Break room secrets
Draco approached the break room door, his fingers tight around a steaming cup of tea he’d conjured for himself after a grueling morning of paperwork. He paused when he heard voices inside—loud, familiar voices.
“Malfoy? I don’t understand why he’s even here,” came the sneering tone of Flint, one of the more vocal Aurors who had always found reasons to deride Draco. “The only reason he’s on the force is because he bought his way in or had some strings pulled. It’s not like he earned it.”
A chorus of agreement followed, punctuated by a chuckle from another voice. “Exactly. A Death Eater’s son? It’s a liability waiting to happen. I wouldn’t trust him at my back on the field.”
Draco’s grip on the cup tightened. He should’ve been used to this by now, but the sharp sting of their words cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
Before he could decide whether to enter or walk away, Orion’s voice cut through the room like a whip.
“Enough.”
The room fell silent.
“What’s your problem with Malfoy, exactly?” Orion asked, his tone sharp and dangerous.
“It’s not personal, Veyne,” Flint said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “It’s just the truth. He doesn’t belong here. He’s got too much baggage, too much history.”
Orion laughed, a low, humorless sound. “And you think you don’t have baggage? That any of us don’t? You’re an Auror, Flint, not Merlin’s gift to wizardkind. If you think Malfoy’s past defines him, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”
“You can’t tell me you trust him,” Flint argued. “Not completely.”
“I trust him more than I trust you,” Orion snapped. “And for good reason. Malfoy’s saved my life on more than one occasion, and he does his job better than half the people in this room. You don’t like him because you’re too thick to see past his name.”
Draco’s breath hitched, the words catching him off guard.
“You’ve got no idea what he’s capable of,” Orion continued, his voice like steel. “But I do. So, if I hear another word out of you or anyone else about Malfoy not belonging, you’ll answer to me. Got it?”
There was a long silence, broken only by the uncomfortable shuffling of feet.
“Fine,” Flint muttered. “Whatever you say.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Orion said coldly.
Draco stepped back from the door, his tea forgotten. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that Orion had defended him so fiercely, or that he had meant every word.
A part of him wanted to walk in and confront the room full of Aurors, to demand their respect. But another part, a quieter, more vulnerable part, was content to let the moment settle.
For the first time in a long time, Draco felt like he wasn’t alone.
~
Draco leaned against the cold metal of a locker, waiting for Orion to finish sorting his gear after their latest mission. His heart beat faster than he liked, the words he’d overheard in the break room earlier that day swirling in his head.
Orion finally turned, his wand sliding into its holster on his forearm. He froze when he saw Draco’s expression.
“Something on your mind, Malfoy?” Orion asked, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Draco folded his arms. “I heard what you said earlier. In the break room.”
Orion’s smirk faded slightly, his glowing purple eyes narrowing as he tried to read Draco’s mood. “And?”
Draco took a step closer, his voice low but sharp. “Why did you defend me?”
Orion blinked, caught off guard. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because no one else does,” Draco said, his tone bitter. “Because most of the Aurors here think I don’t belong. And if I’m being honest, sometimes I think they’re right.”
“Stop,” Orion said, his voice firm. “I’m not going to let you talk about yourself like that.”
Draco frowned, caught off guard by Orion’s tone. “You barely know me. You’ve worked with me for what—two missions? You don’t owe me anything.”
Orion tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “That’s where you’re wrong. I know enough about you, Malfoy. Enough to see that you’re more than your name or your past. You’ve got talent, instincts, and—believe it or not—a sense of loyalty that most people would kill for.”
Draco’s throat tightened, but he didn’t break eye contact. “They don’t see that. They see a Malfoy. A failure. A liability.”
“Then they’re idiots,” Orion said flatly. He stepped closer, his voice softening. “Look, I’ve been the outsider before. I know what it’s like to walk into a room and feel like you don’t belong. But you? You’ve earned your place here, whether they admit it or not.”
Draco looked down, unsure how to respond. “You didn’t have to say anything,” he muttered. “Back in the break room.”
“Maybe not,” Orion admitted. “But I wanted to. I don’t stand by while good people get torn down for no reason.”
Draco huffed a small, humorless laugh. “You think I’m ‘good people’?”
Orion grinned, the tension between them easing. “You’re tolerable. That’s a start.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Absolutely,” Orion said, clapping a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “But if you think I’m going to let those morons badmouth you without consequences, you don’t know me at all.”
Draco shook his head, but he didn’t shrug off Orion’s hand. For the first time in years, he felt like someone truly had his back—and that feeling was both terrifying and comforting.