It had been a while since Orion had found himself sneaking through the castle, keeping undetected by the many patrolling entities such as Heads, professors, and ghosts. It had been a while since they boy had been available to do something both so completely unimportant, and yet also very important. Between his required assistance to Draco, Swiper, Quidditch, his studies, and his many hours of considering and deep thought, he found he had little time for much else except for the necessities such as bathing, sleeping, and eating. The Slytherin were just vain enough to care about dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep. After all, Orion was well-known for many things, and one of those things was his impeccable state and perfect looks at all times. Most of which were achieved quite naturally.
Regardless, he found himself with a stack of finished essays a few hours earlier than expected that evening, and Swiper was off doing something or other with Riddle, which was likely going to be the cause of some catastrophe or danger sooner or later. Those two were bloody bad enough separately. The fates must have a cruel and unusual sense of humor for throwing them together. Draco didn't seem all that worried, but then, the idiot blonde rarely worried until it was far too late. Orion himself wasn't worried per say. Cautious would be more like it. Subtly cautious.
Either way, with nothing to really do and no Swiper to play with, he found himself trying his hand at solving a puzzle that was taking far too long to solve for his liking. Which was saying something given that there was no one in the castle with better patience and control than Orion. But he was going on three and a half years of trying to solve the puzzle of hieroglyphs, and it was beginning to annoy him that he had yet to crack the code. The only thing that helped keep him in check was the fact that neither Blaise nor Draco had figured it out in all that time either. Not only would he win the bet if he figured it out first, but he it would also give him bragging rights for years to come. Something Orion thoroughly enjoyed.
So he had spent a good few hours in the dorm, shut away behind the curtains of his four poster bed, books strewn across it as he flipped pages here and there and scratched things down on parchment every now and again with his eagle feathered quill, muttering to himself as he were prone to do when alone and focused. He had long ago copied down the markings on the walls to study at his leisure, and it was around midnight when the wizard found himself sneaking through the shadows of the castle, making his way higher into the stone fortress, his feet carrying him further from where he should and was supposed to be. It reminded him of the very night that began the entire mystery in the first place. Unknowingly, a boyish sort of grin curled his lips in remembrance of the night in his second year when Draco had convinced Blaise and himself to go looking for Slytherin's Heir, which ended up in them hiding from Peeves on the sixth floor and their discovery of the hieroglyphic hall.
The three had made a bet regarding who could decode it first, and it was one reason why all of them had chosen to study Ancient Runes thereafter. But none of them had solved it for years. Orion wasn't sure whether the other two even still tried, though it was likely they hadn't forgotten. None of them were likely to forget a chance to one-up the others and stroke their own ego, not to mention earn bragging rights. So it was Orion that exuded confidence as he snuck through the Ancient Runes corridor, having successfully avoided being caught out past curfew and making it to the sixth floor, and through the door that led to the hall covered in hieroglyphs he sought to take credit for figuring out.
What he hadn't expected was for someone else to be there.
Not one to be easily startled, Orion kept himself from showing his surprise, masking it with his typical mocking look as his blue eyes found the face of none other than Silas Lestrange. "I do hope that is a rhetorical question, otherwise I think my opinion regarding ill-sorted, brain-dead Lestranges will extend further than the gruesome two-some more commonly known as your cousins." The older male replied cooly, easing into the room in all his confident and arrogant glory, looking every bit the Pureblood he was, his tone bored though his lips curled into a derisive smirk. "And we all know what a tragedy that would be, given your particular parentage."
If one didn't know any better, they might mistake his comment for a compliment of sorts, but it was all too clear by its smooth delivery and the mocking look to his eyes that it was anything but. The Lestrange family didn't hold much weight to him, and he thought very little of them, right down to the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, mother of the younger boy he now taunted. Of course, Orion was no fool. The Ravenclaw's mother was a fierce witch indeed. Deadly, and dangerous. But insanity tended to strip away one's common sense and intelligence, and it seemed to run in the family, right down to the newest generation. It was that trait he mocked, though he had very little interaction with the youngest Lestrange to verify whether he, too, fell victim to that lack of good judgement and brains the rest of his family seemed to suffer from.
Either way, the Slytherin looked completely unconcerned with being caught out past curfew by the Ravenclaw, as he leaned casually against a wall, arms folded across his chest and legs crossed at the ankles, one perfectly sculpted brow arching in return at the younger male. "I'm glad, however, that you seem to be able to at least tell time. Then perhaps you might consider that you're committing the same breach of rules as I am by being here. Unless, of course, you're here to meet the virginal Faye. In that case, I would have to say my intentions are clearly more academically based, and less hormonal." Again, his words were delivered smoothly, falling from his smirking lips every bit as intentionally as if he had planned the conversation months in advance. They were deliberate, though they were spoken with as little interest as one might spare the weather. They were designed to press on buttons he knew were more likely to get a reaction, if any. It was his bread and butter, and he thrived in it. He easily dismissed the fact the other male were a prefect, as it were past even the hours of patrolling prats.