Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The transaction concluded with the clinking of gold coins on the wooden counter. Orion held his new wand—Hawthorn, Dragon Heartstring, ten and a half inches of pure potential—with a reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts. It felt warm, alive, and most importantly, it didn’t feel like it wanted to murder him.

Draco was already practically vibrating by the door, waving his own wand around like a conductor’s baton, sending little puffs of silver sparks into the dusty air.

”Come on, Orion!” Draco urged. ”We have to show Mother! She’s going to be so jealous she didn’t get to see the sparks!”

Orion pocketed his new wand, a plan forming in his mind. He needed a moment alone with the wandmaker. A moment without Draco’s commentary or his tendency to blurt out family secrets.

”Draco,” Orion said smoothly, turning to his brother. ”Why don’t you go ahead? Tell Mother I’m just... asking Mr. Ollivander about wand maintenance. You know how particular I am about polishing kits. I’ll be out in two minutes.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice. The allure of being the first to show off his new magical focus was too strong.

”Don’t take too long! I want to get an owl!” Draco shouted, pushing the door open. The bell tinkled, and he vanished into the bustling street.

The door swung shut, and silence returned to the shop.

Garrick Ollivander, who had been boxing up the rejected wands, paused. He turned his pale, moon-like eyes back to Orion.

”Wand maintenance?” Ollivander asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips. ”Hawthorn is a sturdy wood, Mr. Malfoy. It requires little more than a clean cloth and respect.”

”I figured as much,” Orion said, his demeanor shifting from the excited student to something more serious. ”But I actually have a query regarding... another wand.”

He reached into his pocket—specifically, he reached into his Inventory, though to Ollivander it looked like he was pulling something from a deep pocket of his robes. He withdrew the Blackthorn wand.

The moment it appeared in the shop, the air grew heavy. A faint, static buzz filled the room, making the hairs on Orion’s arms stand up.

”Ah,” Ollivander whispered, his eyes narrowing. ”That one.”

He moved closer, extending a long, spindly finger. He didn’t touch it immediately. He hovered his hand over the wood, sensing the energy radiating from it.

”This is not one of mine,” Ollivander stated softly. ”Nor is it Gregorovitch’s. The craftsmanship is... older. More primal.”

”It’s a family heirloom,” Orion explained, placing the wand on the counter. ”My father gave it to me for practice. It hates me. It shocks me, it distorts my spells, and I’m fairly certain it tried to assassinate me with a quill last week.”

Ollivander chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. ”Wands have personalities, Mr. Malfoy. But this... this is not mere personality. This is a clash of nature.”

He picked up the wand. Surprisingly, it didn’t shock him, though it emitted a low, threatening hum, like a growling dog.

”Blackthorn,” Ollivander confirmed, running his thumb over the rough bark. ”A warrior’s wood. It bonds through hardship. But the core...”

He brought the wand close to his ear, listening. Then he closed his eyes.

”Do you hear that?” Ollivander whispered.

Orion leaned in. ”Hear what?”

” The storm,” Ollivander breathed. ”This does not contain a dragon heartstring, nor unicorn hair, nor phoenix feather. Those are the Supreme Cores, the ones I use for their stability and power. This...”

He opened his eyes, and they gleamed with professional fascination.

”This contains a tail feather of a Thunderbird.”

Orion blinked. ”A Thunderbird? like... the American storm bird?”

”Precisely,” Ollivander nodded, placing the wand back down with a newfound respect. ”Shikoba Wolfe was famous for using them in the Americas, though this wand does not bear her mark. It is likely a custom commission. Perhaps brought over during your family’s... travels.”

”And what does that mean?” Orion asked. ”Why does it hate me?”

”Thunderbird wands are powerful,” Ollivander explained, wiping his hands on his apron. ”Extremely powerful. But they are difficult to master. They are sensitive to danger—they can often cast curses pre-emptively if they sense a threat. But more importantly... the Thunderbird is a creature of the storm. It is wild. It is free. It does not trust easily.”

He looked at Orion. ”Blackthorn requires a warrior who has passed through hardship. A Thunderbird requires a master who commands the storm. You are eleven, Mr. Malfoy. You are talented, yes. But have you faced a storm? Have you stood in the eye of a hurricane and commanded it to yield?”

Orion thought about his life. He had died in a mundane world. He had been reborn in a manor of luxury. He had faced boredom, yes. But a storm? Real danger? No.

”Not yet,” Orion admitted.

”Then it will not yield,” Ollivander said simply. ”Not yet. It is a picky instrument. A snob, if you will.”

He gestured to the pocket where Orion’s new Hawthorn wand resided.

”Your new wand, however... it chose you. Hawthorn is a complex wood. It thrives on conflict. I suspect it sensed your struggle with this wand. It sensed your willpower, your stubborn refusal to give up despite the shocks and the failures. That is why it bonded to you. It respects the effort.”

Orion looked at the Blackthorn wand. The Stick of Spite. It wasn’t just broken; it was waiting for a worthy opponent.

”So, I should put it away?” Orion asked.

”For now,” Ollivander advised. ”Keep it close. Let it sense your growth. One day, perhaps, you will find yourself in a situation dire enough, dangerous enough, that it will deem you worthy. Until then... stick to the Hawthorn.”

Orion picked up the Blackthorn wand. Zap. A small spark bit his thumb.

”Someday,” Orion whispered to the wand. ”Someday I’m going to make you work, and you’re going to like it.”

He vanished it back into his inventory.

”Thank you, Mr. Ollivander,” Orion said, bowing his head. ”That was... illuminating.”

”Knowledge is weightless, yet it carries the most value,” Ollivander bowed back. ”Good luck at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy. I expect I shall be reading about you.”

Orion emerged from the shop into the blinding afternoon sun. Narcissa and Draco were waiting near a bench, Draco excitedly showing his mother the handle of his wand.

”There you are,” Narcissa smiled, shielding her eyes. ”Was everything satisfactory?”

”Quite,” Orion nodded. ”Just some technical questions about core resonance. Boring stuff.”

”Well, all this excitement has built an appetite,” Narcissa declared. ”Lunch. And not at the leaky Cauldron. The Golden Dragon has a private parlor available.”

Lunch was an affair of high etiquette. The private room was silenced from the main restaurant, draped in red silk and smelling of jasmine tea. They ate shepherd’s pie and yorkshire pudding that floated gently toward their mouths on enchanted plates.

Orion ate mechanically, his mind still on the Thunderbird core. A storm. He needed a storm.

”You’re thinking about jumping into a tornado, aren’t you?” Sparkle’s voice buzzed in his ear.

”Not a tornado,” Orion thought back, sipping his tea. ”But maybe... a situation. It’s good to know the unlock condition, at least. It’s not random. It’s a challenge.”

”Speaking of challenges,” Sparkle noted. ”We did unlock an achievement back there. At Ollivanders. When you got the Hawthorn wand.”

”Show me?”

”Not here,” Sparkle advised. ”Narcissa is watching you like a hawk because you’re brooding. Smile. Eat a dumpling. We’ll review the loot tonight.”

Orion forced a smile and speared a shrimp dumpling. ”These are delicious, Mother.”

”I am glad you approve,” Narcissa said, dabbing her mouth. ”Now, after this... companions.”

The Magical Menagerie was loud. It was smelly. It was chaotic.

It was everything Narcissa Malfoy usually avoided, but for her sons, she endured.

The shop was crammed with cages. Toads croaked, cats yowled, and something that looked like a custard tart was hissing from a tank.

”Owls,” Draco announced immediately, marching toward the avian section. ”I need an owl. A big one. The biggest one you have.”

The shopkeeper, a witch with thick spectacles, pointed to a high perch. ”That there is a Eurasian Eagle Owl. Massive breed. Strong flyers. But they nip.”

Draco looked up. The owl was enormous. It had tufted ears and orange eyes that looked like they wanted to consume a small child. It was magnificent.

”I want him,” Draco declared. ”He looks like a king. I will name him... Titan.”

”Titan,” Orion mused. ”Subtle. Very Malfoy.”

”He fits me!” Draco argued, reaching up. The owl hooted, a deep, booming sound that rattled the cages nearby. ”See? He agrees.”

Narcissa paid for the owl, looking slightly wary of the beak size. ”He is... substantial. He will require the large aviary at the Manor.”

”Now, Orion,” Narcissa turned to her other son. ”What about you? A cat? A toad?”

Orion looked around.

He saw the toads. They were slimy. They sat there, pulsating.

”No brains,” Orion dismissed immediately. ”I need a pet that can do calculus, or at least fetch a book. A toad would just get lost in my shoe.”

He walked past the cats. There was a large, ginger, bandy-legged creature squashed into a cage. It had a flat face and bottle-brush tail.

”That’s Crookshanks,” Sparkle pointed out. ”Half-Kneazle. Smart. But he belongs to Granger in the future. Don’t steal the timeline’s mascot.”

”He looks like he ran into a wall,” Orion muttered. ”Pass.”

He moved to the section with the rats (filthy) and the rabbits (useless).

Then, he saw it.

In a reinforced cage near the counter, a small, furry black creature with a long snout was gripping the bars. It had beady eyes that locked onto the silver buttons of Orion’s robe with a frightening intensity.

A Niffler.

Orion stopped.

The Niffler stared at him. It raised a paw and patted its pouch, then pointed at Orion’s pocket watch.

”Oh my god,” Sparkle squealed. ”Get it. Get the Niffler. Do it. Do it for the content.”

Orion stared at the creature.

He imagined bringing a Niffler to Malfoy Manor.

He imagined the Niffler escaping.

He imagined the Niffler finding the family jewels.

He imagined the Niffler eating Lucius’s platinum cane.

He imagined the Niffler stealing the Dark Lord’s diary and burying it in his pockets.

”It would be hilarious,” Orion thought. ”It would be absolute chaos.”

”Tier 1 Achievement: Financial Ruin,” Sparkle suggested. ”Tier 2: Disowned by Father.”

Orion sighed. As much as he loved chaos, he also loved his inheritance. Besides this was a level of chaos way out of his own control. Hell if Newt Scamander had not unleashed his Niffler in America, most of his troubles would have been avoided. Then again, that would have deprived him of an amazing Fantastic Beasts film, so can’t really complain.

A Niffler was a weapon of mass destruction in a house full of dark artifacts and priceless jewels.

”No,” Orion said firmly, stepping back. ”That thing is a liability.”

”Orion?” Narcissa asked, coming up behind him. ”Did you find something?”

”I was looking at the Niffler,” Orion admitted, pointing at the creature, which was now shaking the bars desperate for the silver.

Narcissa paled slightly. ”Orion. No. Your father would have a stroke. Those creatures burrow through stone to find gold. The Manor’s foundations...”

”I know, Mother,” Orion smirked. ”I have decided against it. I value the roof over my head.”

He looked around the shop one last time.

”Honestly,” Orion said, shrugging. ”I don’t think I need a pet. Titan is... large enough for two. I can use him for mail. And if I want companionship, I have Draco.”

”Hey!” Draco protested from the counter, where Titan was currently trying to eat a bag of owl treats.

”Orion has a point,” Narcissa said, looking visibly relieved that she wouldn’t be bringing a kleptomaniac mole into her home. ”One giant raptor is sufficient. We can always get you a pet later, darling, if you change your mind.”

”Titan will suffice,” Orion agreed.

They left the shop, Draco carrying the massive cage with difficulty, beaming with pride. They released the owl outside, attaching a letter to its leg instructing the elves to feed it. Titan took flight, his wingspan blotting out the sun for a moment as he headed toward Wiltshire.

”Majestic,” Draco sighed.

”Terrifying,” Orion corrected. ”Now. Books?”

”Books,” Narcissa nodded. ”I saved Flourish and Blotts for last. I knew if we went there first, Orion would have buried himself in a tome and refused to leave for the wand fitting.”

”You know me too well, Mother,” Orion smiled.

”Come along,” Narcissa led the way. ”Let us get your school texts. And perhaps... just perhaps... one or two extra books for your personal reading. Since you were so responsible about the Niffler.”

Orion grinned. ”I have a list.”

”Of course you do,” Narcissa laughed.