The remainder of the dinner proceeded with a remarkably elevated, jovial atmosphere, a stark contrast to the oppressive gloom that had characterized the past few weeks. The residual adrenaline from the impromptu water war lingered, manifesting in lively conversations and shared, triumphant laughter across the house tables.

Draco, completely dried and his dignity somehow magically restored, spent the rest of the meal boasting loudly to Crabbe, Goyle, and anyone else who would listen.

"Did you see Weasley’s face when I nailed him with that yellow one?" Draco crowed, stabbing a potato. "I must have gotten at least a dozen Gryffindors. They didn’t stand a chance against my throwing arm."

Orion sipped his pumpkin juice, hiding a smirk. He was absolutely certain that, at the Gryffindor table, Ronald Weasley was currently spinning an identical, equally exaggerated tale of single-handedly decimating the Slytherin ranks.

Let them have their victories, Orion mused. It keeps them docile.

As the feast concluded and the golden plates vanished, the students began to file out of the Great Hall, chattering excitedly as they headed toward their respective common rooms.

Orion stood up, blending into the flow of Slytherins. He had almost reached the Entrance Hall when a hand, strong and unyielding as an iron vice, clamped down on his shoulder.

He was hauled roughly out of the current of students and dragged into a shadowed alcove behind a tapestry of a troll ballet.

Orion didn’t struggle. He activated his Level 2 Mind Arts, slamming his Occlumency shields into place and adopting an expression of mild, polite inquiry as he looked up at the furiously seething face of Professor Snape.

"I am not a fool, Orion," Snape hissed, his voice a low, venomous rasp that barely masked the towering rage beneath. His black eyes bored into Orion’s blue ones. "I understand perfectly well the deliberate, manipulative way you waylaid me in the dungeons. You engaged me in a conversation you already knew the answers to, specifically to delay my arrival and force me to take the main doors of the Hall."

Snape’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly.

"Why?" Snape demanded, every syllable laced with threat. "What was the purpose of orchestrating such a juvenile, humiliating spectacle?"

"Would you believe me if I said it was simply a prank, Uncle Sev?" Orion asked smoothly, his tone perfectly even.

The air in the alcove seemed to ignite. The sheer, apocalyptic rage that flared in Snape’s eyes was terrifying. It was the look of a man contemplating murder.

Orion didn’t flinch. He simply let a small, calculating smirk touch the corner of his mouth.

"It is, quite frankly, your own fault, Professor," Orion stated, his voice dropping the polite facade, becoming sharp and analytical.

Snape blinked, temporarily derailed by the sheer audacity of the accusation. "My fault?"

"You continue to relentlessly browbeat Potter and the Gryffindors at every conceivable opportunity," Orion explained coldly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "You actively cultivate an environment of hostility. You have deliberately positioned yourself as their central villain."

He looked Snape dead in the eye.

"If I had approached Potter and demanded he throw a water balloon at Professor Flitwick, or Professor Sprout, he would have refused instantly. He would have cited morals, respect, and House unity. But I asked him to target you. And he accepted without hesitation."

Orion let the uncomfortable truth settle over the Potions Master.

"That says significantly more about your teaching methods than it does about Potter’s lack of discipline, or my manipulative tactics," Orion pressed on mercilessly. "The entire Gryffindor House hates you enough to leap at the chance to humiliate you publicly. Do not blame me for my methods of providing a warning."

Orion stepped closer, his voice dropping into a harsh, serious whisper.

"Because someday, Uncle Sev, the resentment you are nurturing is not going to manifest as a water balloon. It might end up being a lethal spell cast in the heat of a crisis. I would far rather have Potter vent his explosive anger on you with a harmless, colorful bubble now... than choose to send you on your ’next great adventure’ when the real war starts because he couldn’t control his hatred."

Snape stared at the thirteen-year-old boy. The rage slowly drained from his face, replaced by a complex, heavy silence. The logic was twisted, brutal, and undeniably accurate. He was a spy who needed to survive, and his current persona was breeding dangerous, internal enemies.

Snape slowly released Orion’s shoulder. He didn’t offer a rebuttal.

"Walk," Snape commanded softly, turning on his heel.

Orion fell into step behind him, adjusting his robes as they made their way, not toward the dungeons, but toward the Headmaster’s tower.

The gargoyle leaped aside with a quick delivery of the password.

They ascended the stairs and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Headmaster’s office.

The room was already populated. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking serene. Professor McGonagall stood near the window, looking exceptionally stern. Remus Lupin sat in a chair, watching with a faint, amused smile.

Standing near the center of the room, looking absolutely terrified and bracing for expulsion, was Harry Potter.

And leaning against a bookcase near the door, looking completely confused as to why she had been summoned but clearly thrilled to have front-row seats to the disciplinary entertainment, was Nymphadora Tonks.

Snape swept into the room, coming to a halt near McGonagall.

Orion didn’t linger near the door. He decided to bypass the tedious, agonizing protocol of an interrogation entirely.

He walked straight past the nervous Gryffindor, stepping confidently into the very center of the room. He folded his hands behind his back, looked directly at the Headmaster, and spoke with clear, unapologetic boldness.

"Yep," Orion announced, his voice ringing clearly in the quiet office. "I am the one who orchestrated the entire prank."

Harry’s head snapped toward him, his jaw dropping in absolute shock at the immediate, unprompted confession.

"I advised Potter to throw the balloon at Professor Snape," Orion continued smoothly, ticking the points off. "I provided the ammunition. I instructed the house-elves to coordinate the delivery of the water balloon buckets. And, for the sake of total transparency..."

He offered a polite, shallow bow toward Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"...I am also the one who personally targeted the Deputy Headmistress and the Headmaster during the peak of the battle. Though, I must commend your localized shielding charm, sir. It was flawless."