Orion Black stood at the head of the long mahogany dining table, the chandelier's flickering light casting shifting shadows across the room. The gathering had been perfectly ordinary—at least, until now.

His parents, Melanie and Arcturus, exchanged pleasantries with Lucretia, his sister. To Orion's right, Walburga sipped her wine with composed elegance. Across from them, Sirius and Regulus shared a look—one that practically screamed something is about to happen.

Then it did.

Soft footsteps padded against the polished wood floor, slow and deliberate. The conversation lulled. The dining room door creaked open.

And in it walked… a dog.

Not just any dog. A massive, sleek black beast, its fur gleaming like polished onyx under the chandelier's glow. It moved with eerie calm, its neon green-and-orange harness flashing as it entered, words boldly stitched into the fabric:

"Hearing Alert Working K9."

Silence.

Utter, suffocating silence.

"What—what is that?" Abraxas Malfoy finally stammered, his complexion somehow going even paler.

Lucius, wine glass halfway to his lips, sat frozen. James Potter blinked hard, as if trying to confirm that yes, this was actually happening. Even Walburga, eternally composed, raised a brow.

"Cainis," Sirius whispered, his grin full of devilish delight. Regulus barely suppressed a smirk.

The dog, wholly unbothered by the collective existential crisis at the table, made a beeline for Orion and settled beside him with practiced precision. Its counterbalance handle gleamed in the candlelight, the sign dangling from its harness an unavoidable declaration:

"Hearing Alert Dog."

Abraxas spluttered, gripping his wine glass like a lifeline. "Orion… what is the meaning of this?"

Orion, entirely unbothered, rested a hand on Cainis's head. "This is Cainis," he said simply. "My service dog."

Another stunned pause.

"Service dog?" Lucius echoed, his usual Malfoy composure utterly shattered. His eyes darted between Orion and the dog as if attempting to reconcile two irreconcilable facts.

Sirius leaned back, savoring the moment. "Oh yeah," he said with theatrical nonchalance. "Dad's hard of hearing. Didn't you know?"

The collective gasp was nearly comical. Charlus Potter's fork clattered against his plate. Dorea lifted a hand to her mouth. Even Walburga tilted her head slightly, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips.

Cainis, sensing his cue for maximum chaos, let out a single, deep woof.

Abraxas flinched.

James shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching. Even Lucius looked like he'd just been hit with a Bludger.

Sirius, practically vibrating with laughter, clutched the table for support. Regulus, hiding his grin behind his napkin, wasn't faring much better.

Cainis, ever the professional, stood and moved to the head of the table, saddlebags bouncing with each step. With a small shake, he signaled to Orion, who retrieved a pouch and set it on the table. Inside: medication, an extra hearing aid, and neatly folded documents.

Orion scratched Cainis's ears. "Well-trained, isn't he?"

Charlus, the first to recover, let out a chuckle. "Well, I'll be damned. That is one impressive dog."

Sirius grinned. "The best."

Abraxas muttered something under his breath. Lucius, still visibly buffering, looked ready to short-circuit.

And then—the doors creaked open again.

Another collective hush fell over the table.

A second dog strode in.

This one was enormous, its coat gleaming white as fresh snow, gray markings giving it a ghostly elegance. And yet—there it was. Another harness. Another neon orange-and-green declaration of purpose.

Sirius froze mid-bite. His eyes darted to Regulus, who looked equally wide-eyed.

"No way," Sirius whispered.

The dog carried itself like royalty, its every movement deliberate. The words embroidered on the harness left no room for doubt:

"Migraine Alert" on one side.

"Seizure Alert" on the other.

But it was the bold black letters on the guide handle that truly sent the room into chaos.

James Potter leaned forward, blinking rapidly. "Mate," he rasped, "does that sign actually say what I think it says?"

Lucius, mid-sip, sputtered violently, nearly dropping his glass.

Regulus, trembling with suppressed laughter, nodded. "Oh, it says exactly what you think it says."

Walburga, for the second time that evening, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Orion," she sighed, voice dangerously close to full-blown exasperation.

Meanwhile, Sirius had completely lost it, slapping the table as he gasped for breath. "Oh, this is too good," he wheezed. "Sea, you absolute legend."

The white dog—Sea—trotted up to Orion, nudging him with its nose in greeting. And Orion, utterly unfazed, scratched its ears as if this was all perfectly normal.

Abraxas gestured wildly at the sign, his voice cracking. "Orion, what is that even for?!"

Orion, still composed, replied, "Keeps strangers from hovering. It's remarkably effective."

"Effective?" Lucius choked, voice an octave higher than usual. "You're telling me you're walking around with that on purpose?"

"It gets the point across," Orion said smoothly.

Charlus let out a bark of laughter. "Orion, you sly devil."

Dorea gave him a pointed look, but the twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.

Sirius, wiping tears from his eyes, gasped, "Dad, I thought Cainis was good, but this—Sea wins."

Sea let out a single, self-satisfied woof. Several guests flinched.

James turned to Sirius, still looking faintly unwell. "Mate, does your family ever do anything remotely normal?"

Sirius grinned. "Not if we can help it."

Regulus smirked. "Normal is overrated."

Walburga, eyeing her children, sighed—though her lips twitched in something suspiciously close to fondness. "Orion," she muttered, shaking her head. "You'll be the death of me."

Orion, still perfectly serene, patted Sea on the head. "A little levity never hurt anyone."

Sea, mission complete, lay down beside him, harness still gleaming, its unapologetic sign impossible to ignore. Throughout the rest of the meal, guests kept stealing glances at it, their conversations a little less polished and a lot more incredulous.

And as Sirius and Regulus exchanged one last victorious grin, it was clear—this dinner, like most things in the Black household, would never be forgotten.