The reaction was not a misfire. It was a supernova.
The moment Orion's intent collided with the Thunderbird core, the rough-hewn blackthorn wood did not explode with violet lightning. It ignited with a brilliant, blinding, incandescent silver-white light that instantly washed out every reflection in the mirrored ballroom.
From the tip of the dark wand, the Mute Swan erupted.
It was the same size as before—a colossal, eight-foot wingspan—but the sheer, radiant intensity of the light it emitted was staggering. The Thunderbird tail feather, possessing a natural affinity for atmospheric amplification, did not corrupt the Patronus; it supercharged it. The silver avian guardian burned with a brilliance that easily rivaled the sunburst display Albus Dumbledore's phoenix had produced on the snow-covered slopes of Hogsmeade.
The swan let out a silent, majestic cry. It banked sharply off the high ceiling, sweeping in a wide, glorious circle around the vast ballroom, before gliding down with effortless grace to hover and land on the marble floor directly in front of Orion.
It folded its luminous wings, tilting its long neck to look into his eyes.
The light illuminated Orion's face, casting sharp, triumphant shadows. He slowly lowered the wand, looking from the radiant bird down to his own hand.
The rough, thorny wood was completely still. The hostile crackle of static had vanished. The sharp, aggressive hum of the Thunderbird core was gone, replaced by a deep, steady, rhythmic resonance that harmonized flawlessly with the beat of his own heart.
"See?" Orion murmured softly, a victorious smirk touching his lips. "Power is not exclusively about destruction. It is also about protection. You lose."
As if responding directly to his words, a sudden, powerful surge of deep, comforting warmth washed up from the grip, flooding his hand, his wrist, and rushing straight into his chest. His magical channels expanded, welcoming the foreign focus into his personal conduit.
Orion's smirk widened.
"Oh? Now you accept me?" he mused, twirling the compliant black stick between his fingers. "I suppose you finally realized that magic is not just about blowing up landscapes just because it looks cool."
ZAP.
A tiny, microscopic spark of violet static discharged against his palm—a harmless, playful sting.
"Geez. Feisty to the end," Orion chuckled.
Before he could run a benchmark diagnostic on his newly bonded weapon, the heavy double doors of the ballroom creaked open.
Bellatrix Lestrange stepped inside. She was walking with an energetic, almost skipping stride, her wild dark curls bouncing, looking significantly happier than she had in weeks.
"Oh, my dear godson!" Bellatrix called out, her voice echoing in the vast space. "Cissy told me you were in here playing with your sparks!"
Orion looked down at the Blackthorn wand. With a single, silent mental command, he sent it straight into his Inventory grid. A secondary forearm holster would be redundant, he reasoned. Instantaneous retrieval from a sub-space pocket dimension is the ultimate quick-draw anyway.
He turned to face his godmother, smoothing his robes. "What is it, Aunt Bella?"
Bellatrix reached him, a vicious, predatory smirk splitting her pale face. Her dark eyes glittered with dark amusement.
"The toad is here," Bellatrix purred, leaning close. "I plucked her straight out of her little London townhouse. Dumped her right inside your cellar beneath the old stables."
She let out a delighted, manic giggle.
"She has absolutely no idea who captured her, Orion! The little wretch didn't even get to see my face! I hit her with a non-verbal Silencing Charm and a Stunner from the shadows before she could even finish reaching for her tea. That stupid, arrogant creature."
Orion's eyes lit up with genuine, impressed approval.
"Well done, Aunt Bella," Orion smiled, offering a shallow, respectful bow. "Truly. I am impressed. To be completely honest, I had half-expected you to simply stun her in the middle of a crowded alley and drag her through the streets."
Bellatrix waved a dismissive, manicured hand, puffing her chest out proudly. "Normally, I would have! It's far more entertaining that way! But... if my clever little godson is always so wonderfully meticulous and tidy with his planning... then as your godmother, I simply have to be a good role model for you, don't I?"
Orion nodded solemnly, keeping his expression entirely serious. "A paragon of discipline, Aunt Bella. I appreciate the effort."
He turned slightly toward the empty air of the ballroom.
"Dobby."
CRACK.
The free elf materialized, standing at attention in his clean knitted vest. "Master Orion calls Dobby!"
"Dobby, listen carefully," Orion commanded smoothly, dropping into his operational tone. "I need you to go to the secondary cellar beneath the old stables. You will find a rather unpleasant, pink-clad piece of trash lying on the floor. Stun her again, just to ensure she remains completely unconscious."
"Dobby will zap the bad pink trash!" the elf nodded eagerly.
"Once she is secure, bring her directly to my bedroom," Orion instructed. "Put her through the Vanishing Cabinet. Then, travel to Hogwarts via the trunk, retrieve the trash from the other side, and transport her directly down into the Chamber of Secrets."
Dobby's large ears twitched, recognizing the protocol.
"Inside the Chamber, I want you to arrange a sturdy wooden table and two chairs on either side of the table, near the base of the Slytherin statue," Orion continued, mapping the psychological staging of the interrogation. "Tie the trash securely to one of the chairs. Once she is anchored, wait for me inside my trunk. Understood?"
"Dobby understands completely!" the elf saluted sharply. "Stun the trash, box the trash, tie the trash in the big snake room! Dobby is on it!"
With a crisp CRACK, Dobby vanished to execute the transfer.
Orion turned back to Bellatrix. His indigo eyes were dark, cold, and electric with anticipation. The board was set. The scapegoat had arrived.
"Come along, Aunt Bella," Orion smirked, gesturing toward the doors. "We have an interrogation to prepare for."