The staff of Hogwarts traditionally utilized a discreet, private entrance near the rear of the Great Hall, allowing them to access the High Table without navigating the chaotic sea of students.
However, because Orion had deliberately intercepted Professor Snape in the dungeons and engaged him in a complex, high-stakes political discussion all the way to the front doors, the Potions Master found himself at the main entrance. Rather than retracing his steps, Snape, looking supremely irritated by the logistical inconvenience, opted to simply walk straight down the wide center aisle that divided the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables from the Hufflepuff and Slytherin ones.
It was a fatal, perfectly orchestrated mistake.
Snape strode down the aisle, his black robes billowing like storm clouds, his dark eyes fixed firmly on his empty chair at the High Table, pointedly ignoring the students eating their dinner around him.
He was exactly halfway down the hall.
"Professor Snape!"
The shout rang out clearly, cutting through the ambient noise of the feast.
Snape paused mid-stride. His brow furrowed in instantaneous, visceral annoyance at being addressed by a student during his transit. He began to turn his head, his mouth already opening to deliver what was undoubtedly a scathing, point-deducting reprimand.
"What is it, Pot—"
He didn't finish the name.
Harry Potter, standing abruptly from the Gryffindor bench, didn't hesitate. Driven by the sheer, desperate terror of Orion's blackmail, Harry's arm whipped forward in a frantic, panicked overhand throw.
Severus Snape was an accomplished duelist. He possessed the reflexes of a seasoned spy and a combat veteran. If he had been expecting an attack in a place like this, Snape would have palmed his wand already, prepared to defend himself.
But even Severus Snape, in all his dark, paranoid brilliance, was completely unprepared for the Boy Who Lived to hurl a neon-pink water balloon directly at his face in the middle of the Great Hall during dinner.
SPLAT.
The magical surface tension of the Aqua Bubble shattered spectacularly against the bridge of Snape's nose.
A freezing, vibrant pink deluge of water exploded outward, soaking the Potions Master's sallow face, matting his lank black hair to his skull, and cascading down the front of his pristine black robes.
Snape froze. He stood absolutely, rigidly still in the center aisle, water dripping steadily from the tip of his nose, his black eyes wide with a profound, unadulterated horror that transcended mere anger.
The Great Hall went dead silent. The collective gasp of hundreds of students sucked the air from the room.
Before anyone—Snape, Dumbledore, or the stunned students—could even begin to process the sheer, suicidal audacity of the act, the second phase of the trap sprang with brutal efficiency.
POP. POP. POP.
In perfect synchronization, orchestrated by a highly motivated, house-elf working with the kitchen staff, every single plate, goblet, and platter of food in the Great Hall vanished instantly.
In their place, spaced evenly down the center of every long wooden table, appeared thirty heavy iron buckets, brimming with brightly colored, perfectly spherical Aqua Bubbles.
Orion didn't miss a beat. He knew the window of shock was microscopic. He had to dictate the narrative before the adults regained control.
He leaped onto the top of the Slytherin table, his dragon-hide boots planting firmly on the polished wood. He snatched two virulent green balloons from the nearest bucket.
"Potter!" Orion screamed, his voice ringing with absolute, theatrical outrage that echoed to the rafters. "How dare you do this to our Head of House! You will pay for this! En garde!"
He didn't wait for Harry to respond. He threw the first balloon with ruthless, practiced precision.
It flew across the aisle in a perfect arc and nailed Harry Potter squarely in the center of his face.
SPLAT.
Harry, who was still staring at the dripping Snape in paralyzed horror, took the hit completely by surprise. He stumbled backward, sputtering and wiping cold, green water from his glasses.
Orion didn't pause. He immediately whipped the second balloon.
It soared over the Gryffindor bench and struck Ronald Weasley directly on the forehead with a loud, wet smack.
Ron, totally unprepared for the sudden aquatic assault, lost his balance entirely. He threw his arms up, let out a startled yell, and tumbled backward over his bench, crashing onto the stone floor with a heavy thud.
The silence in the hall shattered.
Snape, finally recovering from his shock, wiped a hand across his pink-stained face, his eyes locking onto Orion standing on the table. The Potions Master opened his mouth, a roar of fury building in his chest, but the situation had already spiraled beyond his control.
Anyone else, even Potter, would have hesitated at this point. They would have looked to the teachers for guidance or intervention.
But Ron Weasley, recovering from the floor, did exactly what Orion had calculated he would do.
Humiliated, soaked in green water, and seeing his most hated rival standing triumphantly on the table, Ron's notoriously volatile temper exploded. He didn't think. He didn't look at Snape.
Ron scrambled to his feet, grabbed a bright blue balloon from the bucket nearest him, and hurled it at Orion with all his might.
"MALFOY, TAKE THAT!"
Orion saw the projectile coming. He could have dodged it easily. He could have batted it away.
Instead, he reached down with lightning speed, grabbed the collar of Draco's robes, and violently yanked his brother directly into the path of the incoming balloon.
SPLAT.
Draco took the hit directly in the chest. Freezing blue water erupted over his expensive silk shirt and his meticulously gelled blonde hair.
Again, anyone else would have been profoundly confused as to why their own brother had used them as a human shield.
But Draco Malfoy, already simmering with a deep-seated, persistent irritation toward Gryffindors in general, and Ronald Weasley in particular, did not pause to analyze the fratricidal logistics of the moment.
He felt the cold water. He saw Weasley standing across the aisle, hand still raised from the throw.
Draco's face contorted in absolute, furious outrage.
"WEASLEY!" Draco screeched.
He dove for the bucket on the table, grabbing two balloons—one pink, one yellow—and hurled them both blindly into the mass of Gryffindor students.
That was the spark. The critical mass had been reached.
By forcefully generating direct, physical 'aggro' between Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley, Orion had bypassed the shock and ignited the most volatile, deeply entrenched rivalry in the school.
The moment Draco threw his retaliatory balloons, the dam broke.
The Slytherins, seeing one of their own attacked, surged toward the buckets on their table.
The Gryffindors, witnessing their own members assaulted by Slytherins, roared in defiance and grabbed their own ammunition.
"ATTACK!" Fred and George Weasley screamed in glorious, chaotic unison, abandoning all pretense of decorum and launching a volley of six balloons simultaneously toward the Slytherin prefects.
"GET 'EM!" Crabbe and Goyle bellowed, their deep voices booming over the rising din as they began hurling water bubbles with the force of cannonballs.
Within ten seconds, the air above the center aisle was thick with flying, brightly colored spheres of water. The splats of impact echoed like rapid-fire drumming. Students were diving under tables, scrambling for ammunition, and screaming in laughter and outrage.
The Wizarding War: Mini Edition, had officially begun.