Another year, another load of heavy, fleshy ones," the Thestral on the left grumbled, its voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "They get heavier every season. Too many meat sacks."
"Quit your whinnying, Bones," the Thestral on the right replied, stamping a hoof. "At least these ones smell better. The last lot smelled like toad slime. Just pull. I want to get back to the forest; there's a dead ferret with my name on it."
"Watch the pint-sized one in the green," the first one noted, eyeing a stumbling first-year. "He's going to trip. Three... two... one..."
Thud. A small boy tripped over his own robes and landed face-first in the mud.
"Called it," the Thestral snorted. "Humans. No balance. No grace."
Orion fought back a laugh. He reached out and patted the flank of the nearest Thestral.
"Rough night shift, gentlemen," Orion murmured softly. "Try not to tip us over on the curve."
The Thestrals froze. Both skeletal heads whipped around to stare at him.
"He hears?" the left one gasped.
"He speaks!" the right one countered. "A Speaker! Rare. Very rare. Alright, Speaker. We'll give you the smooth ride. The blonde one inside though? He looks like he complains. We might hit a bump for him."
"I wouldn't mind that at all," Orion smirked, climbing into the carriage and shutting the door.
The Great Hall was a welcome embrace of warmth and light. The enchanted ceiling reflected a star-filled sky, free of the snow that plagued the ground below.
Orion took his seat at the Slytherin table, the familiar weight of the castle's magic settling around him like a cloak. Draco sat beside him, still scanning the hall with hawk-like intensity.
"Still no Potter," Draco noted, sounding almost disappointed. "And look at the High Table. Snape isn't there. Neither is McGonagall."
Orion glanced up. Indeed, the Head of Slytherin and the Head of Gryffindor were conspicuously absent. Dumbledore sat in his golden throne, looking serene but occasionally glancing toward the side door.
"They are likely handling administrative matters, Draco," Orion dismissed, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Or perhaps Potter and Weasley got lost in the station and McGonagall had to go retrieve them. Stop obsessing."
The Sorting Ceremony began. The battered old Hat sang a song about the history of the founders, warning of dangers ahead—subtle foreshadowing that most students ignored in favor of their empty stomachs.
Professor Flitwick, standing on his pile of books, began calling names.
"Creevey, Colin!"
A tiny boy who looked like he had vibrated out of a comic book scrambled onto the stool. The Hat barely touched his head.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Colin fell off the stool in his excitement, beaming as he ran to the cheering table.
"Lovegood, Luna!"
A girl with straggly, waist-length dirty-blonde hair drifted up to the stool. She seemed to be humming to herself. She sat down and waited. The Hat took a moment.
"RAVENCLAW!"
She drifted away, still looking quite unbothered by reality.
And then, the name Orion had been waiting for.
"Weasley, Ginny!"
The youngest Weasley redhead walked up to the stool. She looked nervous, clutching her robes, but her eyes were bright. She looked perfectly healthy. Her skin was flushed with life, not the pale, drained pallor of someone pouring their soul into a dark artifact.
She hasn't started writing in it yet, Orion deduced, watching her closely. Or if she has, the bond is weak. She's still just a girl, not a puppet.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted.
Ginny ripped the hat off and ran to join her brothers—Percy, Fred, and George. She looked around, likely searching for Harry and Ron, her face falling slightly when she saw the empty seats.
The feast appeared. As the golden plates filled with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, the hall filled with the sound of eating.
"Where are they?" Draco muttered again, stabbing a potato. "It's not like them to miss the feast. Maybe they were expelled?"
"We can only dream," Pansy sighed.
Orion ignored them. He reached into his expanded pocket.
"Hungry?" he whispered.
A small, black snout poked out. Robin the Niffler sniffed the air, smelling the roast beef, but looking uninterested.
"Shiny food?" Robin squeaked quietly.
Orion reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small packet wrapped in silver foil. His supply of "Fool's Jewels"—the candy gems—had run dry over the summer. However, he had owl-ordered a bulk supply of "Gringotts Gold Nutrient Chews" from a high-end magical pet store. They were shaped like gold Galleons but were packed with vitamins for magical creatures.
He unwrapped a gold coin-candy and slipped it under the table.
Robin's paw shot out, snatched the coin, and dragged it into the pocket. Violent crunching sounds ensued.
"Good?" Orion asked.
"Acceptable," Robin mumbled, mouth full. "Tastes like fish and shiny."
"High praise."
The feast concluded with Dumbledore's usual start-of-term notices—the Forbidden Forest is forbidden, no magic in the corridors, and Mr. Filch has added fanged frisbees to the banned list. Dumbledore introduces the new Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Sighs are heard from the female group of students.
As the students began to stand, creating a thunderous noise of benches scraping on stone, a shadow fell over the Slytherin table.
Orion looked up.
Professor Severus Snape stood there. He had clearly just arrived from somewhere unpleasant. His robes were dusty, there was a faint smell of burnt wood clinging to him, and his expression was one of thunderous irritation.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
Draco immediately froze, looking guilty despite having done nothing yet. "Yes, Professor?"
"Not you," Snape snapped, his black eyes sliding to the twin. "Orion."
Orion stood up, smoothing his robes. He noticed the slight twitch in Snape's eye—the tell-tale sign that the Potions Master had spent the last hour dealing with Gryffindor stupidity.
"Professor," Orion greeted calmly.
"With me," Snape commanded. "The Headmaster requires your presence in his office."
Draco's jaw dropped. "The Headmaster? On the first night? Orion, what did you do?"
"Nothing yet," Orion said, picking up his bag. "I imagine this is a bureaucratic matter regarding my... summer acquisitions."
He patted his pocket where Robin was currently digesting a fake gold coin.
"Keep up, Orion," Snape turned, his cloak billowing.
Orion stepped out from the bench, falling into step behind his Head of House. He glanced toward the Gryffindor table. It was still missing its two most famous members.
So, the car crashed, Orion thought with a smirk. The Whomping Willow has been fed. And now, I have to go explain why I brought a thief to school.
"Just another Tuesday," Orion whispered, following Snape out of the Hall.