The following week was dedicated entirely to target practice.
Orion activated his Automated Combat Construct, setting the difficulty dial down to Level 1. Instead of dodging the slow, predictable stinging hexes, Orion practiced his offensive targeting. He danced around the classroom, summoning and throwing brightly colored Aqua Bubbles at the dummy, specifically aiming for the head.
SPLAT. SPLAT. SPLAT.
Neon pink, bright green, and vibrant yellow water cascaded down the featureless wooden face of the construct. Orion refined the throwing motion, ensuring the balloons could be hurled with sufficient velocity to cover a distance of thirty feet—the approximate distance from the Gryffindor table to the High Table—without bursting mid-air.
"It requires a smooth release," Orion noted to Luna, who was watching from her usual perch on a desk, occasionally throwing a blue bubble herself, though hers usually hit the dummy squarely in the chest. "Too much torque, and the magical tension shatters before it leaves your hand."
Despite his flawless preparation of the ammunition, a lingering doubt gnawed at the back of Orion's mind as the week progressed.
Is Potter actually going to do it? Orion wondered during a particularly dull History of Magic lecture. He is remarkably stubborn, and he possesses an annoying streak of Gryffindor nobility. The threat of legal action and financial ruin for his surrogate family was potent, but will it override his fear of Snape?
The answer arrived on Friday afternoon.
Orion was walking alone down the second-floor corridor, heading toward the library, when Harry Potter stepped out from behind a statue of a one-eyed witch, blocking his path.
Harry looked pale, stressed, and incredibly defiant. He didn't have his wand drawn, but his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
"I'll do it," Harry blurted out, the words sounding as though they were physically painful to say.
Orion stopped, a slow, satisfied smirk spreading across his face. "Excellent choice, Potter. You are demonstrating an uncharacteristic level of self-preservation."
"But," Harry added forcefully, taking a step closer, his green eyes blazing with stubborn resolve. "I want you to know something, Malfoy. When—not if, when—Snape catches me, and when he drags me in front of Dumbledore or McGonagall to expel me... I am going to tell them the truth."
Harry glared at him, refusing to back down.
"I am going to tell them that you forced me to do it. I am going to tell them exactly what you threatened me with. I know they probably won't believe me, or they won't be able to prove it against your father's lawyers... but I am going to tell them. It's not backstabbing if I'm telling you right now to your face."
Orion stared at the defiant Gryffindor. He didn't look angry. He didn't look threatened. He simply looked incredibly amused by the boy's desperate attempt to retain the moral high ground while agreeing to a blackmail plot.
"How incredibly noble of you, Potter," Orion drawled, letting out a soft, mocking chuckle. "A truly Gryffindor declaration of intent. You may certainly tell anyone who asks whatever you wish. I assure you, it changes absolutely nothing about the outcome."
Orion stepped forward, breaching Harry's personal space. He reached out and placed a firm, patronizing hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry stiffened instantly, trying to pull away, but Orion's grip, bolstered by the passive magic of his Brawler's Bracelet, was immovable.
"Now," Orion commanded softly, his voice dropping into a smooth, conspiratorial register. "Since December is arriving next week, let me finalize the logistics of the plan. I will have the ammunition delivered directly to your dormitory on the day of the execution, along with the precise time and target parameters. Be sure to be fully prepared. You will only get one shot."
He squeezed Harry's shoulder once, offering a bright, incredibly sweet smile that did not reach his cold, blue eyes.
"Good luck, Potter," Orion whispered.
He released the boy's shoulder and continued his walk down the corridor, leaving Harry standing there, looking like a man who had just signed away his soul to a very polite demon.
The final days of November were spent ensuring the structural integrity of the trap. Orion left nothing to chance.
The first contingency involved mass production.
"Dobby," Orion instructed late one evening in his trunk. He demonstrated the specific, modified wand movement for the Aqua Bubble charm.
The free elf watched intently, his large eyes tracking the magic. "Dobby sees the spell! Dobby can make the squishy water balls!"
"I need volume, Dobby," Orion commanded. "I want you to create at least sixty buckets filled with these balloons. Various colors. Keep them on standby in the Room of Hidden Things. I will provide you with the specific deployment coordinates later."
"Sixty buckets!" Dobby saluted enthusiastically. "Dobby will be a water factory!"
The second contingency was timing and audience. An execution was meaningless without the proper witnesses.
Orion sought out Nymphadora Tonks. He found the trainee Auror lounging near the Hufflepuff barrels, looking bored.
"Tonks," Orion greeted her politely. "I have a sudden, academic curiosity regarding Ministry security protocols."
Tonks raised an eyebrow, her hair shifting to a questioning shade of purple. "You do? Why? Planning a heist?"
"Merely interested in the logistical deployment of forces in a contained environment," Orion lied effortlessly. "How exactly does your department manage the patrol schedules for the coming week? Specifically, how do you handle the dinner shifts?"
Tonks sighed, stretching her arms. "It's pretty standard, really. We roam the corridors in shifts, usually placed in pairs at key locations like the Great Hall, the entrances to the dormitories, and a few specific, high-traffic intersections."
"And your meals?" Orion prompted.
"We usually just call the house-elves to deliver sandwiches directly to our patrol locations," Tonks explained. "Unless we are specifically assigned to guard the Great Hall during the feast. Then, we sit at the tables with the students, keeping an eye on the surroundings while we eat."
"I see," Orion mused, his mind clicking the final piece into place. "And when is your specific assignment for the next few days in Great Hall, if I may ask?"
Tonks frowned, trying to remember her schedule. "Great Hall? Let me think... yeah, I am scheduled to be inside the Great Hall for the duration of dinner on Thursday, if I am not mistaken."
Orion offered a slow, brilliant, entirely predatory smirk.
"Excellent," Orion said softly, turning to leave. "I look forward to seeing you there, Tonks."
He walked away, leaving his cousin looking slightly confused.
Orion descended into the dungeons, his heart beating a steady, thrilling rhythm.
The ammunition was ready. The patsy was secured. The audience—including a clumsy, easily distracted Auror—was perfectly positioned.
This, Orion thought, staring at the blank stone wall of the Slytherin entrance, is going to be spectacularly fun.