Chapter 309: The Handover to Hell and The Retirement Plan

Orion remained completely still for several seconds, staring across the wooden table at the weeping, trembling Senior Undersecretary.

Then, slowly, a cold, razor-sharp smirk spread across his face. He smoothly spun the matte-black Hydro-Kinetic Pistol around his finger by the trigger guard before holstering it directly back into his mental Inventory grid.

"Well, Dolores," Orion said, his tone turning remarkably polite, as if concluding a pleasant business luncheon. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Umbridge sniffled, clutching her bruised abdomen.

"While it is an undeniable shame that we did not get to utilize my mechanical toy a few more times," Orion mused, tilting his head with faux sympathy, "I suppose any further kinetic impacts to your sternum might induce a cardiac arrest. And I do need you breathing. So... our little game of Russian Roulette is officially over."

Umbridge let out a shuddering, ragged breath of relief.

"However," Orion continued, his voice dropping into a dark, melodic cadence that made the short hairs on her neck stand on end, "your interrogation process is far from complete. I will let my dear godmother, Bellatrix Lestrange, be the one to interrogate you for any remaining operational specifics I might require."

Umbridge’s breath seized in her throat. Her bloodshot eyes widened to the absolute limits of their sockets, staring at him in sheer, unadulterated, mind-shattering horror.

"B-Bellatrix...?" she choked out, her voice barely a squeak. "No... no, please! Not her! Anyone but her!"

"I am going to leave you here for a while, Dolores," Orion stated calmly, ignoring her hysterical pleading as he stood up from the table. "You may spend the next hour or so basking beneath the majestic, stone gaze of Salazar Slytherin himself."

Before Umbridge could scream for mercy, Orion triggered his temporal halt.

Time.

The sound of dripping water died instantly. The air went rigid. Umbridge was frozen mid-sob, a single tear suspended in mid-air on her bruised cheek, her mouth contorted in terror.

Orion didn’t rush. He casually pushed his chair back in, walked slowly around the frozen table, and strode down the long stone aisle toward the massive shadow of a serpent pillar.

Once fully concealed within the gloom, he snapped his fingers.

Reality roared back to life. Down the hall, Umbridge’s desperate, echoing shrieks resumed, bouncing uselessly off the ancient walls as she realized her captor had simply vanished into thin air like a ghost.

"Dobby," Orion whispered into the darkness.

CRACK.

The elf appeared beside him, looking completely unfazed by the terrifying surroundings. "Master Orion?"

"Let the trash stew in her own terror for an hour," Orion instructed in a low, level murmur. "Once she is sufficiently broken by the isolation, hit her with a Stunner. Put her back through the Vanishing Cabinet to the Manor, and lock her in the cellar beneath the stables. Then meet me in my bedroom."

"Dobby will let the pink trash marinate in the snake room!" Dobby saluted.

"Good."

Dobby grabbed Orion’s arm, Apparating him straight up through the plumbing layers and back into the quiet study of his expanded trunk. From there, Orion stepped directly into the twin Vanishing Cabinet, tapped the rune, and emerged into the warm, opulent confines of his Malfoy Manor bedroom.

He sat down at his desk, his mind humming with the newly acquired intelligence.

Vault 162, Orion thought, leaning his chin on his steepled fingers. Cornelius Fudge’s private slush fund. Located in the deepest, confidential Ministry sector past the Thief’s Downfall. Guarded by a Hebridean Black dragon. And Dolores holds the key.

The foundation for the heist was finally solidifying.

When Bellatrix returned to his room later that evening, Orion briefed her on the new parameters. He ordered her to extract the precise location of the key from Umbridge’s London townhouse, alongside a comprehensive psychological breakdown of the Undersecretary’s vocal mannerisms, walking gait, and daily habits for future Polyjuice replication.

Crucially, Orion laid down an ironclad, non-negotiable restriction: No Cruciatus Curse, and no physical mutilation. He needed Umbridge’s body and mind relatively intact so the Polyjuice wouldn’t inherit severe neurological tics or visible physical trauma.

Bellatrix had pouted dramatically, but the familiar bond held absolute; she promised to restrict herself to "mild psychological torment."

Late that night, Orion sat propped up against his pillows in his room, wearing comfortable silk pajamas. He had just finished completing his daily sync with his clone.

The Manor was quiet. The operation was on schedule.

"You know," Sparkle’s interface manifested above the duvet, glowing a vibrant, speculative blue. "You were terrifying down there today. Cold, ruthless, calculated. If anyone from the Light faction saw how you treated that woman, they would immediately conclude that your ’hero’ persona is a complete lie. They’d think you’ve been a villain this entire time."

Orion scoffed softly.

"I have never acted like a hero, Sparkle," Orion countered, his tone utterly indifferent. "Nor have I ever claimed to be either a hero or a villain. I am simply myself. I do what is necessary, I act in accordance with my own logical framework, and I do not lose a single second of sleep worrying about whether the world classifies me under a Hero or a Villain label."

His indigo eyes darkened, reflecting the dying embers of the hearth.

"Dolores Umbridge deliberately endangered children. She unleashed Dementors on a peaceful village, caused the deaths of two young Aurors, and left Tonks bleeding in a hospital bed—all for petty bureaucratic jealousy and personal ambition. She crossed my boundaries. I have zero sympathy for such a vile, cowardly creature, and I am going to dismantle her completely. It is that simple."

"A brutal moral compass, but consistent," Sparkle conceded, her digital waveform pulsing gently. "Fine as it is. Let’s pivot to something lighter. You have an achievement backlog to clear, boss."

Orion perked up slightly. "Show me. What do we have queued?"

"Two Tier 1s and one Tier 2," Sparkle announced grandly. "Let’s start with the oldest one. The reward from your little holiday excursion with Draco to the Muggle amusement park on New Year’s Eve."

[ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! ]

Tier: 1 (Basic)

Name: Capitalist Indoctrination

Description: You successfully weaponized fast food and centrifugal force to completely dismantle centuries of ingrained blood-purist conditioning in a thirteen-year-old boy. Draco Malfoy ate a cheeseburger and rode a coaster, and his worldview will never be the same.

Reward: 1x Automated Commercial Hot Dog Cart.

Orion stared at the screen. He blinked once. Twice.

His jaw slowly unhinged.

"What... what the absolute heck?" Orion gaped, staring at the golden text in profound disbelief. "An automated hot dog cart?! What for?! Why would I ever need a street-vendor machine that dispenses Muggle sausages?!"

"Hey, don’t knock it until you try it!" Sparkle snickered, her interface flashing yellow with pure amusement. "It runs on self-replenishing enchantments! Infinite buns, infinite sausages, perfectly heated, with automatic mustard and ketchup dispensers! Treat it as your eventual retirement job, Orion! When you finish conquering the world and dethroning the Dark Lord, you can set up shop in Diagon Alley! Sell hot dogs! Pure profit!"

Orion buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, agonizing, thoroughly exhausted groan.

"I am an Order of Merlin holder," Orion whispered into his palms, his voice muffled by defeat. "I am one of the heirs to the House of Malfoy. And my System just gave me a hot dog stand."

"A magical hot dog stand," Sparkle corrected proudly. "Show some respect."

Orion sighed heavily, dropping his hands. "Vanish it to the bottom of the grid next to the glowing T-shirt. What is the second Tier 1?"