The morning of the ceremony broke with a clear, brilliant blue sky, the kind of crisp, sunny day that seed deliberately orchestrated to ensure perfect lighting for the Daily Prophet photographers.
Orion woke before dawn. He didn't linger in bed. He moved through his morning routine with the focused, thodical precision of a soldier preparing for a parade. He spent an extra half-hour on his Occluncy ditations, ensuring his ntal shields were absolute, smooth walls of impenetrable ice. Today, he would be surrounded by the most powerful, politically active minds in Britain; he could not afford to project anything other than the brilliant, polite persona he had crafted.
Breakfast was a quiet affair in his room, brought up by a house-elf. The schedule for the day was tight. Cornelius Fudge, desperate to milk every ounce of good publicity from the event, had mandated an extravagant, highly publicized ceremony in the Ministry Atrium for the early afternoon.
"The youngest Order of rlin holder in history," Orion murmured to himself in the mirror as he fastened the silver buttons of his impeccably tailored, midnight-blue dress robes. "Fudge is going to turn this into a circus."
By noon, Orion was ready. He looked sharp, poised, and entirely unaffected by the magnitude of the day. He descended the grand staircase to the main foyer.
Lucius and Narcissa were already waiting. Narcissa looked radiant in a flowing robe of pale, frosty blue silk, while Lucius was the epito of intimidating, pureblood wealth in stark, silver-trimd black.
Draco hurried down the stairs a mont later, looking flushed and annoyed, violently tugging at the high, stiff collar of his erald-green robes.
"It's choking ," Draco complained, his face twisting into a scowl.
Narcissa didn't say a word. She simply drew her wand and gave it a delicate, precise flick. The collar instantly loosened a fraction, settling perfectly against his neck. Draco let out a huff of relief.
Lucius surveyed his family, his grey eyes lingering on Orion with intense, demanding pride.
"Rember," Lucius instructed, his voice dropping into its usual, commanding drawl. "Maintain your composure. Do not gawk. Do not speak unless spoken to by soone of significance. Today, we project absolute, unshakeable dignity."
"We are ready, Father," Orion assured him smoothly.
Lucius nodded, satisfied. He turned to the massive, ornate fireplace in the receiving room and threw a handful of glittering powder into the grate.
They did not travel to the public, chaotic floo grates of the Ministry Atrium. Lucius Malfoy's influence ensured they utilized the private, heavily warded connections reserved for Senior Departnt Heads and VIPs.
"The Minister's Antechamber," Lucius called out, stepping into the erald flas.
Orion followed, keeping his elbows tucked. The spinning blur of the Floo Network deposited him smoothly onto a plush, thick maroon carpet.
They had arrived in a wide, richly paneled corridor on the highest level of the Ministry. A small contingent of nervous-looking Ministry clerks and two stiff-backed Aurors were waiting for them, clearly inford of their arrival ti.
"Lord Malfoy. Lady Malfoy," the lead Auror nodded respectfully, gesturing down the hall. "The Minister is expecting you."
They were escorted through a set of heavy, brass-bound double doors and into the expansive, slightly cluttered, and overwhelmingly ostentatious office of Cornelius Fudge.
Fudge was pacing behind his desk, looking simultaneously sweating and euphoric.
"Ah! Lucius! My dear friend!" Fudge bood, practically jogging around his desk to pump Lucius's hand vigorously. "And Narcissa, looking absolutely luminous, as always. And the boys!"
Fudge's gaze landed on Orion, his smile widening into sothing that looked painful. "Our young hero! You look ready for the history books, my boy!"
"Thank you, Minister," Orion offered a shallow, perfect bow. "It is an honor to be here."
He straightened up and glanced around the room.
Madam Alia Bones was seated rigidly in a chair near the window, her monocle glinting in the afternoon light. She offered Orion a curt, professional nod, which he returned.
And standing near the fireplace, clutching a clipboard to her chest like a shield, was Dolores Umbridge.
She was wearing a hideous, fluffy pink cardigan over a tweed dress. She looked absolutely miserable. Her pouchy, toad-like eyes darted toward Orion, narrowing with a look of pure, concentrated venom, before she quickly looked down at her clipboard.
Orion didn't care why she was angry. He simply acted as though the air where she stood was completely empty.
"Good afternoon, Madam Bones," Orion said politely, entirely bypassing Umbridge's existence.
Umbridge's face flushed a violent, blotchy purple, but she kept her mouth firmly shut. The presence of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy—the most powerful political donors in the room—effectively muzzled her. She wouldn't dare cause a scene now.
Draco, standing slightly behind Orion, looked completely overwheld by the opulence of the office and the presence of the highest-ranking officials in the country. He kept quiet, his eyes wide.
"The ceremony will comnce shortly," Fudge announced, bustling over to a side table laden with crystal decanters. "The press is already gathered in the Atrium. It's a full house! Please, take a seat. Have a drink. Your arrival will be officially announced to the crowd once the stage is perfectly set."
Lucius accepted a glass of amber liquid, his chest puffed out with undeniable satisfaction.
Orion took a seat on a plush sofa next to Draco, declining a drink with a polite smile. He folded his hands in his lap, letting the idle, political chatter of the adults wash over him.
"The pink toad looks like she wants to hex you into a teacup," Sparkle observed in his mind, her digital voice laced with amusent.
Let her seethe, Orion replied internally, his blue eyes cold and calm as he watched the clock on Fudge's wall tick closer to the hour. She is a minor obstacle. Today is about the prize.
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