December arrived with a brutal, biting cold that froze the Black Lake solid and turned the castle's breath into white mist.
But inside Orion's expanded trunk on Wednesday night, the atmosphere was warm and electric with impending execution.
Orion stood before the chalkboard, diagramming the exact layout of the Great Hall, including the distances between the Gryffindor bench, the High Table, and the large, arched windows lining the walls.
"Listen closely, Dobby," Orion instructed, pointing to a specific quadrant of the diagram. "The timing is everything. A fraction of a second too early or too late, and the entire aesthetic of the prank is ruined."
Dobby, wearing a remarkably clean tea towel, nodded so vigorously his ears flapped against his cheeks. "Dobby is listening, Master Orion! Dobby has the timing in his head!"
"Good," Orion said, tossing the chalk aside. He pulled a folded piece of parchment from his desk and picked up two brightly colored, medium sized Aqua Bubbles—one neon pink, the other a virulent, glowing green.
"Tomorrow morning, just before breakfast," Orion continued, handing the note and the balloons to the elf. "You will deliver these directly to Harry Potter's dormitory. You must ensure he is physically present when you drop them on his bedside table. Let him see the ammunition. The note details the exact time of the deployment."
"Dobby will make sure the great Harry Potter sees the squishy water balls!" Dobby saluted.
"Perfect. You are dismissed."
CRACK.
Thursday dawned grey and overcast. The tension in Orion's chest was a tight, coiled spring of anticipation.
During the mid-morning break, he sought out Luna Lovegood. He found her wandering near the courtyard, staring intently at a frost-covered gargoyle.
"Luna," Orion greeted her softly.
"Hello, Orion," she smiled. "The gargoyle looks very cold today."
"I have a specific request regarding your attire for the evening feast tonight, Luna," Orion said, getting straight to the point. "I strongly advise you to wear a raincoat, or at least an impermeable cloak, when you sit down for dinner."
Luna blinked her silvery eyes, looking up at the enchanted ceiling of the courtyard, which was currently projecting a clear, albeit chilly, day.
"Is it going to rain indoors, Orion?" she asked mildly.
"Yep," Orion confirmed with a straight face.
Luna didn't ask further questions. She didn't demand an explanation regarding the physics of indoor weather. She simply nodded. "I have a lovely yellow raincoat with ducklings on it. I shall wear that."
"Excellent choice," Orion smiled.
Late in the afternoon, as the shadows began to lengthen, Orion checked the Marauder's Map. He located Nymphadora Tonks patrolling a corridor near the Hufflepuff basement.
He intercepted her seamlessly.
"Tonks," Orion called out, adopting a look of responsible, civic concern.
"Orion," Tonks sighed, leaning against the wall. "Please tell me you're here to confess to a crime. My shift has been agonizingly dull."
"No exactly a crime, cousin," Orion replied smoothly. "However, I felt it was my duty to inform you of a minor disruption scheduled for tonight's dinner. I am planning a small... practical joke... against Professor Snape."
Tonks's jaw dropped. Her hair cycled rapidly through several shocked colors before settling on an excited, vibrant orange. "A prank? On Snape? Are you insane? He'll murder you and use your bones for broth!"
"I am aware of the risks," Orion assured her, his tone perfectly calm. "I am executing this primarily to alleviate the growing stress and paranoia surrounding the Azkaban breakout. A bit of levity is required. However, considering the heightened security..."
He looked at her seriously.
"...I wanted to inform you directly, so you can relay the message to your fellow Auror stationed in the Hall tonight. I do not want your colleagues to mistake a harmless prank for a hostile attack and start firing stunners into the student body."
Tonks stared at him, a mixture of profound awe and amusement on her face.
"Wow," Tonks breathed, shaking her head. "That is... incredibly responsible of you. Planning a prank and actually filing a risk assessment with law enforcement beforehand. You are the weirdest Slytherin I have ever met."
"I aim for efficiency, Tonks. Enjoy the show."
He turned and walked away, his heart beating a steady, thrilling rhythm. The audience was prepped. The authorities were neutralized.
Just before the dinner bell rang, Orion made his final move.
He timed his approach to the dungeons perfectly, arriving outside Professor Snape's office just as the heavy oak door clicked open.
Snape stepped out, adjusting his black robes, looking characteristically sour at the prospect of enduring a meal surrounded by noisy adolescents. As usual.
"Good evening, Professor," Orion greeted him politely. "May I walk with you to the Great Hall? I have a question I wished to ask, though it is not particularly serious."
Snape paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. A microscopic twitch disturbed his stoic expression at the pun, but he gave a curt nod. "If you must, Malfoy. Walk."
They fell into step, the silence of the dungeons echoing around them.
"I was wondering, Uncle Sev," Orion asked casually, as if inquiring about the weather. "Has Mother or Father sent you any correspondence regarding Aunt Bella? Has she made an appearance at the Manor yet?"
Snape's stride faltered for a fraction of a second. The 'not serious' topic was suddenly a live wire.
"No," Snape replied, his voice dropping into a harsh, tight whisper. "There has been no contact. As I told you before, she is likely searching for... other priorities."
"I understand," Orion continued, deliberately dragging the conversation out, keeping Snape's focus entirely on him as they ascended the stairs toward the Entrance Hall. "But considering the danger she poses... would it not be a prudent, strategic decision to inform the Headmaster or Madam Bones of the possibility that she might seek sanctuary at the Manor? It could provide us with a layer of Ministry protection."
He already knew the answer. It was a politically suicidal suggestion. But he needed Snape engaged, explaining the nuances of pureblood politics, right up until the very last second.
"Do not be foolish, Orion," Snape hissed, leaning closer as they walked, his tone sharp with reprimand. "Informing the Ministry that a fugitive might visit your home is tantamount to inviting an occupying force. They would station Aurors at the gates."
Snape detailed the political fallout with rapid, angry efficiency.
"Furthermore," Snape continued, his black eyes flashing. "If your 'Aunt Bella' realizes the Manor is compromised, she will simply escape before the Aurors can breach the wards. And Lucius... your father would ruin whoever authorized the search, for inviting Ministry scrutiny into his home. Search warrants are nearly impossible to secure against the Sacred Twenty-Eight without irrefutable proof."
They reached the massive, open doors of the Great Hall. The noise of the feast spilled out, a wall of chatter and clinking silverware.
Snape stopped just inside the entrance, turning to face Orion one last time.
"You still have a great deal to learn about the realities of politics, Orion," Snape warned softly, his gaze intense. "Do not play games with forces you do not fully comprehend. Leave the management of your deranged family members to your father."
"I understand, Professor," Orion offered a crisp, perfect salute, his face a mask of chastened respect. "Thank you for the clarification."
He didn't wait for Snape's dismissal. Orion spun on his heel and rushed into the Great Hall, moving swiftly through the crowded aisles toward the Slytherin table.
He slid into the empty spot right next to Draco, smoothing his robes.
He didn't look at the High Table. He didn't look at Gryffindor. He simply picked up his goblet, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.
The target is in position, Orion thought, listening to the approach of Snape's heavy footsteps from the main door. Let the games begin.