The world snapped back into focus with a nauseating lurch. Orion doubled over, hugging a large oak tree for support as his stomach tried to crawl out of his throat.
"I can't—" he gagged, "I can't do that again. Headmaster, isn't there another way to travel?"
"A good point, my boy," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Then we shall switch our mode of transport!"
"A carriage? A flying carpet?" Orion asked, a sliver of hope in his voice.
Under Orion's expectant gaze, Dumbledore led them to a brightly lit tunnel descending deep into the earth. They had arrived at a London Underground station.
"Just… just give me five more minutes, child," Dumbledore muttered, squinting at the ticket machine as if it were a particularly complex Arithmancy equation. "I'm certain I'm about to figure this machine out."
In the end, a station attendant had to take pity on the strange old man and help them through the ticket barrier.
As they sat on the rattling train, Orion leaned over. "Headmaster, aren't we wizards?"
"Indeed we are," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.
"Then why," Orion hissed, "are we taking the Tube?" Several other passengers were now openly staring at Dumbledore's flamboyant robes, their eyes wide.
Dumbledore seemed to notice the attention. He gave a subtle wave of his hand, and a ripple of soft confusion passed through the carriage. The Muggles blinked, their gazes sliding away as they suddenly forgot what they had found so interesting.
"Isn't there a more… wizardly way to travel?" Orion pressed, utterly mortified.
Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Yes! Plenty. It's just that, aside from the ones that are unsuitable, I didn't bring any of the others with me."
Orion slumped back in his seat, defeated.
The train eventually spat them out onto a bustling London street. Dumbledore led him to a tiny, grubby-looking pub tucked between a bookshop and a record store. The sign read The Leaky Cauldron. Dumbledore exchanged a few pleasantries with the balding old barman, then led Orion out into a small, walled courtyard.
"Now, Orion, remember the way in," he said, before tapping a sequence of bricks on the wall with the tip of his wand. The bricks ground apart, folding away to reveal a bustling, sunlit alleyway paved with cobblestones.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, my boy."
Orion looked on, unimpressed. I've seen action movies with better special effects than this, he thought. Still, he followed Dumbledore into the magical street.
Their first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. An hour later, Orion emerged in a fresh set of black wizarding robes. The shopping experience had been mostly pleasant, aside from the moment Madam Malkin had tried to fit him for the girls' uniform.
"You know, child," Dumbledore said gently, "if you were to cut your hair a little shorter, it might… reduce the frequency of such misunderstandings."
"I can't, Headmaster," Orion said gravely. "The last time I tried to cut it myself, people said it looked like a dog had chewed on it."
Dumbledore wisely dropped the subject.
The rest of the trip passed in a blur of shops. They visited Flourish and Blotts for his schoolbooks and a dark, pungent apothecary for potion ingredients. By the time they were done, Dumbledore's coin purse was significantly lighter.
"Alright," the Headmaster said. "All that's left is a wand."
"Do I really need one?" Orion asked. "I find I can cast spells just fine without—" He raised his hand, preparing to summon a flicker of blue flame to demonstrate.
"Don't!" Dumbledore grabbed his arm, a flicker of genuine panic in his eyes. "That is powerful, dark magic, Orion! You cannot use it in the middle of a crowded street!"
Orion looked at him with an expression of pure innocence. "Oh, I understand, Headmaster. So as long as no one's looking, it's fine. Got it."
Dumbledore's grip tightened. "You and I," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "are going to have a very long talk about the appropriate use of magic once we get to Hogwarts. Come along."
He steered Orion into a narrow, dusty shop. A sign above the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. An old man with pale, silvery eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light emerged from the back.
While Dumbledore and Mr. Ollivander exchanged pleasantries, a bored Orion found himself being measured by an enchanted tape measure that zipped around him of its own accord.
"You may simply grab any one that looks nice," Orion told the ancient wandmaker. "I'm not particularly picky."
Ollivander fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Ah, but the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Black." He disappeared into the towering shelves and returned with a box. "Try this. White ash and unicorn hair. Nine and a quarter inches. Supple."
Orion gave it a half-hearted wave. A dim light, a simple Lumos, sparked at the tip. Unimpressed, Orion rolled his eyes and, with a flick of his wrist, conjured a sphere of light so brilliant it was like a miniature sun, forcing everyone in the room to shield their eyes.
Ollivander's professional curiosity was piqued. His expression grew grave, as if faced with the greatest challenge of his career. "No, no… try this one. Cypress, dragon heartstring…"
Another wand was thrust into his hand. And another. And another.
Soon, Orion was practically drowning in discarded wand boxes. "Mr. Ollivander, please, just pick one. This really isn't necessary."
But the old wandmaker was relentless, his pale eyes now bloodshot with manic determination. Nearly an hour passed. Finally, a defeated Ollivander admitted he was stumped and slumped against a shelf, propped up by a concerned Dumbledore. He simply told Orion to take his pick.
Orion left the shop holding a plain, unadorned wand of fir wood. As they stepped back into the alley, he held it up and a soft light blossomed at its tip.
"See?" he said to Dumbledore. "Looks like I'm casting a spell normally, doesn't it?"
Who do you think you're fooling? Dumbledore thought, a small smile playing on his lips. Your wand work is atrocious.
By the time they finished, the moon was high in the sky.
"Ah, it seems we've missed dinner," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "We should head back to Hogwarts."
Orion glanced up at the moon, then shot a pointed look at Dumbledore. His expression clearly said, And whose fault do you suppose that is?
Dumbledore simply chuckled and grabbed his arm.
"Wait! Headmaster, not again—"
CRACK.
They reappeared before a set of massive iron gates. Beyond them, perched atop a cliff, stood a magnificent castle, its many turrets and towers silhouetted against the starry sky, windows blazing with warm light.
"You'll get used to it," Dumbledore said gently. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
As Orion stared, awestruck for the first time that day, he saw a massive, blurry figure waving from the castle's main entrance.
What in the world is that? he thought, squinting. The shadow alone must be ten feet tall. Is that a bear?
As they drew closer, the figure resolved into a man of incredible size, dressed in a thick moleskin overcoat with a vast, bushy beard that covered most of his face.
"Brought a new student back with yeh, Headmaster?" the giant boomed. His kind, beetle-black eyes landed on Orion. "Well now, aren't you a… a pretty little thing."
Orion's hand, which was still loosely held in Dumbledore's, clenched into a fist. The Headmaster's calm expression flickered through several shades of alarm.
"Ahem," Dumbledore said quickly, his voice strained. "Hagrid, allow me to introduce Mister Orion Black." He put a heavy emphasis on the first word.
"Oh!" Hagrid's eyes widened. "Oh, my apologies! A fine, handsome young lad, o' course! Welcome to Hogwarts, Orion!"
The crushing pressure on Dumbledore's wrist slowly subsided. Hagrid gave Orion a friendly pat on the shoulder that would have sent a normal boy flying, but Orion stood his ground, unmoving. The side-effects of the "Beautifying Elixir" had their uses, after all.
Dumbledore briefly explained the situation, then bid Hagrid goodnight. "It seems we need to find the kitchens if we're to get any dinner."
He led Orion into the castle and down a flight of stone steps into the dungeons. As they rounded a corner, they came face to face with a thin man with greasy, shoulder-length black hair, a hooked nose, and a pallid, gloomy expression.
The man's black eyes swept over them before settling on Orion. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice like silk poisoned with venom. "I was wondering where our esteemed Headmaster had vanished to all day. I see you were busy abducting Sirius Black's daughter."
Dumbledore felt a familiar pain flare in his wrist as Orion's grip tightened once more. "Severus," he began, his voice placating.
"Hmph. So it is a Black," Snape sneered, cutting him off. Without another word, he swept past them, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of a giant, ill-tempered bat.
"That is Professor Snape," Dumbledore explained quietly. "Don't take it personally. He isn't particularly friendly with anyone."
They finally found the kitchens hidden behind a large painting of a fruit bowl. Dumbledore tickled a pear in the painting, which giggled and transformed into a doorknob. Inside, a cavernous, high-ceilinged room was filled with dozens of tiny creatures with large, bat-like ears and tennis-ball-sized eyes: house-elves.
They were quickly served a hearty dinner. Afterward, Dumbledore led Orion up through the winding castle staircases, past portraits whose inhabitants waved and chattered, until they reached the office of a stern-looking witch in emerald-green robes.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said with a weary smile. "This child is now in your care." With a final, cheerful ruffle of Orion's hair, the Headmaster departed.
"You poor dear," the witch said, her stern expression softening slightly. "You can call me Professor McGonagall." She gave his head a gentle pat.
She led him up to the eighth floor. "The password," she said to a large portrait of a woman in a pink silk dress, "is 'Dragon Scales'." The portrait swung open.
"This is Gryffindor Tower, where you will be staying," she explained. "Given the… unusual circumstances of your arrival, the Headmaster thought it best." She hesitated for a moment, glancing from the boys' dormitory staircase to the girls', a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
What is she hesitating for? Orion thought, an exasperated sigh building in his chest.
Finally, she seemed to make a decision and led him up the boys' staircase to a spare room. "You can stay here for now," she said. "Remember to find the Headmaster tomorrow. He wishes to oversee your education personally." She handed him a folded piece of parchment. "And this is a map of the castle. You may explore in your free time, but do try not to get lost."
With that, she left.
Orion collapsed onto the four-poster bed, the enchanted map lying on his chest. He stared up at the velvety canopy, his mind reeling. Just that morning, he had been a self-sufficient hermit roasting a rabbit by a river. Now, he was lying in a dormitory bed at Hogwarts, contemplating the sheer, unbelievable absurdity of his life.