The atmosphere in the hospital room shifted from tense negotiation to a warm, nostalgic camaraderie.

For the next few hours, Orion and Dumbledore sat quietly near the window, forming a silent, appreciative audience as Remus and Sirius recounted tales of their Hogwarts years to an utterly spellbound Harry. They spoke of the Marauders—of James’s ridiculous attempts to impress Lily, of Sirius’s shenanigans, and of the sheer, unadulterated chaos they had unleashed upon the castle.

Orion listened with genuine interest. The stories provided valuable psychological profiling of the previous generation, highlighting the deep, enduring bonds that Voldemort had exploited.

They even shared dinner in the room, the hospital staff bringing up trays of surprisingly decent roast chicken and potatoes. Sirius ate with the ravenous hunger of a man who hadn’t seen proper food in a decade.

By early evening, as the sky outside the enchanted windows turned a deep, bruised purple, Dumbledore stood up, smoothing his plum velvet robes.

"I do believe it is high time Orion, Harry, and I leave for the school," Dumbledore announced softly. He turned to the Defense Professor. "Remus, I believe you will be returning later on?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Lupin agreed. "I want to talk with Sirius some more. I will Floo back to my office before curfew."

"Very well then," Dumbledore nodded. He looked at the two boys. "Harry, Orion, please wait for me outside the door. I have a few private matters to discuss with Sirius."

Sirius waved at them from his bed. "I’ll see you soon, Harry. And Orion..." Sirius offered a sharp, business-like nod. "I will send over Kreacher tonight itself, right after I have a little... talk... with him to establish the transfer of ownership."

"I look forward to it, Mr. Black," Orion replied smoothly.

He knew exactly what kind of ’talk’ Sirius meant. Standard pureblood practice when transferring a house-elf to a new owner—especially one outside the immediate family trust—involved issuing a series of ironclad, binding orders forbidding the elf from ever revealing the previous family’s secrets, vault contents, or current whereabouts. Sirius was going to ensure Kreacher couldn’t betray the Order of the Phoenix or the Black family vulnerabilities to a Malfoy. It was a sensible, expected precaution.

Orion and Harry exited the room, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind them.

They stood in the sterile, brightly lit corridor of St. Mungo’s. A new pair of Aurors stood guard a few yards away, looking incredibly bored but maintaining a professional silence.

The quiet between the two thirteen-year-old boys stretched out, awkward and heavy with unresolved history.

Harry stared at his shoes for a long moment, shuffling his feet. He looked up, his green eyes meeting Orion’s cool, blue gaze. He took a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to speak.

"Malfoy," Harry started, his voice tight but remarkably sincere. "I know we have had our differences before. We’ve fought. A lot. But... without your help, Sirius would have never gotten his freedom. He would still be on the run, or worse. The Dementors would have gotten him."

Harry swallowed hard, dropping his defensive posture entirely.

"I just want to say... thank you."

Orion looked at Harry. He didn’t immediately accept the olive branch. He let the silence hang, ensuring the gravity of the moment was fully established.

"Hmm," Orion hummed softly, leaning back against the stark white wall of the corridor. He crossed his arms, looking down at the Gryffindor.

"Let us review the history of those ’differences’, Potter," Orion began, his voice dropping into a calm, clinical, and devastatingly precise register.

"In our first year," Orion recounted, ticking the points off on his fingers, "you and Weasley decided I was the one who lured a Mountain Troll into the castle to attack Hermione Granger. This assumption was made despite the fact that I actively assisted Professor Flitwick in saving her life."

Harry flinched, looking away.

"Later that same year," Orion continued ruthlessly, "you three assumed I was the mastermind attempting to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. Your misguided interference would have possibly allowed the real culprit, Terrance Higgs, to escape unhindered, had I not been there to intercept him well before your arrival."

The two Aurors standing guard nearby glanced at each other, their expressions betraying a wide range of shock at hearing the true, unredacted history of the school’s near-disasters being casually summarized by a teenager. Orion didn’t care.

"And last year," Orion pressed on, his tone sharpening. "You actually thought I was the true Heir of Slytherin. You believed it so fervently that you breached the most fundamental school rules to brew an illegal, N.E.W.T. level Polyjuice Potion to infiltrate my common room. The fact that you got caught in the act was entirely the fault of your own sloppy execution."

Orion uncrossed his arms, stepping slightly closer to Harry, his eyes hard.

"Plus, let us not forget to mention the lethal Severing Charm you fired directly at my head during our duel before the Chamber entrance. A spell that could have decapitated me."

Harry mumbled a desperate, ashamed apology, staring at the floor. "I’m sorry. I was... I was angry. I wasn’t thinking."

"Do you really think," Orion scoffed softly, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain, "that a simple ’sorry’ or a polite ’thank you’ is going to make all of that water under the bridge, Potter?"

Harry’s shoulders slumped. He looked entirely defeated. The guilt of his past assumptions was finally catching up with him, magnified by the undeniable fact that the boy he had hated had just saved his godfather’s life.

Orion let Harry stew in his misery for exactly ten seconds.

Then, slowly, the cold mask cracked. A sharp, wicked, entirely unpredictable smirk spread across Orion’s face.

"Well," Orion amended, his tone suddenly shifting from icy judgment to conspiratorial mischief. "Perhaps not entirely water under the bridge."

Harry looked up, blinking in confusion.

"But," Orion drawled, leaning closer, "being the incredibly magnanimous and forgiving person that I am... I shall allow all bygones to be bygones, and the slate to be wiped clean."

Harry’s eyes widened with hesitant hope. "You will?"

"On one condition," Orion stated, holding up a single finger. "You must choose to help me execute a prank."

Harry gaped at him. The sheer absurdity of the request completely derailed his thought process. "A... a prank?"

"Yep," Orion nodded, his eyes gleaming with malicious excitement.

He leaned forward, ignoring the presence of the Aurors entirely, and whispered the intricate details of his plan directly into Harry’s ear.

As Orion spoke, Harry’s eyes grew wider and wider. His mouth fell open. All the color drained from his face, returning him to the same shade of terrified pale he had been when facing the Dementor.

Orion pulled back, his smirk turning into a brilliant, chaotic grin. "So? Do we have a deal?"

Harry stumbled backward, shaking his head violently in sheer, unadulterated panic.

"No way!" Harry sputtered, his voice cracking. "Absolutely not! I am not doing that! Snape will kill me!"