Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

There was a distinct shift in the castle’s atmosphere with the start of October. The novelty of the first month had worn off, replaced by the reality of homework and the looming specter of Quidditch season.

In the Gryffindor common room, panic was setting in.

”Seeker trials,” Draco reported gleefully over breakfast one morning, stabbing a sausage. ”Wood is holding open tryouts this Saturday. Apparently, they’re desperate. Their old Seeker left, and they have absolutely no one lined up.”

”Tragic,” Orion said, sipping his tea. He looked over at the Gryffindor table. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain, looked like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He was currently trying to convince a third-year girl that getting hit by a Bludger ”built character.”

Harry Potter sat nearby, munching on toast, looking completely unbothered. He wasn’t polishing a Nimbus 2000. He wasn’t nervously adjusting his gloves. He was just a spectator.

”No youngest Seeker in a century,” Orion murmured, a satisfied smile touching his lips. ”History rewritten by a single act of petty theft prevention.”

”Who do you think will get it?” Draco asked. ”I heard McLaggen is trying out.”

”McLaggen is arrogant and lazy,” Orion noted. ”He’ll likely get it by default. Which means Gryffindor is effectively crippled for the next few years. Excellent.”

With the Quidditch threat neutralized, Orion turned his attention to his other project. He still had three weeks until the Troll incident. His spell repertoire was solid—Wingardium Leviosa, Lumos Solem, and his fireworks were combat-ready. But Orion was a planner. He didn’t just want to survive the year; he wanted to understand the board.

And there was one piece on the board that was notoriously loose-lipped if you knew which buttons to push.

That afternoon, Orion bundled himself into his dragon-hide cloak and set off across the grounds. The wind was biting, whipping the falling leaves into russet whirlwinds, but Orion enjoyed the chill. It cleared his head.

He headed toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where a small wooden hut stood, smoke billowing from its chimney.

Hagrid’s hut.

Orion approached the door. He could hear the deep, booming bark of a dog from inside. He raised his hand and knocked firmly.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The barking stopped. Heavy footsteps shook the ground.

”Who is it?” Hagrid’s gruff voice called out.

”Orion Malfoy,” Orion answered clearly.

There was a pause. A long pause. Then the sound of bolts sliding back. The door swung open, revealing Rubeus Hagrid filling the frame. He looked down at Orion, his beetle-black eyes narrowed in suspicion.

”A Malfoy?” Hagrid rumbled. ”What d’yeh want? If yer lookin’ fer yer brother, he ain’t here. And I ain’t got time fer insults.”

”No insults, Mr. Hagrid,” Orion said politely, offering a small bow. ”I merely came to introduce myself. And perhaps... seek some expert advice.”

Hagrid blinked. A Malfoy bowing? Asking for advice? It broke his brain a little.

”Advice?” Hagrid scratched his beard. ”On what? Dark Arts? I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

”On magical creatures,” Orion corrected, stepping back to admire the gargantuan pumpkins growing in the patch. ”I have heard from several reliable sources—including the Weasley twins—that you are the preeminent authority on magizoology in Britain. Perhaps even better than Scamander.”

Hagrid’s chest puffed out involuntarily. The comparison to Newt Scamander was the key to his heart.

”Well... I dunno about better,” Hagrid mumbled, looking bashful. ”But I know a thing or two. Come in, then. Don’t stand in the cold.”

Orion stepped inside. The hut was warm, smelling of woodsmoke, wet dog, and something that smelled like boiling cabbage. Fang, the massive boarhound, bounded over, drooling.

Instead of recoiling like Draco would have, Orion knelt down and scratched Fang behind the ears, ignoring the slobber on his expensive robes.

”Good boy,” Orion murmured. ”A fine specimen. Boarhound, correct? Loyal. Strong.”

Hagrid beamed. He moved to the fireplace, where a massive copper kettle was boiling. ”Tea? I got rock cakes.”

”Tea would be lovely,” Orion said, sitting at the enormous wooden table. He declined the rock cakes, knowing they were essentially geological samples.

”So,” Hagrid said, placing a bucket-sized mug of tea in front of him. ”What sort of creatures are yeh interested in? Dragons?”

”Dragons are fascinating,” Orion agreed, blowing on his tea. ”But I was actually curious about... hybridizations. The Weasley twins were joking the other day about wanting a pet Cerberus. A three-headed dog.”

Hagrid stiffened slightly. He glanced toward the castle, most likely towards the general direction of where Fluffy was gaurding a trapdoor.

”A Cerberus?” Hagrid said, his voice trying for casual but landing on guilty. ”Rare beasts. Very rare. Dangerous, too. Not pets.”

”Oh, I assume so,” Orion nodded, looking innocent. ”Three heads means three times the appetite. I was just wondering... hypothetically... how one would even care for such a thing. Do they fight over food? Do you need three leashes? Or is there a trick to calming them down?”

Hagrid relaxed. The boy wasn’t asking where one was; he was asking how to care for one. That was just academic curiosity.

”Well,” Hagrid leaned forward, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. ”See, the trick with a Cerberus ain’t strength. They’re loyal, see? But high-strung. Yeh gotta treat ’em gentle. They like music.”

”Music?” Orion raised an eyebrow.

”Aye,” Hagrid nodded sagely. ”Play a bit o’ music, and they go right to sleep. Softies at heart, really. Just misunderstood.”

Orion nodded. Music. Already knew that bit.

”Fascinating,” Orion said. ”And what about their diet? I imagine they prefer fresh meat?”

”Oh, buckets of it,” Hagrid agreed. ”But they like a bit of variety. Chimeras, now... those are tricky eaters...”

For the next hour, Orion engaged Hagrid in a deep discussion about the theoretical husbandry of dangerous beasts. He asked about Hydras (do the heads grow back if you shave them?), about Hydra (Are they same as the Canine Cerberus?), and about the cutest possible hybrid between a dragon and a dog.

”A Drag-Dog!” Hagrid chuckled, slapping his thigh. ”Now that would be somethin’! Fire breathin’ but loves a belly rub!”

By the time the sun began to set, Orion stood up.

”I should return to the castle, Mr. Hagrid,” Orion said. ”Curfew approaches.”

”Aye,” Hagrid stood up, looking surprisingly disappointed. ”Well... yer not like yer dad, are yeh? He never asked about nuthin’ unless it had a price tag.”

”I like to think I have my own interests,” Orion smiled. ”Thank you for the tea. And the knowledge. It was... enlightening.”

”Anytime, Orion,” Hagrid waved from the door. ”Drop by whenever.”

Orion walked back up the slope toward the castle lights.

”So,” Sparkle’s voice buzzed. ”Music puts the big dog to sleep. We already knew that bit.”

”Confirmed,” Orion nodded. ”Not that I plan on sneaking past it actually.”

”Wait,” Sparkle’s waveform spiked. ”You asked about ’Drag-Dogs’. Are you... are you planning on adopting Fluffy? Do NOT put a three-headed dog in your inventory. It will eat my code.”

”Relax, Sparkle,” Orion chuckled. ”I have no intention of stealing Dumbledore’s watchdog. I just wanted to plan a friendly meeting with the Gaurd Dog.”

”Why?”

”Because I have a plan for Halloween,” Orion said, looking back at the smoking hut. ”It is going to be awesome.”

He turned back and entered the castle, the warmth of the Entrance Hall enveloping him.

Three weeks to Halloween.

”Now,” Orion muttered, heading for the dungeons. ”I wonder if I can convince Draco that listening to harp music is the latest pureblood trend. Just in case.”