Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The scarlet steam engine gave a final, mournful shriek before shuddering to a halt, the brakes hissing like a legion of angry snakes. Doors slammed open all along the carriage, and the warm, stale air of the train was instantly replaced by the biting chill of the Scottish night.

Orion stepped onto the platform, his dragon-hide boots crunching satisfyingly on the frost-kissed gravel. The Hogsmeade platform was a chaotic sea of black robes and shivering children, illuminated only by the few flickering gas lamps that fought a losing battle against the encroaching darkness. The air smelled of pine, damp earth, and the distinct ozone tang of heavy magic.

”Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

The voice was less a shout and more a seismic event. It rolled over the heads of the crowd, vibrating in Orion’s ribcage.

Orion looked up. And then he looked up some more.

Rubeus Hagrid was not a man; he was a geographical feature wearing a moleskin coat. He stood like a lighthouse in a storm, a massive lantern swinging in his dustbin-lid-sized hand. His face was hidden behind a tangled thicket of black beard and hair, but his beetle-black eyes crinkled with warmth as he beckoned the terrified eleven-year-olds toward him.

”Salazar’s ghost,” Pansy whispered, shrinking slightly behind Orion’s shoulder. ”He’s... he’s a giant.”

”Could probably squash just by patting your head,” Orion murmured, unbothered by the size of the Groundskeeper. ”And try not to stare, Pansy. It’s impolite to gawk at the staff, no matter how much space they occupy.”

Orion’s gaze slid past the giant, activating his mental scanner. He found them almost immediately—the nucleus of the coming storm.

Harry Potter stood near Hagrid’s elbow, looking small, malnourished, and completely bewildered. His glasses were round, sitting askew on a face that looked like it hadn’t seen a decent meal in a decade. He was staring at Hagrid with the devotion of a rescued puppy.

Next to him was Ronald Weasley. The redhead was tall, lanky, and currently nursing a nose that glowed with a festive, throbbing crimson hue. It wasn’t broken—crooked, perhaps, but not shattered—yet it stood out starkly against his pale, freckled face.

And then there was Hermione Granger. Her hair was a weaponized bush of brown frizz, and she seemed to be vibrating at a frequency that suggested she was reciting the entirety of Hogwarts: A History under her breath to keep from hyperventilating.

”Well,” Millicent Bulstrode grunted, following Orion’s gaze to the Weasley boy. ”You really did tag him, Draco. That beak looks tender.”

Draco, who had applied a generous layer of Pansy’s powder to his own black eye—making him look slightly like a raccoon that had fallen into a flour sack—straightened his spine.

”I told you,” Draco preened, puffing out his chest. ”The Weasley face is soft. Malfoy knuckles are not.”

”C’mon, follow me! Any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years, follow me!”

Hagrid turned and began to lead the gaggle of students away from the station and down a steep, narrow path cut into the hillside.

It was pitch black on either side of them. The path was steep, treacherous, and slick with mud. While other students slipped and stumbled—Orion watched Neville Longbottom go down twice, only to be hauled up by a frantic-looking Hermione—Orion moved with a practiced, elegant grace. His expensive boots gripped the slick earth perfectly, and his eyes, sharpened by the dim light, picked out the safest footing.

”Strictly speaking,” Orion commented to the darkness as he descended into the unknown, ”this seems like a health and safety violation waiting to happen.”

”It’s tradition!” Draco argued from behind him, gripping Orion’s robe to keep from sliding into a bramble bush.

”Tradition,” Orion smirked, ”is just peer pressure from dead people, Draco. But at least the view should be worth the mud.”

”Here we are,” Hagrid’s voice boomed, cutting through the crisp night air as the group halted at the edge of a vast, obsidian body of water. The Black Lake stretched out before them, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the scattering of stars above. Moored at the pebbled shore bobbed a small fleet of wooden boats, each illuminated by a lantern hanging from its prow, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the water.

”Right then,” Hagrid motioned with a hand the size of a dustbin lid. ”Hop in. No more’n four to a boat!”

Draco, eager to assert his dominance, immediately clambered into the nearest vessel. He dragged Crabbe and Goyle in with him, leaving one spot conspicuously open. He patted the wood, looking expectantly at Pansy, clearly assuming she would complete his entourage. Pansy hesitated, her eyes darting between Draco and Orion, torn between her adoration for the former and her newfound fascination with the latter.

Orion, however, had no intention of joining what he mentally classified as the ”S.S. Circus.” He ignored the unspoken invitation and the silent drama unfolding on the shore. His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on a boat already occupied by two people who looked distinctly calmer than the rest.

Blaise Zabini had stepped into a boat with the elegance of a prince boarding a royal yacht, followed closely by a composed Daphne Greengrass. Tracey Davis was just preparing to step in after them.

”This one,” Orion decided, stepping past Pansy and moving smoothly into the boat with the quieter faction. Blaise looked up, arched an eyebrow, and made room without a word. Seeing Orion claim his spot among the ”intelligentsia,” Pansy stifled a sigh of disappointment and settled for a boat with Millicent Bulstrode.

”Forward!” Hagrid shouted from his own boat at the lead.

The fleet lurched simultaneously. There were no oars, yet the boats began to glide across the glassy black water, propelled by ancient, silent magic. The ripples spread out behind them, disturbing the reflection of the moon.

Daphne Greengrass, her honey-blonde hair catching the faint lantern light, turned her gaze toward Orion. Her ice-blue eyes were sharp, flicking briefly to the boat adjacent to them where Draco was currently leaning over the edge, trying to splash water at Goyle.

”I must ask,” Daphne said, her voice quiet and cultured, cutting through the silence. ”What happened to your brother’s eye, Orion? He looks as though he lost an argument with a doorframe.”

Orion didn’t even turn his head to look at his twin. He kept his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the castle rising against the sky.

”It is best if you ask him yourself, Daphne,” Orion replied smoothly. ”You will get a much more... colorful rendition of events.” He paused, a smirk touching his lips. ”On second thought, spare yourself. Unless you wish to hear a ten-minute epic about his single-handed duel against a flock of rogue Hippogriffs while defending a helpless maiden.”

Daphne’s lips quirked into a small, appreciative smile, recognizing the sarcasm. ”I see. I shall heed your advice and avoid the topic.”

”It was Weasley, wasn’t it?” Tracey Davis whispered conspiratorially from beside Daphne, leaning in. ”The red-headed one. I heard them shouting on the train.”

”Ah,” Blaise Zabini drawled, leaning back against the wood with an air of utter unconcern. ”A clash of the titans. How droll. I assume, given the bruising, that no wands were actually drawn?”

”Fists, actually,” Orion said dryly. ”A Muggle brawl in the corridor. It was barbaric. I was half-expecting someone to throw a chair.”

”Barbaric, perhaps,” Blaise mused, swirling his hand near the water without touching it. ”But memorable. The first blow of the Malfoy-Weasley war has been struck before we’ve even been Sorted. It sets a precedent.”

As the conversation lulled, a sudden, frantic splash shattered the tranquility of the lake.

”Trevor!”

The wail came from a boat a few yards away. Neville Longbottom, in a display of panic, had lunged for his escaping toad. Trevor, clearly deciding that the dark waters were preferable to Neville’s pocket, had made a break for freedom. Neville, lacking both balance and grace, toppled headfirst over the gunwale.

SPLASH.

Neville vanished beneath the inky surface.

Orion watched with clinical interest. He saw a disturbance in the water—not from Neville’s flailing, but from something deeper. A massive, dark shape shifted in the depths, eclipsing the moonlight filtering down.

Before anyone could scream or dive in, the water erupted.

A single, colossal tentacle, slick, grey, and thick as a tree trunk, broke the surface. It moved with surprising gentleness, coiling around Neville’s waist. It lifted the sputtering boy into the air, gave him a small shake to drain the water, and deposited him back into his boat with a wet squelch.

A second later, the tentacle reappeared, holding a small toad in its sucker. It dropped Trevor unceremoniously into Neville’s lap before sinking back into the depths without a sound.

”The Giant Squid,” Tracey breathed, clutching the side of the boat, her eyes wide with terror and awe. ”My mum told me about it... I didn’t think it was that big.”

”It’s a designated student-retrieval system,” Orion noted, sounding unimpressed by the leviathan. ”Efficient. It saves the teachers the paperwork of a drowning incident on the first day. I wonder if it’s on the Hogwarts payroll.”

”You’re not surprised?” Blaise asked, eyeing Orion sideways. ”We just saw a kraken play lifeguard.”

”I read about it in Hogwarts: A History,” Orion shrugged, adjusting his cuffs. ”It’s mentioned in Chapter Three. It has a docile temperament and a fondness for toast, apparently.”

Blaise stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, a genuine smile breaking his cool mask. ”You really are different from Draco.”

”I try,” Orion said, as the towering cliffs of Hogwarts loomed overhead, signaling the end of the journey.

The little fleet of boats drifted through a curtain of ivy, rounding a sharp bend in the cliff face. Suddenly, the darkness of the night was shattered, and a collective, reverent gasp tore through the silence of the first years.

Hogwarts.

It wasn’t merely a castle; it was a defiant scream against the laws of physics. It was a sprawling, chaotic masterpiece of granite and magic—a skyline of turrets, towers, and impossible spires that clawed hungrily at the star-dusted sky. Every window blazed with golden light, reflecting off the glassy black surface of the lake below until it looked as though the castle was floating between two heavens. To an engineer’s eye, it was a structural nightmare; to a wizard’s soul, it was perfection.

It was magnificent. It was ridiculous. It was home.

DING.

The sound resonated in his skull—soft, respectful, almost acknowledging the gravity of the moment.

[ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED ]

Orion didn’t even blink. He didn’t check the screen. He swiped the notification away with a mental flick, his eyes locked on the looming silhouette of the Astronomy Tower. ”Not now, Sparkle. I’m busy having a moment.”

He simply stared, letting the sheer, unadulterated mana of the place wash over him. The ambient magic of Hogwarts wasn’t just a smell or a feeling; it was a physical pressure, a heavy, static hum that vibrated in his teeth and made the Hawthorn wand on his arm mourn with resonance. It was ancient, layered, and deliciously potent.

The boats glided silently into a cavernous opening in the cliff face, carrying them through a curtain of ivy and into a subterranean harbor. They docked against a pebbled shore, the air damp and smelling of deep earth. The students clambered out onto the slick rocks—Neville Longbottom slipping and landing with a wet splash, shivering like a drowned rat—before following Hagrid’s lantern up a flight of stone steps carved straight into the rock.

They emerged onto a damp grassy slope, standing in the shadow of the castle. Before them loomed a pair of oak doors so massive they could have allowed a giant to pass without ducking. Hagrid raised a fist the size of a roasted ham and hammered on the wood three times.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The echoes hadn’t even faded when the doors swung open.

Standing there, bathed in the warm torchlight of the Entrance Hall, was a tall witch in severe emerald-green robes. Professor McGonagall looked down at them over her square spectacles, her expression one of practiced sternness. Yet, as her gaze swept over the shivering, terrified first years.

”The First Years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid announced, his voice filled with pride.

”Thank you, Hagrid,” she nodded, stepping back to reveal the vastness of the hall. ”I will take them from here.”

The great oak front doors swung open with a groan of heavy iron hinges, revealing the cavernous throat of the castle. The Entrance Hall was a masterpiece of intimidation architecture. It was vast, a cathedral of stone lit by the aggressive flickering of torches mounted in iron brackets. The ceiling was lost to the shadows high above, creating the illusion that the castle went on forever. Facing them was a marble staircase so wide one could drive a carriage up it, leading to the upper mysteries of the keep.

As Professor McGonagall launched into her introductory speech—the standard orientation regarding the four houses, the tyranny of the hourglasses, and the glory of the House Cup—Orion tuned her out completely. He didn’t need a primer on the tribalism of Hogwarts; he knew the lore better than the woman reciting it.

Instead, his attention was fixed on the structure itself. His dark blue eyes traced the seamless joinery of the stones. He wasn’t just looking at masonry; he was looking for the ley lines. He could practically feel the hum of the castle’s sentient magic vibrating through the soles of his dragon-hide boots. It was a low-frequency thrum, like standing inside the chest cavity of a sleeping giant. The sheer magical engineering required to keep a structure this nonsensical standing was enough to make his inner engineer weep with joy.

”Wait here, please,” McGonagall commanded, her voice cutting through the damp air. ”The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin. I shall return when we are ready for you.”

With a swirl of emerald robes, she slipped through the double doors, leaving the first-years alone in the small, echoing antechamber.

The silence lasted precisely three seconds before it was shattered by the frantic whispering of children convinced they were about to be maimed.

”How do they sort us?” The hiss came from a redhead with a smudge of dirt on his nose—Ron Weasley. He looked pale. ”Fred said it hurts a lot. He said we have to wrestle a troll.”

Orion rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. A troll. Right. Because nothing says ’welcome to school’ like bludgeoning the student body to death on day one.

”That’s highly unlikely,” Hermione Granger muttered rapidly to herself nearby, looking like she was vibrating on a frequency of pure anxiety. ”It’s an academic institution. I’ve memorized all the set spells, just in case. I tried a simple levitation charm on the train and...”

Before Granger could recite the entire textbook, the double doors reopened. McGonagall returned, looking like she had just wrangled a herd of cats and was ready for a strong drink.

”The ceremony is ready for you,” she announced, her expression stern enough to curdle milk. ”Form a line and follow me.”

Orion slotted himself into the queue, sandwiched between a nervous Tracey Davis and a Pansy Parkinson who was busy checking her reflection in a pocket mirror. He took a deep breath. His heart hammered against his ribs—not with the flutter of fear, but with the heavy, rhythmic thud of anticipation.

The tutorial was finished. The cutscenes were over.

As the line began to move toward the blaze of light ahead, Orion smirked.

Game on.