If boredom had a flavor, Orion decided, it would taste like lukewarm juice and sound like Cornelius Fudge's laugh.
The Minister's private villa was a testament to new money trying desperately to look like old money. The marble floors were too shiny, the chandeliers were hung just a little too low, and the house-elves were wearing tea towels embroidered with the Ministry crest, which was frankly tacky.
Orion stood near a potted fern that looked like it was dying of second-hand embarrassment, swirling a glass of sparkling elderflower juice. He wore his midnight-blue robes with the ease of someone born to privilege, his posture relaxed but alert.
"And here he is!" a booming voice announced, shattering Orion's attempt at invisibility.
Cornelius Fudge, wearing a set of lime-green dress robes that assaulted the eyes, approached with a beaming smile. He was flanked by Lucius Malfoy, whose expression was a masterclass in long-suffering politeness.
"Orion, my boy!" Fudge exclaimed, clapping a heavy hand on Orion's shoulder. "The hero of the hour! Or so the rumors say. Facing down a troll at eleven? remarkable!"
Orion didn't flinch under the heavy hand. He offered a polite, practiced bow.
"You flatter me, Minister," Orion said smoothly. "But rumors have a way of inflating the truth. I am a Slytherin, sir. We prefer strategy to brute force. The troll was dealt with by Professor Flitwick; I merely ensured I was not in the path of the club."
Fudge laughed, a hearty, belly-shaking sound. "Modest! I like that. A rare quality in these times. Lucius, you must be proud. A son with a head on his shoulders."
"Indeed, Cornelius," Lucius drawled, sipping his wine. "Though one wishes the school's security did not require children to have such... presence of mind."
"Yes, yes, terrible business," Fudge waved a hand dismissively, his face darkening slightly. "Quirrell... madness. But don't worry, Lucius. I have the best Aurors on it. Scrimgeour is leading the manhunt. If the man is hiding in Britain, we will find him."
"And if he has fled?" Lucius pressed, his voice silky. "To France, perhaps? Or further?"
"Then we will issue international warrants," Fudge promised, puffing out his chest. "No one attacks a Hogwarts professor and endangers students on my watch without consequence."
Orion took a sip of his juice to hide his smirk. Good luck arresting a puddle of biomass, he thought.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Minister, Father," Orion said, spotting an escape route. "I believe I see my brother signaling me."
"Go on, go on," Fudge shooed him away. "Enjoy the party!"
Orion slipped away, navigating the sea of velvet and silk. He found the "Junior Slytherin Court" gathered near a massive ice sculpture.
Draco was there, looking sharp in black robes, though he was fidgeting with his cuffs. Crabbe and Goyle were hovering near the buffet table, effectively blocking access to the shrimp tartlets for anyone else.
But the girls had arrived as well.
"Orion!"
Pansy Parkinson hurried over. She was wearing a frilly pink dress that looked like a cupcake had exploded, but her face was glowing with genuine excitement.
"Happy New Year!" Pansy beamed. Then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The chocolates! Orion, they were amazing!"
"I trust the side effects were... manageable?" Orion asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Manageable? They were adorable!" Pansy squealed. "I ate the pink one before family dinner. My ears turned into Scottish Fold ears! My grandmother nearly dropped her monocle, but my cousins were so jealous. Where did you get them? I looked in Honeydukes catalog, and they aren't there!"
"They are... a prototype," Orion lied smoothly. "From a contact I have in France. Limited edition. I'm afraid they aren't on the market yet."
"Oh," Pansy pouted for a second, then brightened. "Well, if you get more... you know who to tell first."
"You are at the top of the list, Pansy," Orion promised. It was good data. If pureblood heiresses were willing to pay for cosmetic transfiguration edibles, there was a market there.
"Good evening, Orion."
Daphne Greengrass stepped into the circle, looking far more composed than Pansy. She wore a sleek dress of ice-blue silk, flanked by Tracey Davis and a smaller, shyer girl—Astoria Greengrass.
"Daphne," Orion nodded. "Tracey. And little Astoria."
Astoria smiled slightly, hiding behind her sister. "Hello, Orion."
"Quite the gathering," Tracey commented, looking around at the adults. "My father is currently trying to convince Lord Nott that importing flying carpets should be legalized again. It's not going well."
"It never does," Orion noted. "British airspace laws are draconian."
"Speaking of gathering people," Daphne said, her voice lowering as she stepped closer to the group, cutting through the small talk with the precision of a scalpel. "Did you notice who isn't here?"
Draco looked around. "Who? Everyone who matters is here."
"Not everyone," Daphne corrected. "The Higgs family."
Orion paused. Terence Higgs. The current Slytherin Seeker.
"Terence isn't here?" Draco asked, frowning. "That's odd. Mr. Higgs never misses a chance to network."
"Exactly," Daphne nodded. "I heard my father talking to the Minister earlier. Apparently, the Selwyns aren't here either, but they sent an owl citing 'Auror business'—some emergency raid or investigation. But the Higgs family? Complete radio silence. No owl. No excuse. Just... empty space."
"Maybe they have the Dragon Pox," Crabbe grunted, emerging from the buffet with a mouthful of pastry.
"We would know," Daphne dismissed him. "It's weird. For a Sacred Twenty-Eight family to snub the Minister's personal gala without a word? It's political suicide."
"Who cares?" Draco scoffed, adjusting his collar. "If they want to miss the party of the year, let them. More champagne for us. Besides, Higgs has been flying sluggishly lately. Maybe he's embarrassed."
Orion looked at his brother. He looked at the careless arrogance, the total lack of curiosity about why a prominent family would vanish.
Lucius wants to leave the fortune to him? Orion thought, shaking his head internally. Draco has the political instincts of a floberworm. A vacuum in the social hierarchy is information, Draco. It means something has shifted.
"He's eleven, Orion," Sparkle's voice chided gently in his ear. "He cares about brooms and sweets. You're the one thinking like a forty-year-old spymaster. Maybe lighten up? If you frown any harder, you're going to get premature wrinkles, and Narcissa will have a fit."
Orion blinked. He caught his reflection in the ice sculpture. He did look severe. He looked like Lucius.
He forced his expression to relax. Sparkle was right. If he acted too much like an adult, he would stop being a prodigy and start being a threat.
"Draco has a point," Orion said aloud, forcing a light chuckle. "It is New Year's Eve. Speculating on the attendance list is boring. We should be speculating on whether the Minister will accidentally set his wig on fire with a sparkler."
Daphne smiled, the tension breaking. "He is standing rather close to the candles."
"I give it five minutes," Tracey giggled.
A bell chimed, resonating through the villa. The chatter died down.
Cornelius Fudge stood on a raised dais, raising a glass of champagne.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Fudge bellowed. "The midnight hour approaches! Let us raise a glass to the year behind us, and the year ahead! To prosperity! To peace! To the New Year!"
"To the New Year!" the crowd roared.
Orion raised his glass of juice.
"To the New Year," he murmured.
BANG.
At the stroke of midnight, the ceiling of the villa—which had been enchanted to be transparent—erupted. Not with destruction, but with light.
Fireworks, cast by the house-elves in the garden, exploded overhead. Massive dragons made of red fire chased golden snitches across the sky. Green serpents coiled around silver stars. Red Phoenixes bursting around. It was a dazzling, deafening display of magical pyrotechnics.
Draco cheered, grabbing Pansy's hand in excitement. Even Daphne looked up with wonder.
Orion watched the lights reflect in the eyes of the elite. He saw the joy, the arrogance, the oblivious celebration of a society that was rotting from the inside out.
1992 had arrived. And with it, new opportunities will also be present..
Orion took a sip of his drink, the sweetness cloying on his tongue.
"Well," he whispered to the fireworks. "I'm ready."