Chapter 319: The Mooncalf Pasture and The Double Mind

The Great Hall was warm and lively during dinner, but Orion’s sharp eyes immediately caught the subtle, critical shifts in the room’s social landscape.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger was seated beside Harry Potter. She was still noticeably pale, but the manic, frantic terror that had haunted her for weeks had vanished entirely. Her hair was brushed, her posture was relaxed, and she was actively engaged in a quiet, earnest conversation with Harry.

As Orion walked down the aisle, Hermione’s brown eyes flicked toward him. For a fraction of a second, their gazes locked. A complex flicker of profound gratitude and lingering embarrassment crossed her features before she quickly, deliberately averted her eyes, returning her attention to her plate.

At least she appears calm, Orion noted approvingly, sliding onto the Slytherin bench. She took the medicine.

Across the aisle, Ronald Weasley was sitting nearly ten feet away from them, completely isolated. He was hunched over his stew, radiating a bitter, radioactive cloud of resentment.

Draco nudged Orion’s elbow, a malicious smirk plastered across his face.

"Look at Weasley," Draco sneered loudly, pointing with his fork. "Completely alone nowadays. Serves the pathetic blood-traitor right. I told Potter on the train back in our first year that he was dealing with the wrong sort, and it took the idiot three entire years to finally figure it out."

Orion turned his head slowly, looking at his brother with an expression of profound, devastating boredom.

He let out a long, theatrical sigh.

"Focus on your Quidditch practice, Draco," Orion drawled, his voice cutting through Draco’s gloating like a razor. "And for the love of Merlin... stop glazing your Prince Charming every five minutes. It’s becoming deeply embarrassing for the rest of our House."

Draco’s face flushed a violent, incandescent scarlet. He spluttered, waving his hands wildly. "I am not glazing him! He is not my Prince Charming! I hate him! Orion, take that back right now—!"

Orion didn’t dignify the tantrum with an answer. He smoothly stood up, deciding that dinner was something he better skipped on today, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, and walked away from the Slytherin table, leaving Draco blabbering in indignant fury behind him.

He reached the heavy double doors of the Entrance Hall, stepping into the cooler, quiet air, when a soft, airy voice greeted him from the shadows of an archway.

"Hello, Orion."

Orion paused, turning to see Luna Lovegood drifting toward him. She was bundled in an oversized plum-colored wool coat, wearing a thick scarf and a pair of surprisingly practical winter boots.

"Good evening, Luna," Orion smiled. "Shouldn’t you be inside eating dinner?"

"I already had some soup," Luna replied cheerfully, her radish earrings swaying. "I am actually on my way down to Hagrid’s hut. He brought in a small herd of Mooncalves for his upcoming fourth-year classes, and they need their evening feeding. Would you like to come and help me?"

Orion raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Isn’t it past the curfew for second-years? And the castle is currently crawling with Aurors looking for an excuse to detain anyone wandering after dark."

Luna reached into her deep pocket and produced a crumpled, slightly butter-stained piece of parchment.

"I have Hagrid’s official permission slip," she explained, holding it up like a royal decree. "He is an official professor, so his slips are entirely valid. And Mooncalves are nocturnal creatures; they only wake up when the sun goes down, so we have to feed them at night. Hagrid will be right there with us."

Orion considered it. He had spent weeks locked in dark rooms, basements, and ancient chambers plotting heists and interrogating bureaucrats. The prospect of spending an hour doing something entirely innocent and peaceful sounded remarkably pleasant.

"I suppose," Orion smiled faintly. "Lead the way."

They slipped out of the side doors, stepping into the crisp, biting winter night.

The walk down the sloping lawns was quiet, the snow crunching softly beneath their boots under a sky dotted with sharp, glittering stars.

Hagrid was waiting outside his cabin, holding a massive wooden bucket and a smoking lantern. Fang was sitting at his feet, his tail thumping against the frozen mud.

"Ah! Luna! And young Orion!" Hagrid beamed, his massive beard bristling with frost. "Good to see yeh, lad! Glad yeh came along!"

Hagrid gestured vaguely toward the wooden shed behind his pumpkin patch. "I’m in the middle of preparing a rather messy mash for the Flobberworms, so I’m a bit tied up. But the Mooncalves are in the small paddock just past the shed. You two go on ahead and scatter the grain. Don’t worry, Fang’ll keep watch over yeh, and I’m just a shout away."

He paused, his expression turning stern.

"Just... don’t go near the Forest boundary, alright? Professor McGonagall will skin me alive if she catches wind of me having students near the trees at night. Especially a second-year."

"We won’t go near the trees, Hagrid," Luna promised softly.

Hagrid handed Luna a smaller bucket filled with sweet-smelling magical grain, and they walked toward the paddock, Fang lumbering faithfully beside them.

The paddock was fenced with low stone walls.

Standing in the center, blinking up at the starlight, were half a dozen of the most bizarre, endearing creatures Orion had ever seen. The Mooncalves had smooth, pale grey bodies, spindly legs with massive flat webbed feet, and long, slender necks. But their most striking feature was their faces—dominated entirely by two colossal, bulging, doe-like eyes that took up almost their entire heads.

As Orion and Luna approached the fence, the creatures turned, their huge, liquid-like eyes reflecting the starlight.

Orion focused his All-Speak, expecting something similar to the complex, aristocratic dialogue of the Hippogriffs or the sarcastic grumbling of Crookshanks.

Instead, his mind was flooded with a chorus of simple, staccato, innocent concepts:

"Food."

"Where?"

"Moon."

"Cold. No."

"Food. More. Please."

Orion blinked. They speak in singular, pure intentions. How delightfully primitive.

Luna reached into the bucket, scattering a handful of grain across the low trough. The Mooncalves drifted forward, their webbed feet moving with a surprisingly graceful, gliding motion.

"My father told me about their dance," Luna murmured, leaning her chin on the wooden fence, watching them eat. "When the moon is completely full, they gather in open fields and perform intricate, geometric dances on their hind legs. They leave strange, circular patterns in the wheat that Muggles find terribly confusing."

She smiled, looking up at Orion. "Next week is a full moon. We might get to see them dance if we ask Hagrid. It is said they dance to court each other."

Orion reached into the bucket, taking a handful of grain and offering it flat on his palm to the nearest calf. The creature approached slowly, its massive eyes blinking, before delicately vacuuming the grain with its soft lips.

"Soft. Good," the calf thought happily.

"I think I might actually enjoy watching these cute creatures dance as well," Orion admitted softly, gently patting the side of its smooth, leathery neck. "It sounds significantly more refined than even a Ball dance."

They spent twenty minutes in the quiet paddock, scattering grain and letting the shy, peaceful creatures nudge their sleeves.

When the bucket was finally empty, the largest of the calves stepped up to Luna. It tilted its head, extended its long neck, and gently pressed its cool, leathery snout against her cheek.

Orion heard its parting thought clearly: "Next. Come. Again."

Luna giggled, stroking its nose. "I will come back soon."

They walked back to the cabin, where Hagrid emerged, wiping his massive hands on a towel.

"Thanks a lot, you two!" Hagrid smiled warmly, taking the empty bucket. "Now, off yeh go back up to the castle. It’s already a bit past curfew, but at least it’s not midnight yet. If an Auror or a prefect stops yeh, just show ’em the note I gave yeh, alright? G’night!"

"Goodnight, Hagrid," they chorused.

They began the trek back up the sloping hill toward the glowing windows of Hogwarts.

The night was peaceful, the wind dying down.

As they walked, Orion’s mind, naturally incapable of absolute stillness, split into two distinct partitions using Parallel Processing.

Thread One casually walked beside Luna, maintaining awareness of their pace, the snowy path, and the distant silhouette of the castle.

Thread Two, however, was aggressively running spatial calculations regarding Operation: Grand Theft Gringotts.

The Thief’s Downfall, Thread Two analyzed intensely. The fundamental barrier. Can I bypass the enchanted waterfall using a high-density kinetic deflection shield? No. The enchantment is woven into the liquid itself; physical contact strips magic, and a shield is fundamentally magical. The water would ground the spell on impact.

What about ’Time’? Thread Two probed, testing the temporal halt. If I freeze time before the cart hits the falls... I can step out. But the water droplets are suspended in the air. If I physically walk through the frozen waterfall, my body still makes physical contact with the enchanted droplets. The moment reality resumes, the magic on my person is stripped. Time itself might not unravel, but the Polyjuice disguise melts instantly.

He was at an absolute, infuriating dead end.

"Say, Orion," Luna’s soft, melodic voice suddenly broke the silence.

Orion’s focus snapped back into a single thread. He looked at her. "Yes, Luna?"

Luna was walking with her hands in her coat pockets, her head tilted as she looked up at him with those wide, unblinking silvery eyes.

"You are being quite busy in your head tonight, Orion," Luna remarked airily. "It almost feels like... well, like you are talking with yourself. Or maybe, like there are two of you talking at the exact same time inside your mind."

Orion stopped dead in the snow.

A jolt of genuine, terrifying shock went through his spine.

What the hell?! Orion screamed internally. She sensed Parallel Processing?! She has no Mind Arts! She doesn’t even know what a System is! How does she consistently bypass the laws of cognitive privacy?!

He masked the panic instantly, forcing his expression into an easy, self-deprecating smile.

"You are exceptionally observant, Luna," Orion conceded, resuming his stride. "It’s just that I have been attempting to solve a rather complicated, stubborn puzzle recently, and I am completely stuck on one of the final parameters."

Luna’s face lit up with a brilliant, delighted smile. She hopped once in the snow, her radish earrings bobbing merrily.

"Oh, I love puzzles!" Luna beamed, turning her radiant gaze upon him. "Daddy gives me loads of puzzle books for my birthday, and we even have an entire section in The Quibbler dedicated to them every month! Riddles, word mazes, runic crosswords... why don’t you tell me about it, Orion? Maybe I can help you solve it!"