Draco drew in a breath, but didn't look Orion in the eye.

"Uncle... I'm not in the mood for small talk."

Orion raised a brow, that faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips as if he were hiding something.

"Small talk? I thought I was just checking in on my nephew, not negotiating a business deal."

Draco bit his lower lip, eyes flicking away. The Great Hall had grown noisy again, but to him, it felt strangely muted—like the world had been pushed far, far away.

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered, voice low and dry, each word caught somewhere between his teeth.

Orion didn't answer right away. After a beat, he stepped aside, leaving the path open.

"If you don't want to talk, I won't force you," he said quietly. "But running gets tiring after a while, Draco."

Draco froze for just a second. His silver eyes flashed with something unreadable before he brushed past and disappeared through the doors.

Orion watched him go, hands loose at his sides, the corners of his mouth curving in a faint, wistful line—like someone rereading a story that had ended too soon.

Outside, Draco walked faster than he needed to. The cold air slapped against his face, but it couldn't cool the heat rising in his ears.

He didn't hate Orion. Not really.
If this were years ago, he might've run up to him, chattering about everything and nothing the way children do. But now, surrounded by Slytherins with eyes that pried and mouths that never shut, the title "Harry Potter's nephew" felt like a curse.

"You wouldn't understand..." he whispered again, shoving his hands into his cloak pockets.

It wasn't anger. It was self-preservation. He just didn't want anyone to see that soft, fragile part of him—the one that still believed family meant safety.

Draco stopped in the empty corridor, letting out a slow breath.
Part of him felt guilty for leaving Orion standing there, but another part just wanted peace, even if it meant silence.

Back in the Great Hall, Orion hadn't moved. His gaze lingered on the spot where Draco had disappeared. He wasn't angry. Not sad, either. Just that strange ache of nostalgia—like touching an old toy and realizing it no longer fits your hand.

He remembered a much smaller Draco once holding his hand, dragging him through the Malfoy gardens, pointing out every flower by name and secretly plucking a few "for you to take home, Uncle Orion."
Now, even a nod in public was too much to ask.

Orion understood. Slytherin wasn't kind to anyone who wore their heart where people could see it. Understanding didn't make it sting less.

He smiled softly—no mockery, just quiet fondness—before turning away, leaving behind the curious stares still darting in his direction.

By the time most students were shuffling off to their first classes, Orion finally unfolded his timetable, squinting at it with the kind of dread only a true Gryffindor could muster.

"Divination? I don't remember signing up for that nonsense..." he muttered, sighing as he started off in search of the tower.

Getting there wasn't easy for someone still new to Hogwarts, but with a bit of help from Nearly Headless Nick, he managed to find the right staircase.

The spiral climb felt endless. The air thickened with incense and something sweet enough to sting his nose. When Orion pushed through the velvet curtains, the scent hit him like a wall.

The classroom looked like another world—round tables draped in lace, teapots hissing with steam, crystal balls glinting faintly in the half-light. The air shimmered with the warmth of the fire and the smell of old leaves and perfume.

He slipped into a seat near what passed for a window, his fingers brushing against a tarnished silver teapot. The chipped teacup before him was already stained from a hundred past readings.

He propped his chin on one hand, eyes wandering lazily across the room. The smell of herbs was cloying—half comforting, half suffocating.

Professor Trelawney had yet to appear. The silence that hung over the room wasn't peace—it was the restless kind, the kind that waits to be broken.

Orion tapped a finger against the table, gaze flicking toward the door, half hoping someone more interesting would walk through.

And then Harry stumbled in—clinging to the last rung of the steep staircase, his face creased with exhaustion. The room seemed to close in around him; incense fog thickened, candlelight flickered, and the heavy drapes swallowed every sound.

Orion was already there, his eyes fixed on the large crystal ball in front of him. A dim blue glow shimmered across his cheekbones, casting his face in sharp relief—calm, unreadable.

The door creaked shut behind Harry. For an instant, the light from the crystal refracted right between them. Harry froze, and Orion looked up.

Their eyes met.
It wasn't hostility, not exactly—just that taut, charged quiet between two people who both know they're about to be forced into something neither fully understands.

Then, from the shadows, a voice floated through the haze, soft and misty:

"Ah... my new visitors have arrived. Destiny whispers at such delightful moments..."

"Welcome, children. It's a pleasure to meet you in the physical realm."

Professor Sybill Trelawney glided into view—tall and impossibly thin, her frame swaying like a candle left burning too long. Her turban sat crooked on a mass of hair that looked like dried grass, and her magnified eyes blinked owlishly through absurdly thick lenses.

Necklaces rattled as she moved; her sleeves billowed like sails, tinkling with tiny bells every time she gestured. To Orion, she looked less like a professor and more like a traveling fortune-teller who'd accidentally wandered into a school.

Each time she leaned close, her breath reeked sweetly of herbal tea, and Orion had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

"Sit, my dears, sit," she trilled.

Harry and his friends awkwardly found a round table beside Orion's solitary seat. It suited him—he wasn't in the mood for company anyway.

Professor Trelawney sank into her armchair by the fire and began, her voice as airy as the incense curling above her head.

"Welcome to Divination. I am Sybill Trelawney. You likely haven't seen me before—if I spent too much time down there, the meddlesome noise of this castle would dull my Inner Eye."

Orion rested his chin on his hand, gazing at her through the thick glass of her spectacles, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"The Inner Eye, huh?" he thought dryly. "Add Divine Insight to that and you've got the full set."

Her long necklaces clinked as she swayed dramatically. Orion tilted his head, keeping a straight face with visible effort.

"No wonder she never comes down to the Great Hall," he mused silently. "She's probably afraid the staircases might drain her mystical powers."

The floral steam from her sleeves made his eyes sting. He faked a sniffle to hide the grin threatening to break loose.

"If this is the physical realm she mentioned," he thought, suppressing another laugh, "then she must be living in the... smoky one."

He covered his mouth, pretending to cough, shoulders shaking slightly.
In the dim light, no one could see the smirk tugging at his lips.

Harry glanced sideways, confused to find Orion's face flushed red, but Orion only gave a little shrug, mouthing, "I'm fine, don't worry."