In the last few days before the holiday break, the other students became accustomed to the sight of Orion Black, the un-Sorted student who seemed to have the run of the castle. Orion, for his part, was spending most of his time in the Headmaster's office.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Orion said one afternoon, looking up from a large, illustrated history tome. "Did my 'Avada Kedavra Chain-Lightning Research Proposal' not meet with the approval of the board?"
Dumbledore, who was reading over Orion's notes, looked as if he'd swallowed something sour. "No, Orion. It did not."
Orion sighed dramatically and pointed to an illustration in his book. It depicted a wizard with mismatched eyes, wielding a torrent of blue flame that coiled and solidified into a magnificent fire dragon. "Alright, fine. What about this, then? Can you teach me this? It seems… practical."
A complex expression flickered across Dumbledore's face. "No. Absolutely not."
"Not even the Undetectable Extension Charm?" Orion wheedled, pointing to another page. "Think how convenient that would be."
Dumbledore let out a long, weary sigh. "Very well. The Extension Charm is… acceptable." He decided that teaching the boy how to magically expand a pocket was infinitely safer than letting him research new ways to weaponize the Unforgivable Curses.
A day later, Dumbledore called him back to the office to explain the holiday arrangements.
"Now, Orion, with the term ending, most of the staff will be leaving for the break," he explained. "Professor McGonagall has Muggle-born students to visit, Professor Flitwick is attending a conference… and so on. Only myself and Professor Snape will be remaining at the castle."
Orion felt the color drain from his face. "Headmaster, with all due respect, Professor Snape and I… we don't exactly see eye to eye."
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Dumbledore's lips. That is precisely the point, he thought.
"Do not worry," he said aloud. "I am sure Professor Snape will be an excellent guide for you during the holiday." With a twinkle in his eye, he levitated a sleek, polished broomstick from a corner of the room. "Now, I believe this belongs to you. Go and have some fun."
Orion stood at the entrance to the Headmaster's office, staring at the broom. Well, he thought begrudgingly, I suppose I have to try it at least once.
He mounted the broom and kicked off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air. He watched the other students soaring around the castle grounds with looks of ecstatic joy. He, however, was unimpressed. What was so exciting about a flying stick? If you were going to have a personal flying machine, it ought to be shaped like something impressive. A dragon, perhaps. Or a small, weaponized cloud. A broom was just… pedestrian.
Sighing, he nudged the broom forward and drifted towards the Quidditch pitch, where the Gryffindor team was holding a late-season practice.
"Working so hard," Orion muttered to himself as he floated near the stands. "It's a shame they never seem to win."
"Oi! Black!" a voice called out. Fred and George Weasley detached from their practice and zipped over on their brooms.
"Is that a Nimbus 2000?" Orion asked, genuinely curious.
"That it is," said Fred proudly.
"We were thinking of selling Ron to the school as a house-elf," George added with a grin. "Use the gold to buy another one."
"But we decided he probably wasn't worth that much," Fred finished.
"You should train with us, Orion!" George suggested. "You've got the build for a great Seeker!"
"He's still a year too young for the team, George," called Angelina Johnson, the team captain, as she flew past.
Before Orion could politely decline, he was distracted by a familiar pang of frustration. His morning had begun with another… unique gift from his Interface.
"Daily check-in," he had mumbled upon waking.
The system has officially switched from giving me emergency rations to providing me with debilitating joke items, he had thought, staring at the crate that had appeared at the foot of his bed.
The memory soured his mood further. He waved goodbye to the twins and steered his broom back to the castle. The holiday had begun, and with it, a new, excruciating routine.
It started, as it always did, in the Great Hall. Orion, who had a habit of sleeping until noon, would arrive for lunch to find the hall mostly empty, save for one glaring, black-robed figure.
"Mr. Black," Snape would sneer without looking up from his meal. "Sleeping until midday is hardly a trait befitting a Slytherin."
"And you, esteemed Professor," Orion would retort coolly, "would be the very model of a Head of House, if only you'd consider washing your hair."
This exchange was the inevitable trigger. What followed was their daily 'tutoring session.'
Sometimes, Snape would lock him in the dungeons with an impossibly long list of potions to brew for the hospital wing. "You may leave when you are finished," he would say, slamming and locking the door. Orion would dutifully complete the tasks, but not before using his free time to creatively rearrange the labels on Snape's personal stores. When he was done, he'd simply point his wand at the heavy iron lock. "Confringo!" The door would blast off its hinges, and he would stroll out, leaving a fuming Snape to discover that his entire supply of powdered Bicorn horn was now labeled 'Acne Cream.'
Other times, the tutoring was more direct. One afternoon, Snape returned to his office to find Orion casually reading the hand-written notes in a battered old Potions textbook.
Snape's face went rigid. "That," he hissed, "does not belong to you."
"The Half-Blood Prince? Is that you, Professor?" Orion asked with feigned innocence. "I must thank you. Without this, how would I have learned so much about your… youthful exploits?"
Snape's expression grew darker than the dungeons themselves. He gave a flick of his wand, and a small, pink butterfly clip appeared in Orion's hair.
"I must also thank you, Miss Black," Snape sneered, "for your invaluable insight."
That was how they ended up in an empty classroom for a duel that was less a lesson and more a barely-contained brawl. Orion was faster now, more agile. He dodged Snape's curses, taunting him relentlessly.
"Is your greasy hair blocking your vision, Professor? Your aim is atrocious!"
Snape, in return, began using more creative magic. He transfigured a suit of armor into a set of iron chains that shot out and wrapped around Orion. But where another wizard would have been trapped, Orion simply flexed, and with his unnatural, elixir-fueled strength, shattered the magical chains with a grunt of effort. He lunged forward and, to Snape's utter astonishment, landed a solid punch.
The outcome of that particular session was both of them spending the night in the hospital wing, wrapped head to toe in white bandages. Madam Pomfrey was livid, complaining loudly that she was supposed to be on holiday, not patching up "a stubborn mule and a troublesome colt."
When he wasn't dueling Snape, Orion spent his time with Hagrid, listening to the half-giant's worries.
"It's just awful, Orion," Hagrid lamented one day in his garden, so upset he wasn't even touching his rock cakes. "The Dursleys! They've had Harry living in a cupboard under the stairs! A cupboard! And they make him cook for them!"
"So he's basically their house-elf," Orion said, shaking his head.
"Worse! They never told him nothin'! Not about his parents, not about Hogwarts, nothin'! Told him Lily and James died in a car crash!"
"A car crash?" Orion scoffed. "The greatest witch and wizard of their generation, killed by a car crash?" He patted Hagrid's trembling shoulder. "Don't worry, Hagrid. Harry will be here soon. He'll be away from those awful people, he'll learn magic, and he'll be a great Gryffindor, just like his parents. He'll make friends. Everything will be alright." He handed Hagrid a slice of watermelon from their garden, and the half-giant finally managed a watery smile.
And so the holiday passed in a blur of potions, explosions, and duels. By the end of it, Orion was still no match for Snape, but he was no longer helpless. He could fight back.
One evening, during their usual post-duel glare-down in Snape's office, Orion decided to press his luck. "Professor," he asked casually, "you once mentioned Sirius Black. Who was he?"
Snape's only reply was a sneer so venomous it could have curdled milk.
There's a story there, Orion thought, but Snape is a locked book, and I don't have the key.
"Professor," he said aloud, gesturing to the shattered remains of the office door. "Perhaps we should cancel our dueling lessons. It seems I still can't get the hang of opening doors properly."
Snape's lips curled into something that was almost, but not quite, a smile. "Nonsense, Mr. Black. You are making excellent progress."
Throw some Power stones