The orphanage was a crumbling relic of a forgotten era, its brick walls streaked with soot and grime. Rain pelted against the narrow windows, creating a cacophony that masked the whispers of the children inside. They weren't whispering about the storm, though.

They were whispering about him.

Orion sat in the corner of the dining hall, his spoon hovering over a bowl of watery porridge. His dark eyes watched the other children, each movement cataloged, each word dissected. They thought he couldn't hear them. They were wrong.

"Do you think he did it?" one boy murmured to another, glancing furtively in Orion's direction.

"Of course he did. Timothy didn't just... fall into the pond," the other whispered back. "Everyone knows he was with him that night."

Orion's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. Let them talk. Fear was a powerful thing, and he had learned to wield it like a weapon.

Flashback: Timothy's Fall

Two nights ago, Timothy Slater had cornered Orion in the empty hallway outside the dormitory. Timothy was fifteen, twice Orion's size, and thrived on the terror of the younger children.

"You think you're better than us," Timothy had snarled, shoving Orion against the wall.

Orion had said nothing, his face impassive even as his back hit the cracked plaster. Timothy hated that—the calm, the silence. He wanted Orion to cry, to beg, to grovel like the others.

Instead, Orion tilted his head, his voice cold and measured. "You should walk away."

Timothy laughed, a cruel, guttural sound. "Or what? Your just a child."

Orion's lips curled into a smile. "So?"

Moments later, Timothy had been found floating face-down in the pond.

The caretakers had questioned Orion, of course. They always questioned him when something went wrong. There had been incidents before—objects moving without explanation, a glass shattering in someone's hand, doors locking on their own. They whispered about him when they thought he couldn't hear.

"Devil's spawn," Miss Harding had muttered once, crossing herself as she passed him.

But there was no proof. There never was.

Present Day: Escape to Diagon Alley

At just four years old, Orion's memories of his past life had come flooding back in vivid, fragmented flashes—images of a world of magic, power, and ambition. He didn't know why he had been reincarnated here, but he had no intention of wasting the opportunity.

The other children at the orphanage were nothing to him. They were pawns, useful only as far as they served his purposes. The caretakers were worse—ignorant, spiteful, and utterly powerless. Orion knew he didn't belong here.

And tonight, he would leave.

Orion waited until the rain grew heavier, drowning out the creaks and groans of the old building. Slipping out of his bed, he padded across the cold wooden floor and retrieved the bundle he had hidden beneath the loose floorboard: a tattered coat, a pair of ill-fitting shoes, and a strange letter that had arrived three days ago.

It was the letter that had changed everything.

Gringotts and the Black-Slytherin Legacy

Hours later, soaked and shivering, Orion stepped through the archway into Diagon Alley. The sight stole his breath for a moment—a vibrant, bustling street filled with wizards and witches, cauldrons and owls, and a sense of possibility he had never known.

But he wasn't here to gawk.

Following the instructions in the letter, he made his way to Gringotts, the imposing white building that loomed at the end of the alley. Goblins stood guard at the entrance, their sharp eyes narrowing as he approached.

"I need to speak to someone about an inheritance," Orion said, his voice steady despite his age.

The goblins exchanged a look but said nothing, leading him inside to a private office.

The goblin behind the desk—Graknar, according to the nameplate—eyed him with suspicion. "And you are?"

"Orion," he said. "Orion Black."

Graknar's eyes widened slightly. "Black, you say?" He rifled through a stack of parchment, finally pulling one free. "Ah. Yes. Heir to the Black and Slytherin lines."

Orion's heart pounded, but he kept his expression neutral. He didn't fully understand the significance yet, but he knew it was important.

"You'll have access to your family vaults," Graknar continued. "And certain... privileges. Do you have any requests?"

Orion leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "I want a house-elf. One loyal only to me."

Graknar's lips curled into a sharp-toothed grin. "Consider it done."

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By the time Orion returned to the orphanage, he was no longer the same boy. He had gold in his pockets, knowledge burning in his mind, and a small, wiry house-elf named Kreeky following at his heels.

Standing in the doorway of his tiny room, he surveyed the grim, lifeless dormitory with disdain. These walls had confined him, but no longer.

Soon, he would leave this place forever.

But not before ensuring they remembered him.