Donaghan sat down beside him and threw the ball of paper into the fire. Orion watched the newspaper burst into green flames. The fireplace was the best place for the trash that got printed in the Daily Prophet.

"Orion, I...I'm sorry,"

Orion didn't turn to look at his mate but continued to stare at the flames dancing in the hearth. He nodded, acknowledging his friend's comment. Part of him wanted to tell Don that he could take his bloody sympathies and to go to hell with them.


"You know, I never believed that there were good people in the world, like it was a myth like Santa Claus or something. If someone did something good, it's because they wanted everyone to see them and give them a good pat on the back or just doing it to get something that they want. Then, I met Nicholas and Rose and they were good people, really good people, not because they wanted to something but just thats how they were," Orion commented softly.

He knew he was rambling a bit. But the words just couldn't seem to stop. He had never really said anything to anyone about his adoptive parents. He had actually forgotten his mate was even there for a moment.

"The killings were random. There's just no sense to it all," he muttered resting his chin on his clasped hands. Death was more easier to accept when there was a reason. Death came in all forms, illness, violence or accident and Orion learned long ago to accept it. But the attack on Diagon was done by madmen with a lust for blood.

He turned to look at his mate. He and Donaghan had met shortly after arriving their first year and had gotten along pretty well since then.

"I'll hex you if you breathe any of this to anyone else," he said with a half smile, a hint of his old self coming out.