The tension radiating from Daphne Greengrass was palpable enough to freeze water.
She intercepted Orion in a quiet, sunlit corridor near the Charms classroom. It had been exactly seven days since their initial conversation, and the Ice Queen was clearly struggling to maintain her composure. She cast a swift, paranoid glance around to ensure they were alone before stepping into Orion's path.
"A week is over, Orion," Daphne stated, her voice tight, brittle, and pitched dangerously low. "Seven days of smiling at that fraudulent peacock while he butchers theory. And you still haven't done anything."
Orion stopped walking. He didn't look annoyed by her impatience; he looked mildly amused. He adjusted the strap of his bookbag, meeting her icy glare with a calm, unbothered serenity.
"Good things take time, my dear," Orion replied smoothly, his voice a soothing contrast to her anxiety. "Hasty executions lead to sloppy results. I do not do sloppy."
Daphne's jaw tightened. She opened her mouth to argue, but Orion raised a hand, silencing her.
"Now, listen carefully," Orion instructed, leaning in slightly, his tone dropping into a serious, conspiratorial whisper. "The climax of the plan is scheduled for tomorrow night. It will be public. It will be undeniable. And it will be devastating."
Daphne's eyes widened a fraction. The anger ebbed, replaced by a sudden, sharp hunger for vengeance. "Tomorrow night?"
"Yes," Orion nodded. "So, be sure you are present in the Great Hall for dinner. Arrive before 8:00 PM. And Daphne..."
He offered a slow, predatory smirk.
"...make sure to keep your eyes peeled on Lockhart's face the entire time. You won't want to miss his expression when the bill comes due."
Daphne stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of a bluff. Finding only absolute, terrifying confidence, she nodded once, sharply.
"I will be there," she promised softly.
"See that you are," Orion said, stepping around her and continuing his walk toward the dungeons.
The preparation for the grand premiere had been agonizingly precise.
Obtaining the memory and the audio was only the first step. Displaying it to a crowd of hundreds without a Pensieve required a highly specialized piece of magic known as the Memoria Proicio—the Projection Spell.
It was a delicate charm designed to interact directly with stored memory strands. When cast upon an open vial, the spell agitated the magic within, causing the memory to erupt into a localized, three-dimensional cloud of glowing mist that played out the recorded events like a holographic projection.
Orion had spent hours in the abandoned fourth-floor classroom practicing the incantation.
His first attempt had been a functional success, but a theatrical disaster.
He had uncorked a practice vial containing the raw memory of Lockhart's confession and cast the spell. The silver mist had billowed outward, forming a fuzzy, ten-foot-wide projection.
However, because Orion had simply extracted the raw visual data from his own mind, the projection showed everything Orion had been looking at during the recording. It showed Lockhart sitting in the chair, yes. But it also clearly showed the charred, burned edges of the canvas frame, the painted texture of the background, and the subtle, tell-tale flatness of a two-dimensional object.
"Unacceptable," Orion had muttered, vanishing the mist. "Any competent wizard will recognize that as a portrait immediately. It casts doubt on the authenticity of the confession. They will argue I cursed a painting to lie."
"You need to crop the video, boss," Sparkle had suggested helpfully from her interface.
Orion had nodded. He spent the next two days engaged in grueling, microscopic mental surgery. He retreated deep into his 'Safe Room' via his Level 1 Mind Arts. He pulled up the master copy of the memory and began to painstakingly edit the visual parameters.
He pruned the peripheral vision. He blurred the background into an indistinguishable grey haze. He focused the primary visual data entirely on Lockhart's face, his moving mouth, and his expressive hands.
He extracted the edited memory, bottled it, and cast the projection spell again.
This time, the silver mist formed a tight, focused, floating bubble. Inside the bubble, hovering in mid-air, was the crisp, disembodied head and shoulders of Gilderoy Lockhart, completely isolated from his painted surroundings.
He looked exactly like a real man leaning forward to boast.
"Fantastic," Orion had breathed, watching the ghostly figure admit to memory charms. "It looks like a scrying projection. Undeniable."
The final logistical hurdle was delivery.
Orion could not be the one to activate the vial. He needed an alibi. He needed to be sitting at the Slytherin table, looking just as surprised as everyone else when the confession dropped.
"Dobby," Orion whispered in his dormitory on the eve of the execution.
The elf popped into existence.
"Tomorrow evening, Dobby," Orion instructed, handing the elf the glowing crystal vial. "During the evening feast. The moment the main course arrives and the ambient magic of the house-elves serving the food is at its peak. That is your window."
Dobby took the vial with trembling, reverent hands.
"You will remain completely invisible. Do not enter the Great Hall in open. Stay near the high, arched windows or the peripheral areas near the walls. Pop the cork, cast the projection spell exactly as I taught you, and throw the vial out over the center aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Then, leave immediately."
Orion leaned in, his eyes serious.
"The Aurors will be in the Hall. Dumbledore will be in the Hall. If you are seen, or if they trace the magic back to you, the plan fails. Mask your casting within the chaotic magic of the feast arriving."
"Dobby will be a whisper in a storm!" the elf promised fiercely. "Dobby will drop the truth-bubble and vanish!"
"I trust you, Dobby."
The pieces were set.
Friday evening arrived.
The Great Hall was loud, warm, and filled with the comforting smell of roasted chicken and fresh bread.
Orion walked into the hall alongside Draco, his posture relaxed, his expression a mask of polite boredom. He glanced toward the Slytherin table. Daphne was already seated, her posture rigid, her eyes darting nervously between Orion and the High Table.
Orion offered her a brief, imperceptible nod before taking his seat next to Draco.
He looked toward the High Table.
Gilderoy Lockhart was seated next to Professor Sprout, wearing robes of shimmering, iridescent aquamarine. He was currently attempting to regale her with a story involving a yeti, using his hands to demonstrate a complex wrestling move. Sprout looked as though she was contemplating throwing her mashed potatoes at him.
But Orion's true focus was on the perimeter of the room.
The Ministry presence was there as every night. Trainee Aurors, including Nymphadora Tonks, were stationed near the end of house tables. They were seated as per their old houses. Nymphadora sitting at Hufflepuff table.
Perfect, Orion analyzed, reaching for a dinner roll. If he tries to run, or tries to draw his wand to Obliviate the room... they will take him down instantly.
The atmosphere was ripe. The audience was captive. The authorities were present.
Orion broke his roll in half, leaning back against the bench, a serene, expectant smile touching his lips.
He was ready to witness chaos.