Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

It would be a gross miscalculation to assume that Orion Malfoy was a novice to the concept of magic, or that his inability to summon a book wandlessly was a sign of incompetence. It was, in fact, a testament to Narcissa Malfoy’s terrifying maternal instincts.

From the moment the twins had shown their first bouts of accidental magic—Draco levitating a toy cat, Orion turning a bowl of spinach into chocolate pudding—Narcissa had laid down the law. There would be no practical wand work until their cores had stabilized at age eleven. She had spoken of ”magical burnout” and ”volatile core fractures” with the seriousness of a medical professional, effectively banning Lucius from handing them wands prematurely.

However, Lucius Malfoy was a man who believed that if one could not practice the sword, one should at least memorize the manual on how to stab someone.

He had not forsaken their studies. Far from it. The twins had been subjected to a rigorous academic schedule that would have made a Ravenclaw weep.

History of Magic was a staple, though the curriculum was heavily curated. The Malfoy tutors focused extensively on the genealogy of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Goblin Rebellions (from the perspective that the Goblins were greedy little nuisances), and the glorious, albeit misunderstood, contributions of Dark Wizards to society.

Orion, however, had read between the lines. He had raided the library for impartial texts—or as impartial as wizarding authors could be. He knew about the Giant Wars, the Statute of Secrecy’s implementation, and the founding of Hogwarts. He was actually looking forward to Professor Binns’ classes. Not because they would be interesting—he knew the ghost was a cure for insomnia—but because Orion was positive that with his current knowledge base, Binns’ lecture hour would become his designated ”Self-Study and Nap Time.”

Then there were the structural sciences: Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

Most students didn’t touch these subjects until their third year. Lucius, however, deemed it unacceptable for a Malfoy not to understand the mathematical fabric of the universe. Orion, with his engineer’s brain from a past life, took to Arithmancy like a duck to water. While Draco struggled to balance the numerological equations, complaining that numbers shouldn’t be magical, Orion found comfort in them. Magic was chaotic; numbers were constant. If you broke a spell down to its arithmancy, it wasn’t a miracle anymore—it was an equation. A solvable, beautiful equation.

Herbology was also on the docket, mostly because it was the one magical subject where you were unlikely to blow yourself up—unless you mishandled a Venemous Tentacula, which Draco had done once. The screaming had lasted for hours.

And then, there was Potions.

Orion smiled faintly, turning a page of The Theory of Transubstantial Charms without really reading it.

Their godfather, Severus Snape, was a frequent visitor to the Manor. To the outside world, he was the terrifying Dungeon Bat of Hogwarts. To Draco and Orion, he was Uncle Sev—though he strictly forbade them from calling him that.

Snape took his duties as a godfather with a grim, stoic seriousness. He was determined that his godsons would not arrive at Hogwarts as ”dunderheads.”

”I will not have you embarrassing me,” Snape had drawled during one of their private sessions in the Manor’s basement lab, his black eyes glittering dangerously. ”The Potters and Weasleys of the world may revel in mediocrity, but you two will know the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane before you step foot on the Express.”

Snape’s methods were harsh. He didn’t coddle them. If a potion was an incorrect shade of orange, he vanished it with a sneer and told them to start over. But he was also fair. He didn’t treat them with the vitriol he reserved for Gryffindors. When Orion asked complex questions about why crushed snake fangs reacted differently than sliced ones, Snape would actually stop, a gleam of approval in his eyes, and explain the chemical variance.

As a result, Orion had a theoretical knowledge base that probably rivaled a fourth-year student. He knew the wand movements, he knew the incantations, he knew the theory, and he knew the brewing times.

He just couldn’t do the flashy stuff yet.

”Theoretical genius, practical novice,” Orion muttered to himself, tracing a line of text about molecular destabilization. ”Story of my life.”

He tried to focus on the book. He really did. But peace, as it turned out, was a commodity his new System was unwilling to provide.

A blue flicker danced in his peripheral vision.

Orion ignored it. He turned the page.

The blue flicker moved to the left side of his vision. Then the top. Then it began to bounce around the edges of his eyesight like the DVD logo on an old television screen, waiting to hit the corner.

”Hey. Hey, Orion. Hey.”

Orion’s eye twitched. He kept reading.

”Orion. Buddy. Pal. O-Dawg.”

”Do not call me O-Dawg,” Orion whispered, not looking up.

The interface swooped down and hovered directly over the paragraph he was reading. It was translucent, but the glowing blue waveform was distracting enough to make the words on the page blur.

”What is the plan now?” Sparkle asked, her voice echoing with exaggerated boredom. ”We tried telekinesis. We failed. We sat down. You’ve been reading that same pages for four minutes. Where is the action? Where is the pizzazz?”

”The ’pizzazz’ is currently absorbing knowledge,” Orion replied flatly. ”Go into sleep mode or something.”

”I can’t sleep! I’m a high-functioning metaphysical interface!” Sparkle protested. ”Come on, give me something. Any inspiration for an achievement? We haven’t even unlocked a Tier 1 yet. Not a single one! It’s embarrassing. The other Systems are going to laugh at me at the annual convention.”

”There’s a convention?”

”That is beside the point. But you should know, I’d be the laughingstock!” The screen vibrated. ”Please, Orion. Do something chaotic. Trip a house-elf. Draw a mustache on a portrait. Anything. Don’t spend the rest of your life in the library. I will literally die.”

Orion finally looked up, glaring at the floating blue rectangle. ”You are a System. You are code and magic. You cannot die.”

Sparkle let out a long, tragic, gasping noise that sounded like a Victorian widow fainting.

”It is a death of hope!” she wailed dramatically. ”A death of belief! A slow, agonizing decay of my enthusiasm! Do you want that on your conscience? Do you want to be responsible for the emotional death of your only friend?”

”You are not my friend; you are a hallucination with a personality disorder,” Orion deadpanned.

”I am hurt. Wounded. Betrayed.” The screen drifted closer, practically poking him in the nose. ”Do something fun!”

Orion closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. The serenity of the library was shattered. The smell of old books was now tainted by the stench of digital desperation.

”Shut up,” he said calmly.

He reached out blindly to the side of the table. His hand closed around a heavy object—a decorative paperweight made of solid green marble, carved in the shape of a coiled serpent. It weighed about two pounds.

He opened his eyes, looked at the annoying blue screen hovering inches from his face, and made a decision.

”I said,” Orion grunted, winding his arm back, ”shut UP!”

He threw the paperweight.

He put some real force behind it, too. It was a throw born of frustration, aiming squarely for the center of the blue interface.

But, of course, the interface was intangible. It existed only in his mind’s eye.

The marble serpent sailed harmlessly through the word [ SYSTEM ], passed through Sparkle’s indignant squeak of ”No violence!”, and continued on its trajectory.

It soared past the table. It soared toward the bookshelf behind the interface.

THWACK.

The heavy marble struck the spine of a massive, leather-bound grimoire on the third shelf.

Now, in a Muggle library, the book would have simply fallen over, or perhaps suffered a dented spine. But this was the Malfoy library. These books were old. They were steeped in ambient magic. And some of them were incredibly temperamental.

The book, titled Repercussions of Magical Force, did not appreciate being assaulted.

It vibrated violently. A low hum filled the air.

”Oh shit,” Orion whispered, his eyes widening.

The book exploded from the rack. It didn’t fall; it launched itself. Propelled by an angry burst of magic, the heavy tome flew across the gap between the shelf and the table with surprising velocity.

It was a heat-seeking missile of literature.

Orion tried to duck. He wasn’t fast enough.

WHAM.

The hardcover book collided with the side of Orion’s head, right at the temple. The force was enough to rattle his teeth. His vision swam, white spots dancing alongside the blue interface.

”Ow!” Orion yelped, clutching the side of his head. He rocked back in his chair, hissing in pain. ”Bloody hell! That thing is solid!”

He rubbed his temple gingerly. No blood, thankfully, but there was going to be a nasty bump there. He glared at the book, which had landed innocently on the floor, looking smug.

Above him, Sparkle was cackling. It was a gleeful, wicked sound.

”Bullseye!” she cheered. ”Headshot! That was magnificent! The physics! The irony!”

”You... distraction...” Orion groaned, nursing his throbbing head. ”I hate you.”

”No, you don’t. Because guess what?”

A loud DING resonated through his skull, louder than the impact of the book.

The blue screen snapped back into focus, expanding rapidly. Golden confetti rained down digitally within his vision.

[ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! ]

Orion squinted at the text through his watering eyes.

Tier: 1 (Basic)

Name: Newton’s Law of Stupidity

Description: You attempted to physically assault a non-corporeal entity created from the fabric of magic itself. The universe, finding your lack of understanding regarding ”intangibility” hilarious, decided to demonstrate the concept of ”Every action has an equal and opposite reaction” by having a book about magical kinetic force smack you in the face. Congratulations, you played yourself.

Reward: 1x Glass of Fresh Apple Juice (Chilled).

Orion stared at the screen. He read the description twice. The throbbing in his head seemed to pulse in time with the mocking text.

”Newton’s Law of Stupidity?” Orion read aloud, his voice dripping with disbelief. ”That’s the name?”

”It fits, doesn’t it?” Sparkle giggled. ”And the description? I think It really captures the essence of the moment.”

”And the reward...” Orion looked at the bottom line. ”Apple juice. A glass of apple juice.”

”It’s chilled!” Sparkle pointed out helpfully. ”Very refreshing after a concussion.”

”I don’t have a concussion,” Orion grumbled, though he wasn’t entirely sure. ”I am the heir to the Malfoy fortune. I can snap my fingers and have a house-elf bring me an entire orchard of apples. Why is my reward juice?”

”Because it’s Tier 1, dummy,” Sparkle said. ”Tier 1 is for minor amusements. You threw a rock, you got hit by a book. It’s funny, but it’s not exactly defeating a Dark Lord. Hence, juice. It’s stored in your Inventory. Just think ’Inventory’ and you can pull it out.”

Orion sighed, a long, suffering sound. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the tender spot on his temple. He closed his eyes and focused.

Inventory.

A new screen popped up, resembling a grid of empty boxes. In the first box, there was a small, pixelated icon of a glass of juice.

Orion focused on it. Retrieve.

A weight suddenly appeared in his hand.

He opened his eyes. He was holding a crystal tumbler filled with golden, condensation-covered apple juice.

He stared at it. It looked... remarkably high quality.

”This is ridiculous,” Orion muttered.

He took a sip.

His eyes widened slightly. It was crisp, perfectly sweet, with just a hint of tartness. It was, objectively, the best apple juice he had ever tasted.

”Okay,” he admitted grudgingly, taking another sip. ”It’s good juice.”

”See?” Sparkle preened. ”I provide quality. Even my troll rewards are gourmet. Now, aren’t you glad you stopped reading that boring book?”

Orion looked at the book on the floor—the one that had assaulted him. Then he looked at the juice. Then he looked at the interface.

”I have a bump on my head and a drink,” Orion summarized. ”If this is how the System works, I’m going to end up in St. Mungo’s by the end of the week.”

”But it’ll be a fun week!” Sparkle cheered.

Orion finished the juice in one long gulp and set the glass down on the table with a decisive clink.

”Right,” he said, standing up and wincing slightly as his head protested. ”Inventory test complete. Karma acknowledged. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find some ice for my head before the party starts. If I greet the Minister of Magic looking like I lost a boxing match with a library, Father will actually murder me.”

”Achievement Unlocked: Avoiding Parental Wrath?” Sparkle suggested.

”Don’t push your luck,” Orion warned, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He picked up the Repercussions of Magical Force from the floor and shoved it back onto the shelf, giving it a nasty glare.

”Stay,” he commanded the book.

The book remained still.

”Good.”

With a swirl of his emerald robes, Orion turned and marched out of the library, the empty glass vanishing back into his inventory with a thought. He had his first achievement. It was stupid, painful, and refreshed his thirst.

It was going to be a very long seven years.