The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with its usual chatter and clatter—except around the Gryffindor table. That corner was eerily quiet.

Harry sat slumped over, staring blankly at his plate of eggs. His hair was worse than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like he’d spent the night dueling his own thoughts.

Ron leaned toward Hermione, whispering:

“He looks awful. You can’t just sit there looking like a ghost, mate. I mean—he’s family, right? Uncle or not, it’s better than the Dursleys.”

“But—”

“Sorry to cut in,” Hermione interrupted crisply, “but you can’t ignore reality just because it makes you uncomfortable, Harry.”

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared harder at his eggs.

Ron shrugged.

“What, you gonna rip your family tree to shreds or something?”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed.

“Sorry! Just trying to cheer him up…”

Harry groaned, dropping his head to the table.

“I just want to go back to the day before he showed up.”

The two exchanged helpless looks. There was really no comforting someone as stubborn as Harry Potter.

“Good morning, Harry!”

Orion dropped into the seat beside him, looking as relaxed as if he were on vacation. He eyed Harry’s gloomy face.

“Didn’t sleep, huh? You look like you’ve been kissed by a Dementor.”

“I’m fine, uh… uncle.” The word came out painfully awkward. Calling someone who looked his own age uncle felt like swallowing a fork.

Orion laughed.

“Guess you’re not used to it yet. Don’t worry, you’ll get there. I’ve known about you for years, you know. Tried to visit once or twice, but every letter I sent to that Dursley place got sent back faster than a cursed owl.”

Hermione gasped.

“That’s outrageous! They blocked his family from visiting? Who does that?!”

Orion raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Exactly. Ask them.”

Harry blinked. “So… Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon lied? They didn’t just hide magic—they hid my family?”

“Didn’t tell you a thing, did they?” Orion said, resting his chin on his hand, voice dripping with dry amusement. “Should’ve guessed.”

He rose from his seat suddenly. “Anyway, you finish breakfast. I’m off to have a little chat with Draco.”

“Malfoy?!” Harry nearly choked. “You know him?”

“Of course. He’s my nephew like you.”

“…”

“WHAT?!”

The Golden Trio froze mid-breath. Hermione’s jaw dropped; Ron almost inhaled his sausage.

“Wait—how?” Harry demanded.

Orion grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“My mother was Dorea Black. Malfoy’s grandfather was a Black, too. The Blacks all married in circles tighter than a cursed lasso. So Narcissa—Draco’s mum—is my distant cousin. Makes me his… what, second uncle? Something like that.”

Ron coughed violently. Hermione looked like she’d just solved a riddle and immediately regretted it.

“This family tree’s a nightmare,” Ron muttered.

“Let me tell you,” Orion said cheerfully. “Mum had me when she was sixty. Complete accident. One last miracle before she kicked the bucket. No one expected a little surprise Potter so late in life.”

“Sixty?!” Hermione squeaked. “That’s… biologically improbable!”

“Miracle of chaos, that’s me,” Orion said, deadpan. “She gave birth, waved goodbye to life, and left me to make family reunions awkward forever after. So yeah, I’m young enough to share classes with my nephews.”

Ron squinted. “So you’re… technically old but not actually old?”

“Exactly,” Orion said with a smirk. “Now, take care of my dear nephew for me, will you?”

He vanished before any of them could reply, leaving the trio to process the genealogical disaster.

“I’m not a kid,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Hermione arched a brow. “You are to him.”

Harry stabbed his eggs like they’d personally offended him.

---

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, gilding the Slytherin table like a stage spotlight. Pansy Parkinson lounged with her chin in one hand, idly twirling her silver spoon as if divining bad omens. Daphne Greengrass nibbled on toast, eyes drifting toward Draco Malfoy—who sat unnaturally silent.

“Draco, you’ve been moping all morning,” Pansy said, suspicious. “You look like someone dragged you through the dungeons backward.”

Crabbe and Goyle were too busy eating to care about Draco’s existential crisis.

Draco set down his knife. “I’m fine.”

Pansy snorted.

“You sure? Because Potter looks like he’s been hexed by Snape, and I’d love to know why.” Her voice rose just enough for the nearby Gryffindors to hear. “Maybe he dreamed his Muggle mum got dragged to the underworld again?”

Daphne didn’t even look up from The Daily Prophet.

“More likely he’s just shocked by all the new family sprouting out of nowhere. I heard there’s a new Potter in town.”

“Talking about me?”

A calm, amused voice slid into the conversation.

Orion Potter had appeared behind them like smoke.

Pansy nearly choked on her pastry. The spoon clattered loudly against her plate. Daphne froze mid-bite, eyes wide.

Draco blinked once. Twice. Then turned toward Orion, expression hovering between horror and indignation.

“We were just—uh—joking,” Pansy stammered.

Orion glanced at her fallen spoon, then at her face, as if deciding whether it was worth hexing or just shoving pie into her mouth.

“Funny joke,” he said evenly. His tone was light, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop a few degrees. It wasn’t arrogance—it was the kind of cold that came from someone who’d seen too much to bother pretending anymore.

Even Crabbe and Goyle stopped chewing. That alone said enough.

Daphne, quick on her feet, flipped her paper open. “Sooo… looks like snow’s coming! And McGonagall moved the Transfiguration test to tomorrow morning, how about that?”

No one cared.

Orion stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharp enough to slice through Slytherin pride.

Pansy stared at her lap. Draco finally stood, stiffly.

“I’m done eating,” he muttered.

“Going somewhere?” Goyle asked, dumb as ever.

But Draco had barely taken three steps before—

A hand landed lightly on his shoulder.

Not rough. Just final.

“Leaving already?” Orion’s voice was soft, teasing—but it carried a weight that made everyone nearby shiver. “Bit rude, isn’t it? Your dear uncle tries to say hello, and you bolt?”

Draco froze. Orion stepped in front of him, close enough to blur the line between challenge and family.

“I said, I’m fine.”

“Oh?” Orion tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Then why do you look like a Dementor kissed you halfway and changed its mind?”

Draco’s jaw twitched. His hands clenched. Whatever he felt—anger, shame, or something far more complicated—was locked tight behind his perfect Malfoy mask.

______

Hi! Everyone🤗 I am a Vietnamese author, my English is only average so I may make mistakes when writing, I hope everyone understands 😜 I am very happy when everyone supports my stories ✨ Thank u~❤️