Chapter 327: The Phantom Masquerade and The Fourth Fragment

Orion remained sprawled across the mountain of gold for another ten minutes, his hands tucked behind his head, entirely tuning out Sparkle’s lingering sighs of exasperation.

"Orion," Bellatrix’s raspy, breathless voice echoed from across the vault. "It is finished."

Orion sat up, gold Galleons cascading down the metal slopes around him with a pleasant, musical clatter. He slid smoothly off the pile, landing on the flagstones, and walked over to inspect her handiwork.

It was a masterpiece of pure, unadulterated psychological terrorism.

In the exact geometric center of the granite floor, Bellatrix had traced a colossal, intricate ritual circle in sizzling, alchemically treated silver chalk. Interlocking runic rings, stylized pentagrams, jagged demonic script, and small channels filled with luminescent ritual fluid glowed with a faint, malevolent crimson light.

To any curse-breaker or Unspeakable inspecting the scene later, it would look like an ancient, highly dangerous, soul-rending summoning matrix.

In reality, it was completely, mechanically inert. It was gibberish. A theatrical fake designed to make the Ministry assume an attempt to an unholy summoning ritual inside the Minister’s personal slush fund.

"Flawless, Aunt Bella," Orion praised, a genuine smirk curving his lips. "It looks like the gates of the underworld were about to open."

He gestured toward the open hatch of the master trunk.

"Now... go haul that unconscious pink trash out of the cargo space and dump her near the wall. She needs to look like her mind was fried due to the effects of the summoning ritual."

Bellatrix cackled, flicking her wand. A moment later, the limp, snoring form of Dolores Umbridge was levitated out of the trunk and unceremoniously dropped against the granite wall beside the shelves of ledgers, looking thoroughly bruised and pathetic.

Orion turned to his own preparations. It was time for the stage costume.

He reached into his Inventory, stowing away his heavy, tailored black outer coat. Drawing his Hawthorn wand, he lightly tapped the lapels and cuffs of his charcoal waistcoat and trousers.

Colovaria.

The dark silver threads lining the fabric shifted, melting into sharp, vibrant, metallic gold. It instantly transformed his silhouette, making his attire look less like a schoolboy’s evening wear and more like the regal, stylized combat uniform of a foreign pureblood warlord.

Next, he accessed the grid, retrieving an item he had kept in stasis since his first year.

[The Cape of the Dramaturge]

The cloak materialized in his hands. It was crafted from a heavy, liquid-silk fabric of the deepest midnight-blue, lined with shimmering silver velvet.

Orion brought the collar to his shoulders.

The moment the fabric brushed his neck, the enchanted clasps activated on their own. They snapped together with a soft, magnetic click, anchoring the garment seamlessly to his posture, shifting its weight like a sentient creature settling into place.

Orion gave a sharp, deliberate flick of his shoulder.

The cape responded instantly. It flared outward in an exaggerated, high-velocity billow, sweeping through the air with theatrical majesty, before settling back into heavy, elegant folds down to the backs of his dragon-hide boots.

"Oh, very dramatic," Sparkle snickered in his mind. "Very Doctor Strange."

"Aesthetics matter, Sparkle," Orion murmured.

Finally, he retrieved the final piece of the disguise.

[The Mask of the Unknown]

The mask was exquisite. It looked like something worn at an exclusive, decadent Venetian masquerade gala—forged from polished, iridescent dark metal that seemed to absorb and refract light simultaneously, adorned with subtle, silver filigree along the cheekbones.

The mechanics behind the artifact were pure perceptual deception.

The mask did not transform him into a monster or an unrecognizable persona. It altered his physical features through an active, cognitive distortion charm. Anyone looking at him would clearly see a boy, but the specific variables would shift per observer.

His height and weight would be perceived differently by each viewer. One person would look at him and swear his eyes were blazing gold; another would see emerald green; another would see ice-blue. One witness would testify that his hair was raven-black and cropped short; another would describe long, wavy chestnut brown locks. The facial structure, the bridge of the nose, and the jawline would subtly drift in the observer’s memory, ensuring that no two witness statements would ever match, completely invalidating any composite sketch.

And, as Sparkle had promised during their plan discussions, the enchantment was keyed to his soul; only Orion could physically remove it.

He raised the mask to his face. It pressed gently against the bridge of his nose, the edges adhering seamlessly to his skin with a soft tingle of magic, framing his eyes in dark, metallic elegance.

He turned toward Bellatrix, who had just finished arranging Umbridge’s unconscious limbs.

"Aunt Bella," Orion called out, his voice modulated slightly by the mask into a smoother, deeper timbre. "Look at me. What do you see?"

Bellatrix turned around, wiping chalk dust from her fingers. She stopped dead, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him.

"I see... you," she murmured, a puzzled, fascinated expression crossing her face. "Wearing an extraordinarily dramatic cape and a gorgeous mask. But... Orion?"

She tilted her head, stepping closer.

"Your eyes... have they always been an intense, glowing amber? And your face... you look slightly older. Different."

Orion smirked beneath the metal. "Then the mask works. Thank you, Aunt Bella. You have been a magnificent help today. The rest of this performance is entirely under my purview."

He pointed toward the open hatch of the master trunk.

"I need you to evacuate now. Climb into the trunk, enter the Vanishing Cabinet inside, and tap the rune. You will exit directly into my trunk at Hogwarts. Remain inside the study there and wait for me to recall you. Do not wander the castle."

Bellatrix nodded, though a faint pout touched her lips. "Alright. But you be careful, my little star. I will be waiting for your victory."

She turned toward the ladder, preparing to climb down.

Before her boot could touch the top rung, the granite door of the vault creaked open another inch.

A tiny, shadow-like figure slipped into the room.

Dobby strode into Vault 162. Floating serenely through the air beside the elf’s shoulder was a thick, plush velvet pillow.

And resting squarely on top of the velvet—untouched by a single hand, completely unblemished by curses—was a heavy, two-handled golden chalice, beautifully engraved with an intricate badger emblem.

Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup.

Bellatrix froze. Her entire body locked into absolute, rigid paralysis.

Her jaw dropped, the color draining from her face as she stared at the ancient, golden chalice hovering in the air.

"Wait..." Bellatrix choked out, her voice cracking in pure, visceral horror. "That... that cup! How...?! That was in my vault! The Dark Lord entrusted—"

Orion stepped forward with blinding, decisive speed, inserting himself directly between his godmother and the floating relic. His posture was immovable, his gaze burning through the mask.

"This was my true, secondary objective here today, Aunt Bella," Orion stated firmly, his voice calm, steady, and utterly devoid of fear.

He held her panicked gaze, his Level 2 Mind Arts locking onto her emotional distress through the familiar bond, soothing the violent spike of terror before she could spiral into madness.

"I know you possess a thousand questions," Orion murmured softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know this shocks you. But trust me. Once we are safely back at Malfoy Manor, I will explain the entire truth to you. Every single detail. Do not worry about this, Aunt Bella. It is in safe hands."

Bellatrix trembled. The clash between her fanatical devotion to Voldemort and the overwhelming, instinctual trust forged by the Familiar’s Orb waged a brutal, silent war in her mind.

The bond won.

She swallowed hard, nodding slowly, though she shot a venomous, suspicious glare at Dobby. "I... I trust you, Orion. I do."

"Good," Orion smiled.

He turned to the floating chalice, feeling the cold, dark, familiar hum of a soul fragment vibrating against his shields.

"Inventory," Orion commanded mentally.

In a flash of digital blue light, the ancient artifact ceased to exist in the physical plane.

[Horcrux: Tom Marvolo Riddle Fragment 4 (Hufflepuff’s Cup)]

A thrilling, electric, nearly overwhelming wave of triumph rushed through Orion’s veins. He had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing out loud.

Four out of five.

The Diary. The Locket. The Diadem. And now, the Cup was also locked in digital stasis.

Only the Gaunt Ring remained on the board.

Orion suppressed the euphoria, snapping his mind back to the present reality. They were still miles beneath the earth in an active bank.

"Go," Orion commanded, gesturing toward the master trunk. "Aunt Bella, Dobby. Both of you into the cabinet. Return to Hogwarts and wait for my signal."

"Dobby will escort the Mistress!" Dobby saluted, scrambling down the ladder.

Bellatrix took one last look at Orion, offered a proud, manic smile, and descended into the hatch, pulling the secondary lid shut behind them.

The latch clicked.

The heavy master trunk sat silently on the vault floor.

Orion Malfoy was alone.

He turned around, his dragon-hide boots splashing through the shallow puddles as he walked toward the center of the room.

He stepped directly into the middle of the glowing, silver-chalked ritual circle, surrounded by the towering mountains of gold and the unconscious, groaning form of Dolores Umbridge.

He stood tall, rolling his shoulders. The midnight-blue cape flared dramatically behind his back, settling into majestic folds, while the metallic masquerade mask gleamed under the torchlight.

He looked toward the open granite door, listening to the distant, subterranean rumble of a chained dragon pacing the dark caverns.

Orion smirked, the adrenaline finally breaking into pure, chaotic fire.

"Let’s put on a show."