Orion groaned as he peeled himself from the mattress the next morning. A vague, nagging voice was echoing in his mind.
"...and the bathing facilities are through that door..."
Right. McGonagall's parting instructions. He stumbled into the bathroom. There was no incense, so he settled for spraying a bit of lavender-scented air freshener, deciding it was close enough.
"Interface," he mumbled. "Daily gift."
A sleek, razor-sharp surgical scalpel materialized and clattered into the sink. Orion stared at it, then collapsed onto the floor, his vision momentarily going dark with sheer exasperation.
"I'm very happy that you're equipping me, Interface," he said to the empty room. "But it would be so much better if you could occasionally remember that I am a wizard."
The Interface, as usual, offered no reply.
A glance at the clock told him it was already noon. He pulled out the map McGonagall had given him and set off for the Headmaster's office, hoping to scrounge some lunch. He passed the kitchens and grabbed a sweet roll on the way, the sugary treat nearly gluing his throat shut.
He found the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. It took one look at him and slid aside without demanding a password.
Orion looked around the circular office for a good half hour, but the Headmaster was nowhere to be found. Bored, he pulled a book from Dumbledore's massive library at random and began to read. It was a dense, academic text titled An Examination of Advanced Dark Arts and Their Ethical Implications.
When Dumbledore finally returned, he found Orion casually flipping through the restricted text.
"The practical applications in here are a bit juvenile," Orion commented, looking up from the book. "But as a pre-school primer, I suppose it's adequate."
Dumbledore's eye began to twitch. "Orion. The Unforgivable Curses. We need to talk."
"Right," Orion said, snapping the book shut. "I had some thoughts on those. Take the Killing Curse. You told me not to use it on people, which is fair. But what if I used it as a magical marker? A tag that couldn't be removed? Much more useful than just killing someone."
He continued, warming to his subject. "And the Cruciatus Curse. It tortures the body by attacking the soul, right? It seems terribly inefficient. Couldn't the principles be modified to, say, tickle ghosts? Something that could affect non-corporeal beings without causing actual harm?"
He leaned forward, his eyes bright with intellectual curiosity. "And the whole soul-splitting thing for immortality… it's so messy. Why go through the trouble of tearing your soul into pieces to create Horcruxes? Wouldn't it be simpler to just find a way to anchor your soul to the mortal plane? You'd achieve the same result without the debilitating side effects of soul fragmentation."
Dumbledore, who had been growing paler with each suggestion, finally sank into his chair, his vision swimming.
"My boy," he began, his voice faint. "We need to discuss the fundamental nature of good and evil…"
As the Headmaster launched into a long, rambling lecture, Orion just nodded politely. Okay, okay, Headmaster, he thought, feigning remorse. Stop the lecture. The student has learned his lesson. Wink.
After what felt like an eternity of 'ideological education,' Dumbledore finally dismissed him. As Orion left the office, rubbing his tired face, he almost collided with a tiny wizard with a shock of white hair.
"Oh! Hello there, young man!" the wizard squeaked. "You must be the talented new student Dumbledore was telling me about! Filius Flitwick, Charms professor." He gave a little bow. "With an mind like yours, you'll make an excellent Ravenclaw, I'm sure!"
Professor Flitwick patted him on the shoulder and bustled away. So the stories are true, Orion mused. Flitwick really is a decent sort.
Deciding to continue his tour of the grounds, Orion followed the map towards a small wooden hut on the edge of a dark forest. He found Hagrid in his garden, which was dominated by a patch of pumpkins the size of small cars.
"Hagrid," Orion called out. "Good afternoon."
"Orion! Hello there!" Hagrid boomed, turning from his work. A massive black boarhound bounded out of the trees behind him. "Down, Fang! C'mon now!"
The dog, Fang, slobbered affectionately all over Orion's face.
Orion wiped the drool off with his sleeve, grimacing. "He's… friendly."
"That he is!" Hagrid beamed. "Tell me, what brings you all the way out here? First student to come visit me voluntarily in years, you are."
"I heard your cooking was legendary," Orion said smoothly. "And I have a proposal for you." He produced two small packets of seeds given to him by the Interface long ago. "These are special. Far tastier than pumpkins."
He introduced Hagrid to the concepts of watermelon and cantaloupe. The half-giant was immediately intrigued, and the two of them—the giant groundskeeper and the boy who was unnaturally strong for his size—set to work clearing a new vegetable patch.
An hour later, covered in mud, Orion was leaning against a fence, admiring their handiwork.
"Orion, you're the strongest little wizard I've ever met," Hagrid said, shaking his head in amazement. "Blimey, you're stronger than some full-grown wizards I know."
"Come on," Orion said, flashing a grin that was far too perfect for his grimy face. "Let's get a drink."
Hagrid's rock cakes were, as their name suggested, like rocks. As Orion gnawed on one, he decided they were an acquired taste. One he had no intention of acquiring. After politely refusing a second, he bid Hagrid farewell and headed back to the castle, a bag of the granite-like biscuits in his hands.
He was just approaching the Gryffindor common room when he was intercepted.
"Heavens, child! What have you been doing?"
Professor McGonagall was standing there, her hands on her hips. Behind her, the caretaker, Argus Filch, hovered menacingly, his cat, Mrs. Norris, twined around his ankles.
"Alright, Filch, I'll handle this," McGonagall said, dismissing the caretaker with a sharp look. Filch grumbled and shuffled away. McGonagall turned her attention to Orion, tutting as she took in his filthy state. She brushed some of the grime from his cheek, but it was no use. With a sigh, she drew her wand.
"Scourgify!"
The dirt and mud vanished. Clean once more, Orion was about to thank her when he bit into another rock cake.
Professor McGonagall's eye twitched. "Hagrid's rock cakes are as hard as flagstones, child. If you don't want to spend the night in the hospital wing with stomach trouble, I suggest you stop eating those immediately."
Was I saved just to be killed by a biscuit? Orion wondered, tossing the offending cake. He was about to head into the common room when a silky voice echoed from the shadows of the corridor.
"Does Dumbledore's new pet have so little to do that he spends his days digging in the dirt?"
Professor Snape emerged from the darkness, his black eyes fixed on Orion.
"Come with me," Snape commanded, ignoring McGonagall completely. "The Headmaster seems to think you have a certain… aptitude for the Dark Arts. Let us see what your talent truly amounts to."
Before Orion could react, Snape grabbed him by the collar of his robes and dragged him down towards the dungeons.
Snape threw him into a chair in his cold, dreary office. The walls were lined with jars containing slimy, disgusting things.
"Sirius Black," Snape hissed, his face uncomfortably close to Orion's. "What is he to you?"
Orion stared back, his mind racing. He knew from his pre-transmigration knowledge that Sirius was his father. But looking at the almost unhinged expression on Snape's face, he decided silence was the most prudent course of action.
Seeing he would get no answer, Snape sneered. "Very well. We will start with Potions." He gestured to a table laden with ingredients. "The Draught of Peace. Follow the instructions." He tossed a piece of parchment onto the table. "Begin."
Orion glanced at the recipe. Is that all?
"Are you Dumbledore's pet, or a giant blithering baboon?" Snape snapped twenty minutes later, looming over his cauldron. "The powdered moonstone is added after the syrup of hellebore! Are you brainless? A dead slug has more dexterity in its antennae than you have in your entire body!"
Despite the constant stream of insults, Orion finished the potion. Snape ladled some out, examined its silvery vapor, and nodded once, a flicker of grudging approval in his eyes.
"Acceptable," he muttered. "Now then. Dumbledore mentioned a talent for dueling."
He frog-marched Orion into an empty classroom.
"You will attempt to disarm me," Snape said, taking a stance at the other end of the room. "Try not to disappoint me further."
Orion didn't even have time to raise his wand. A flurry of jinxes and hexes flew at him. He dodged and weaved, the spells exploding against the walls around him. He was fast, his movements unnaturally fluid, but Snape was relentless.
"Move! A blade of grass in the wind has more grace than you!" Snape roared. "I hear you spent the day gardening with that oaf. Did Dumbledore see a talent for agriculture in you?"
Orion dove behind an overturned desk, his heart pounding. He had to get closer. He pushed off the ground, zig-zagging across the room, closing the distance with every curse Snape threw.
"Professor Snape!" he yelled as he sprinted. "What's wrong with gardening?!"
"Insolent!" The classroom door blasted open as Snape fired a final, powerful hex that Orion barely dodged. The professor stalked out of the room, his face a mask of cold fury, though he walked with a slight limp.
Orion emerged a moment later. He wasn't injured, but his new robes were torn and scorched. He looked like he'd just survived a back-alley brawl. Limping slightly, he began the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower.
He ran into Professor McGonagall on the stairs.
"Good heavens, child!" she gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "What happened to you now?"
"It's nothing, Professor," Orion said wearily. "I just ran into Professor Snape. He said I had a talent for dueling and offered to help me with my technique."
McGonagall's expression shifted from horror to something more complex. "While Professor Snape's teaching methods are… unorthodox," she said carefully, "it is true that any student who survives his 'tutoring' shows marked improvement in their dueling skills." She looked at his tattered robes and sighed. "He seems to have taken a special interest in you."
She waved her wand, mending his robes and cleaning him up for the second time that day.
"Off to bed with you," she said, her voice firm but kind. "And try, if at all possible, to stay out of trouble for the remainder of the evening."