Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The golden light of the late afternoon finally surrendered to the encroaching twilight, painting the Wiltshire sky in hues of bruised purple and deep charcoal. Inside Malfoy Manor, however, the concept of darkness was strictly forbidden.

Thousands of floating candles drifted toward the high vaulted ceilings of the Grand Ballroom, their flames burning with a steady, smokeless perfection. The crystal chandeliers, massive constructs of glass and magic, refracted the light into a dazzling prism that danced across the polished marble floors.

Orion was just adjusting the silver serpent clasp of his cloak when the door to his bedroom flew open with enough force to rattle the hinges.

”Orion! Are you still looking in the mirror?”

Draco stood in the doorway, a vision of platinum and velvet. He was wearing robes identical in cut to Orion’s but in a deep, midnight blue that contrasted sharply with Orion’s emerald green. His hair was slicked back so severely that Orion worried for the circulation in his brother’s scalp, and his grey eyes were wide with a mixture of nerves and adrenaline.

”I am merely ensuring that my face hasn’t decided to migrate south, Draco,” Orion drawled, turning slowly. ”You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to explode. Breathe, brother. Oxygen is a vital component of survival.”

”Father is waiting!” Draco rushed into the room, grabbing Orion by the sleeve of his robe. ”The guests are arriving by the carriage-load. I saw the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses... I think I even saw Minister Fudge’s lime-green bowler hat near the floo parlor. Come on!”

”Fudge is here?” Orion let himself be dragged toward the door. ”Wonderful. nothing says ’Happy Birthday’ like a politician eating our hors d’oeuvres.”

”Target rich environment,” Sparkle hummed in his ear, her interface glowing softly in the upper right of his vision. ”Achievement potential: High. Boredom potential: Also high. Let’s see if you can insult the Minister without getting sent to Azkaban.”

”Noted,” Orion murmured.

Together, the twins navigated the corridors, moving from the private family wing toward the grand staircase. As they walked, Draco’s grip on Orion’s sleeve loosened, but he stayed close, his shoulder brushing against Orion’s. For all his bluster, Draco found comfort in Orion’s presence. Orion was the anchor to Draco’s kite; the calm silence to his loud noise.

At the top of the grand staircase, Lucius Malfoy awaited them.

He looked every inch the Lord of the Manor. His robes were black silk, trimmed with silver fur. He held his cane—the snake-headed one that concealed his wand—with an elegant ease. When he saw his sons, his expression softened from the mask of the politician to the pride of a patriarch.

”My sons,” Lucius said, his voice carrying over the distant hum of conversation rising from the ballroom below. ”You look... adequate.”

”High praise,” Orion smirked.

”You look like Malfoys,” Lucius corrected, stepping forward. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, looking them in the eye. ”Tonight is not merely a celebration of your birth. It is a presentation. You are stepping into society as young men who will soon attend Hogwarts. Eyes will be on you. Do not falter.”

”We won’t, Father,” Draco said, puffing out his chest.

”I know.” Lucius reached into his pocket. ”Before we descend... a personal token. From myself and your mother.”

He produced two small, velvet boxes. He handed the square one to Draco and the rectangular one to Orion.

Draco opened his immediately, gasping. Inside lay a pocket watch of solid goblin-wrought gold. It was exquisite. The face wasn’t just a clock; it had sub-dials for the day, the month, the year, and even the current phase of the moon. It ticked with a heartbeat-like rhythm.

”The Chronoskeeper,” Lucius explained. ”It has been in the family for three generations. It values precision, order, and structure. Much like you, Draco.”

”It’s beautiful, Father,” Draco beamed, immediately clipping the chain to his vest. ”I will never be late.”

”See that you aren’t.” Lucius turned to Orion.

Orion opened his box. It was different. The metal wasn’t gold, but a dark, burnished platinum that seemed to absorb the light. The face of the watch was a deep, midnight blue enamel. There were no numbers. Instead, tiny diamonds moved across the face in slow, hypnotic arcs.

”It doesn’t tell time,” Orion observed, running a thumb over the glass.

”It does,” Lucius said softly. ”But not in the way you expect. It maps the current position of the stars in the night sky, in real-time, relative to your location. It tracks the constellations. It is the Astrum Navigator. It belonged to my great-uncle, a man who spent more time looking up than looking around.”

Lucius paused, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. ”You have always been... distinct, Orion. You observe things others miss. I thought this fitting.”

Orion looked at the watch. It was useless for knowing when class started, but it was beautiful. It was a chaotic map of the universe trapped in glass.

”It’s perfect,” Orion said genuinely, meeting his father’s eyes. ”Thank you, Father.”

Lucius nodded, looking relieved. ”Good. Now... chin up. Shoulders back. Let us greet your public.”

The descent down the grand staircase was a practiced piece of theater.

”Smile and wave boys, smile and wave,” Orion quietly whispered to Draco. ”Just like the penguins.”

”What penguins?” Draco was confused, but still puffed up his chest.

The moment Lucius stepped onto the landing, the chatter in the ballroom died down. Hundreds of faces turned upward.

Orion scanned the crowd. It was a sea of expensive robes, jewelry, and pureblood arrogance. He saw the cliques forming already. The dark corners where business was conducted. The center where the peacocks preened.

”Ladies and Gentlemen,” Lucius’s voice amplified naturally, filling the hall without a shout. ”Thank you for joining us on this auspicious evening. My sons, Draco and Orion, turn eleven today. Tonight, we celebrate the future of the House of Malfoy.”

There was polite applause, refined and restrained.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and the siege began.

A receiving line formed almost instantly. It was a gauntlet of handshakes, cheek kisses, and gifts.

Draco thrived in it. He took every gift with a wide grin, tearing the paper slightly to peek, exclaiming loudly over every broom polishing kit and box of deluxe chocolates. He made sure the giver felt appreciated, and in turn, he made sure everyone saw what he was getting. It was a spectacle of wealth.

Orion, standing next to him, played a different game.

A heavy-set wizard with a red nose—Lord Parkinson—stepped up, handing Orion a wrapped box. ”Happy Birthday, lad. A little something from the collection.”

”Thank you, Lord Parkinson,” Orion said smoothly, taking the box. It was heavy.

Draco would have opened it. Orion, however, held the box in his left palm. He caught the eye of the room—or at least, the dozen people currently watching him.

He smiled, a small, mysterious curl of the lips, and snapped the fingers of his right hand.

Snap.

Instantly, the box in his left hand vanished. No smoke, no flash, just gone.

Lord Parkinson blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. ”I say... was that...?”

”Safekeeping,” Orion said with a wink, moving to the next guest.

The ripple through the crowd was immediate.

”Did you see that?” whispered a witch in purple. ”Vanished it. Without a wand.”

”At eleven? Surely not. It must be a trick.”

”A Malfoy trick is still magic, isn’t it?”

Inside Orion’s head, Sparkle was applauding.

”Bravo! Performance check passed with flying colors. You have Dobby catching those, right?”

”Of course,” Orion thought back, accepting a slender package from Mrs. Zabini. Snap. It was gone. ”Dobby is under a disillusionment charm standing right next to me. He grabs the box the micro-second I snap. To them, I’m a prodigy. To me, I’m just a guy with a very fast house-elf.”

”It’s deceitful. It’s manipulative. I love it.” Sparkle chirped.

The line eventually dwindled, and the boys were released into the wild.

”How did you do that?” Draco hissed in his ear as they grabbed flutes of sparkling elderflower juice from a passing tray. ”The vanishing thing? You didn’t tell me you could do that!”

”A magician never reveals his secrets, Draco,” Orion said, clinking his glass against his brother’s. ”Besides, you prefer opening them now. I prefer... mystery.”

Draco frowned, trying to figure it out, before his attention was snagged by a familiar voice.

”Draco! Orion!”

Pansy Parkinson came bounding toward them. She was wearing a set of frilly pink robes that looked like a pug had been wrapped in cotton candy. Her nose was upturned, and her eyes were fixed firmly on Draco.

”Pansy,” Draco greeted her warmly, puffing out his chest again. ”You look... very pink.”

”It’s Salmon-Rose, actually,” Pansy giggled, clutching Draco’s arm. ”Happy Birthday! Did you like Daddy’s gift? I picked it out!”

”I loved it,” Draco admitted, ”It was beautiful and will go immediately to my showcase. Come, I want to show you the ice sculpture of the dragon.”

Draco led her away, basking in her adoration. Pansy glanced back over her shoulder at Orion, realizing she hadn’t properly greeted the other twin.

”Happy Birthday, Orion,” she said, her voice dropping the giggly pitch she used for Draco. She looked him up and down, slightly unnerved by his stillness. ”You’re so... quiet today.”

”I was just admiring your profile, Pansy,” Orion replied with a polite, razor-thin smile. He gestured vaguely to her face and sleek hair. ”That hairstyle? It makes you look incredibly aerodynamic.”

Pansy blinked, her nose crinkling in confusion as she processed the word. ”Aerodynamic? Like... a fast broom?”

”Exactly,” Orion nodded solemnly. ”Sleek. Streamlined. Wind resistance wouldn’t dare slow you down. It’s very... efficient.”

Pansy’s face brightened, deciding that since it sounded scientific and came from a Malfoy, it must be high praise. ”Oh! Well, thank you, Orion! That’s very sweet.”

She turned back to Draco, giggling and dragging him toward the ice sculptures.

Orion watched them go, taking a sip of his elderflower juice.

”She is going to be lying in bed three years from now, staring at the ceiling, wondering if that was actually a compliment,” Sparkle noted dryly in his ear.

”Let her wonder,” Orion mused. ”Confusion builds character.”

He moved deeper into the room, navigating the clusters of adults discussing the latest Ministry decrees. He found what he was looking for near the buffet table—the ”Slytherin Squad,” or at least, the junior division.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were standing by the pastry tower. They were already large for their age, shaped like boulders in dress robes. They were currently engaged in a contest to see who could fit more eclairs into their mouths at once.

”Gentlemen,” Orion greeted them.

Goyle choked slightly, swallowing a whole eclair. ”Uh. H-Happy Birthday, Orion.”

”Thanks,” Crabbe grunted, chocolate smeared on his chin. ”Good food.”

”Glad you approve,” Orion said dryly. ”Don’t eat the napkins, Vincent. They aren’t marzipan.”

He left them to their feast. They were loyal dogs, useful for Draco, but stimulating conversation was not their forte.

Further along, standing near a pillar with an air of practiced boredom, were the others. The ones who actually mattered.

Blaise Zabini was leaning against the stone, looking impeccably cool in dark violet robes. Theodore Nott stood beside him, holding a book, looking like he wished he was invisible. Daphne Greengrass was standing straight-backed, a perfect pureblood princess, with her hand resting protectively on the shoulder of her younger sister, Astoria.

”The party can officially start,” Orion announced, stepping into their circle. ”The intelligentsia has been located.”

”Orion,” Blaise nodded, a lazy smile playing on his lips. ”We were just betting on how long it would take for Draco to accidentally knock over an ice sculpture while bragging.”

”I gave him twenty minutes,” Theodore murmured, closing his book. ”He’s very animated tonight.”

”He’s happy,” Orion defended lightly, though he smirked. ”And the sculpture is charmed to be unbreakable, so you both lose. Father thinks of everything.”

Daphne Greengrass inclined her head. She was a striking girl, even at eleven, with ice-blue eyes and honey-blonde hair. She had the ’Ice Queen’ mask down pat, but Orion saw the tension in her hand where she held Astoria.

”Happy Birthday, Orion,” Daphne said formally. ”It is a lovely event.”

”It’s a circus with expensive curtains,” Orion corrected, sipping his juice. He looked down at Astoria.

The younger Greengrass girl looked frail. She was pale, even for this crowd, and her eyes were too big for her face. Most people ignored her because of the rumors of the blood curse, treating her like broken glass.

Orion crouched down slightly so he was eye-level with her.

”And you must be Astoria,” he said gently. ”Daphne keeps you hidden away usually. Afraid you’ll outshine her?”

Astoria blinked, surprised by the direct address. A small, shy smile broke through. ”She says I’m too young for parties.”

”Nonsense,” Orion said. ”You’re just the right age to appreciate the absurdity of adults wearing hats that look like dead badgers. See that man over there?” He pointed subtly at a wizard with a particularly ugly toupee. ”He thinks that looks real.”

Astoria giggled, covering her mouth. Daphne’s grip on her sister’s shoulder relaxed, and she shot Orion a look of genuine gratitude.

”You’re different from Draco,” Tracey Davis said, popping up from behind Millicent Bulstrode. Tracey was a half-blood, tolerated in these circles but rarely embraced. She was bubbly and observant.

”Draco is the sun,” Orion said poetically, standing back up. ”He shines, he burns, he demands attention. I prefer the shade.”

”The shade is where the interesting things grow,” Theodore Nott said quietly, his dark eyes meeting Orion’s. There was a recognition there. Nott, whose father was a notorious Death Eater, knew about shadows.

”Precisely,” Orion agreed.

”So,” Blaise drawled, swirling his drink. ”Hogwarts. September. Are we excited? Or are we dreading the mingling with the... less refined sort?”

”I hear Harry Potter is coming this year,” Millicent Bulstrode grunted. She was a large girl, uncomfortable in her frilly robes, looking like she’d rather be wrestling a bear.

”Potter,” Daphne sniffed. ”Half-blood savior. I wonder if he’s as arrogant as the stories say.”

”Probably,” Orion shrugged. ”Hero complexes usually come with a side order of ego. But let’s not write him off yet. He might be useful. Or entertaining.”

”You sound like you’re planning something,” Blaise observed, eyeing Orion shrewdly. ”Draco talks about ruling the school. You talk about... analyzing it.”

”Draco wants to be King,” Orion said, glancing across the room where Draco was currently reenacting a Quidditch move for Pansy, looking perilously close to knocking over a table. ”I just want to know how the castle works. And maybe break a few rules of magic while I’m at it.