After Professor Trelawney delivered her grim prophecy about someone in the class "departing from this world forever," the classroom fell into a heavy, almost tangible silence. Nervous eyes darted around, breaths held.

"Now then..." Trelawney clapped her hands lightly, breaking the tension she herself had conjured. "Students, please form small groups. Each of you, find a teacup, drink it dry, then swirl the leaves in the cup three times with your left hand. Place the saucer upside down over the cup, hold it firmly, and give it three gentle shakes. Then pass your cup to your partner to interpret what the leaves reveal."

The room erupted in clattering cups and jingling teapots. Orion remained seated alone, uninterested in finding a partner. He lifted the teacup before him, staring into the pale brown liquid. Instead of sipping slowly, he drained it in one go, setting it down without so much as a flinch.

"Potter," came Trelawney's dreamy voice behind him, making Orion flinch slightly, "why sit alone? Solitude can cloud the hidden meanings within the leaves."

Orion turned, meeting the magnified, intent gaze of her eyes behind thick lenses.

"Professor," he said calmly, "interpreting it by myself seems... a bit biased."

"Oh, what a cautious soul!" Trelawney murmured, clearly delighted. "Let me assist you, then."

While Harry, Ron, and Hermione clumsily performed the tea-leaf rituals (Ron nearly dumping his cup all over Hermione), Orion slid his empty cup toward Trelawney.

She took it, lifting it to her eyes, spinning it gently, whispering strange syllables. Suddenly, she started, her eyes widening behind the lenses.

"Curious... most curious..." she muttered.

"Something ominous, professor?" Orion asked, tone steady, though his gray eyes sharpened.

"Not ominous... protective," she said slowly, pointing to a point in the cup. "Here, a wolf is growling. It does not attack, but it guards. And beside it... a lily buried in snow, yet still blooming. It represents purity... and a sacrifice from the past."

Orion fell silent, brows knitting. Lily... he knew the name referred to Harry's mother. And the "wolf"? He had someone in mind, though he wasn't certain.

"And here," Trelawney continued, voice drifting, "a broken bridge. A separation. Yet a hand strives to mend it. You, Orion Potter, are the bridge—a bridge between destinies once thought severed."

Her words struck Orion like a hammer to his thoughts on "protecting family." It seemed fate was speaking: his role wasn't just as a shield, but as a connector.

A loud crash rang from Harry's table—Neville had shattered his cup. Frozen, pale as a sheet, he stared at the fragments.

"Oh, the poor child!" Trelawney wailed dramatically. "A clear omen! Shattered... divided!"

Neville teetered on the edge of tears. Orion's eyes twitched at the sight, the boy's fear recalling the weaker students "Les Renégats," his band of rebels and reluctant heroes, had once protected.

Before Trelawney could drown the room in more doom, Orion stood and approached Neville. He scooped up the broken pieces, stuffing them into his robes, and patted Neville's shoulder.

"Don't worry," Orion said, voice unexpectedly gentle, the sarcasm gone. "It's just a cup. I once deliberately smashed an entire antique tea set belonging to Beauxbatons' headmistress. She survived, teeth intact." He gave a genuine smile.

Neville blinked, then nodded, exhaling in relief.

Trelawney regarded Orion with a complex expression. "Compassion... a quality even harder to discern than the future," she whispered.

After guiding the class through the tea-leaf exercise, she began moving from table to table, "interpreting" the cups.

"Oh, look at this..." she paused by Lavender Brown, voice excited. "A wound! Someone will receive an unexpected gift..."

When she reached Harry, Ron, and Hermione's table, she seemed disappointed by the mundane shapes in Ron's leaves. Then she turned to Harry.

"Give me your cup, son."

Harry handed it over. Trelawney swirled the tea, eyes wide behind thick lenses.

"Grimfang..." she whispered. "The black dog... dreadful, fearsome... a harbinger of death..."

Instantly, a hush fell over the room. Every gaze fixed on Harry.

"She's at it again," muttered Ron under his breath.

Trelawney trembled, dropping Harry's cup onto its saucer with a loud clink. Eyes bulging, she shouted:

"Grimfang! The great spectral hound guarding the graves! Harry Potter, you see it, don't you? It is a warning... the most dreadful warning... OF DEATH!"

Harry froze, blood draining from his face. He had indeed seen a massive black dog on the Night of the Shrieking Oak—and now...

"I SEE IT!" Trelawney shrieked, body quivering. "I SEE GRIMFANG IN YOUR TEA! DEATH... IT FOLLOWS YOU!"

Parvati and Lavender clutched each other in terror. Neville dropped his saucer with a sharp crash. Chaos erupted.

From his corner, Orion observed silently. His gray eyes never left Harry, noting the fear etched across the boy's face. Instinctively protective, he rose, the chair scraping across the floor, cutting through the tension.

"Professor," Orion said, voice deliberately calm, standing in stark contrast to the dramatic spectacle, "couldn't it just be a normal dog? Perhaps Filch's mutt... or a stray wandering the forest?"

Trelawney spun toward him, affronted. "No! It is Grimfang! A portent not to be mistaken!"

"Then," Orion said, unshaken, a faint smirk tugging his lips, "perhaps it only means Harry might... encounter a dog. One that can bite, but not necessarily kill anyone."

A few stifled chuckles rose from the back, Seamus Finnigan among them. The tension in the room eased slightly.

Trelawney shot Orion a cold glare. "Your skepticism, Orion Potter, is a veil that prevents you from seeing the grand truth."

Orion bowed politely, feigning deference. "Perhaps, professor. But I still believe preparing for a dog bite is more practical than waiting... for death."

At that moment, the bell rang. Chaos erupted as students scrambled to gather their things, whispers of "Grimfang" and "Harry Potter is going to die" spreading like wildfire.

Orion methodically packed his books. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione passed, he stepped in front of them.

"Don't let nonsense get to you, Harry," Orion said plainly, eyes locking on the boy. "If there's a dog threatening you, I'll see it off. Simple as that."

His words were unadorned, yet carried a quiet, resolute authority—a promise. Before Harry could respond, Orion turned and strode toward the staircase, leaving the trio with an unfamiliar sense: someone, however young, was standing between them and danger with unflinching courage.