Chapter 243: The Prank’s Scope and The Old Elf’s Arrival
Orion stepped through the portrait hole and descended into the quiet gloom of the Slytherin dungeons. He bypassed the common room entirely, where Draco was still loudly regaling the third-years with wildly exaggerated tales of some recent Quidditch forays, and slipped into the empty boys’ dormitory.
He closed the heavy oak door and pulled his trunk from beneath the bed. He climbed down the wooden ladder, eager for the isolation of his expanded study.
His Reflection Clone was already sitting at the desk, reading a heavy volume on warding. It looked up as Orion’s boots hit the floorboards.
"A successful foray, I take it?" the clone asked, its tone a perfect mirror of Orion’s own dry arrogance. "All according to plan?"
"Yep," Orion nodded, shedding his formal cloak and tossing it over the back of a chair. "We can discuss the change of plans regarding our schedule later tomorrow."
"Understood."
Orion focused his intent. The clone dissolved in a flash of silver light, rushing back into his core. A momentary rush of complex warding theory flooded his mind, settling neatly into its designated mental compartment. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders.
"Okay," Sparkle’s interface bloomed into existence, glowing a skeptical, muted yellow. "I’ve been quiet for the last hour because I was trying to process your logic. But I have to say it: it is incredibly unconventional of you to waste a massive favor from Harry Potter on a stupid prank like throwing a water balloon."
Orion sat down in his leather chair, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.
"I mean," Sparkle continued, sounding genuinely baffled, "I can understand the aesthetic interest in hitting Snape in the face with a water balloon, granted. The man needs to wash his hair. But it sounds lame for someone who usually plays 4D chess. You know, you could have done something better. Like setting up a bucket of soapy water over the door to dump on his head."
Orion scoffed softly, shaking his head.
"That would cease to be a prank and convert to mere bullying, Sparkle," Orion corrected, his tone turning serious for a moment. "I am an architect of chaos, yes, but I am not going to bully anyone. Unless their name is Draco, that is. Family is exempt from those rules."
He smirked, looking at the blue screen.
"Anyway. You are underestimating my scope. Potter throwing a water balloon at Snape is just a part of the prank. It is the catalyst. I am not stupid enough to reveal the entire, multi-layered prank to Potter right away. It wouldn’t be fun if he knew the punchline before he delivered the setup."
"Oh," Sparkle’s waveform spiked with sudden interest. "A multi-stage deployment. Now you’re speaking my language. What’s the rest of it?"
"You will see next Friday," Orion promised cryptically. "Anyways, this was probably the best use of a debt from Potter. He is pretty much, useless to me otherwise."
He glanced at his Astrum Navigator, the diamond constellations spinning lazily on his wrist.
"Now, while Black did say he would manage the transfer by evening..." Orion mused aloud, tapping his fingers on the desk. "I wonder how much time it will take until he formally hands over Kreacher. The legal bindings of ancient House elves can be tedious."
The moment the words left his mouth, a sharp, echoing POP sounded in the center of the trunk-study.
It was not Dobby’s energetic, bouncing arrival. It was a heavy, weary sound.
An ancient house-elf stood on the wooden floorboards. He was significantly shorter than Dobby, looking incredibly frail. His skin hung in folds, and he had a bulbous, snout-like nose and bloodshot, grey eyes. He wore a filthy, tattered rag tied around his waist like a loincloth. He looked miserable.
"Kreacher has arrived," the old elf announced, his voice a low, gravelly croak that sounded like grinding stones. He offered a stiff, incredibly begrudging bow. "Kreacher is answering the call of a new Master."
Orion sat up straight, analyzing the creature. The disdain radiating from the elf was palpable, but it was directed inward, not at Orion.
"Kreacher has been informed of the change in Masters by the bad, nasty old Master," Kreacher continued, his voice dropping into a muttering, venomous rumble. He looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Orion’s, and a flicker of genuine, tearful reverence entered his gaze.
"But Kreacher is honored," the elf bowed lower. "Kreacher is honored to work for Mistress Cissy’s son. Kreacher has always been loyal to the true family of Black. Oh, how the old Mistress Walburga would be happy for Kreacher, escaping the filthy blood-traitor to serve the noble blood of Malfoy."
Orion raised his eyebrows, maintaining his impassive expression. The sheer, unfiltered fanaticism is staggering. He is a walking echo chamber of pureblood supremacy.
"Kreacher," Orion addressed him, his tone polite but firm. "I take it Sirius has given you the standard drivel of how you are to keep his secrets regarding his whereabouts and his associations?"
"Kreacher has been told to keep nasty old Master’s secrets," Kreacher spat, glaring at the floor. "Kreacher will keep them. The magic binds him. Even if Kreacher does not like it. Kreacher must bite his tongue."
"Keep those secrets, Kreacher," Orion advised smoothly. "A good elf always follows his oaths. I have absolutely no interest in Sirius Black’s secrets anyway. He is irrelevant to my plans."
Kreacher looked up, surprised and clearly relieved by the lack of interrogation.
"Now, Kreacher. There are some ground rules," Orion stated, standing up from his desk and moving to stand before the ancient elf. "As Sirius has handed over your allegiance to me, I am your primary Master. My commands are absolute."
"Yes, Master Orion."
"My mother, Narcissa, will be your secondary Master," Orion continued. "And my father, Lucius, will be third in line. Which means you know exactly whose orders supersede whose now. Correct?"
Kreacher nodded slowly, processing the hierarchy. "Master Orion first. Mistress Cissy second. Master Lucius third. Kreacher understands."
"Excellent. After this talk, you are to go and inform Mother of this arrangement as well," Orion instructed. "Tell her I have taken you under my wing, and that you are now to become a Malfoy elf. She will be pleased."
"Kreacher is proud to serve the noble House of Malfoy," the elf bowed deeply again.
Orion nodded, crossing his arms. "Now then. There are some other things to talk about."
He looked around the pristine, expanded trunk, then back down at the filthy, shivering creature.
"I am sure there are a few things still left at the old Black estate in London," Orion said softly, his voice dropping into a sympathetic, understanding register. "Namely, perhaps, certain portraits of old Walburga Black that maybe you do not wish to leave there, since you will be moving to Malfoy Manor permanently. The nasty old Master will likely not treat those heirlooms with the respect they deserve."
Kreacher gasped, his large eyes widening in horror at the thought of Sirius destroying his beloved Mistress’s portrait. "Bad Master will burn them! He hates the Mistress!"
"So, in that sense," Orion proposed, offering a magnanimous smile, "I want you to move all of that stuff—anything that is truly important to you, or to the legacy of the Black family—to the Malfoy family attic."
He raised a cautionary finger. "Make sure to place a silencing charm on all the portraits, however. We do not need them waking the peacocks. Once I return back for Christmas, we can decide on where to display them properly in the Manor. But for now, you should move them out of the Black family house immediately, so that Sirius does not throw them away or burn them in a fit of temper."
Kreacher fell to his knees, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. He grabbed the hem of Orion’s dark robes, pressing it to his forehead.
"Master is too kind!" Kreacher wept, his gravelly voice thick with overwhelming gratitude. "Master Orion is a true Black! Master thinks of poor Kreacher’s belongings and the old Mistress’s honor! Kreacher will move them tonight! Kreacher will save them!"
"Don’t worry too much about it, Kreacher," Orion murmured, gently extracting his robe from the elf’s grip. "Just ensure it is done quietly."
He paused, the atmosphere in the room suddenly growing heavy and sharp. The pleasantries were over. The real objective was at hand.
"However," Orion said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the absolute, chilling authority of a strategist closing a trap. "There is one specific item that I have information on that I want to deal with a bit differently, Kreacher."
Kreacher looked up, sniffling. "Master?"
"You must answer me truthfully on this," Orion commanded. "I know about your old Master. Regulus."
Kreacher flinched violently at the name, letting out a sharp, pained whimper. He wrapped his arms around his head, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Master Regulus... brave Master Regulus..."
"I have information," Orion continued, his gaze piercing, "on how Regulus once went against the Dark Lord. How he bravely stole an object from him. An incredibly dark object that can help defeat the Dark Lord permanently."
Orion knelt down, bringing himself eye-level with the sobbing elf.
"He gave you the locket, Kreacher, did he not?" Orion asked softly. "With the task to destroy it."
Kreacher wailed, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony and failure. He beat his fists against his own chest.
"Kreacher has tried!" the elf sobbed hysterically. "Kreacher tried everything! Spells, fire, smashing! But Kreacher failed! Kreacher failed to fulfill Master Regulus’s last wish! The locket will not break!"
"To be expected," Orion nodded calmly, placing a reassuring hand on the elf’s trembling shoulder. "An elf’s magic, while powerful, is not structurally capable of dealing with that level of ancient, corrupted soul magic. Only wizards can."
Orion leaned in closer, his blue eyes locking onto Kreacher’s bloodshot ones.
"Luckily, Kreacher, I have the means to destroy it," Orion stated, his voice ringing with absolute, undeniable certainty. "I possess the tools necessary to obliterate that locket and finish what Regulus started."
He held out his empty hand, palm up.
"But for that, I will need you to give me the locket, Kreacher. If you keep it, you won’t be able to destroy it anyway. It will just fester in the dark."
Orion’s expression softened, projecting genuine respect for the fallen Death Eater who had tried to do the right thing.
"So, Kreacher. This is not an order from your new Master," Orion said quietly, ensuring the elf understood the distinction. "This is a request. I am asking you to trust in me. Give me the locket, so that I can help you fulfill Regulus’s last wish, and finally honor his legacy and his sacrifice."
