Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The encounter with Dumbledore had left a lingering buzz of adrenaline in Orion’s veins, but as night fell over the Slytherin dungeons, the practicalities of survival took precedence.

”You really trust him that much?” Sparkle asked, her blue light flickering against the canopy of his bed. ”Dumbledore is a Legilimens. He could have peeled your mind like an orange and seen everything—me, your past life, your plans for the Cabinet.”

”He could have,” Orion murmured, staring at the ceiling. ”But he didn’t. Dumbledore operates on a strange frequency of morality, Sparkle. He is manipulative, yes. He moves people like chess pieces because he’s terrified of losing the game to darkness again. He lost his sister, he lost Grindelwald... he hoards control because he fears chaos.”

Orion turned on his side. ”But he isn’t evil. He isn’t Voldemort. He watched Tom Riddle for years, knowing the boy was a psychopath, yet he never struck first. He waited for proof. Compared to Tom, I’m just a quirky student who likes dogs. Dumbledore won’t attack a child without cause. That is his weakness, and my safety net.”

”Risky bet,” Sparkle noted.

”Life is a gamble,” Orion shrugged. ”Now, let’s talk about the Troll.”

He pulled a piece of parchment from under his pillow. It was a map of the castle, specifically the route from the Dungeons to the Third Floor.

”The Troll enters on Halloween. In the original timeline, Quirrell lets it in to cause a diversion while he goes for the Stone. The Troll wanders to the First Floor Girls’ Bathroom, trapping Hermione.”

”And you want to send it... upstairs?”

”I want to send it to the Third Floor Corridor,” Orion tapped the map. ”Ideally, I want the Troll to meet Fluffy. Can you imagine the chaos? A Mountain Troll versus a Cerberus? It would be the heavyweight championship of the century. Plus, it keeps Hermione safe without me having to play hero in a bathroom.”

”But Trolls are stupid,” Sparkle pointed out. ”How do you steer a twelve-foot idiot?”

”Smell,” Orion grinned wickedly. ”Trolls have terrible eyesight but a keen sense of smell. They are attracted to rot, decay, and filth. It’s comfort to them.”

He pulled out a potion recipe he had transcribed from a book in the Restricted Section (accessed via a polite request to Snape).

”The Unguent of Decay,” Orion read. ”Smells like a mixture of old socks, rotten eggs, and a sewage leak. If I brew a concentrated vial of this and use it to lure the troll along the path leading to the side staircase near the Charms classroom... the Troll will follow it like a cartoon character following a pie scent.”

”Gross,” Sparkle said. ”And brilliant. But brewing that is going to stink.”

”I have the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor,” Orion said. ”And a very strong Bubble-Head Charm. I need a week to ferment the skunk-root.”

The following days were a balancing act. Mornings were for classes, afternoons for homework (and weaponizing Crabbe and Goyle into academic competence), and evenings were for brewing the foulest substance known to wizardkind.

It was on a Tuesday afternoon, returning from a particularly dull History of Magic lecture, that Orion spotted a flash of bubblegum pink hair in the corridor.

He slowed his pace.

Walking ahead of him was a group of Seventh Year Hufflepuffs. Their robes were trimmed with yellow, and they walked with the easy confidence of students who ruled the school. In the center was a girl with spiky pink hair, laughing loudly at a joke.

Nymphadora Tonks.

Orion’s cousin. Technically.

Andromeda Black, Tonks’ mother, had been blasted off the family tree for marrying a Muggle-born. Narcissa never spoke of her. Bellatrix likely wanted her dead.

Orion adjusted his bag and quickened his step.

”Hello, Tonks,” Orion called out, his voice friendly.

The group stopped. The pink-haired girl turned around. Her eyes, currently dark and glittering, narrowed as they landed on the small, First Year Slytherin.

”Malfoy,” she said flatly. The laughter died instantly. ”I saw you at the Sorting. What do you want?”

Beside her, a tall girl with dark hair—Hestia Jones—crossed her arms and glared. ”Get lost, snake. We aren’t buying whatever you’re selling.”

Orion ignored Hestia and focused on Tonks. He offered a small, disarming smile.

”Orion Malfoy, actually,” he corrected gently. ”Draco is the loud one with the hair gel. I wanted to introduce myself. We are cousins, after all. This is the first time we are meeting.”

Tonks shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable and defensive. ”I know who you are. And I know about the ’cousin’ thing. My mum told me all about your lot. Your father isn’t exactly sending us Christmas cards, is he? He’s made life hell for my dad at the Ministry.”

”No doubt,” Orion nodded, his expression open and honest. ”Lucius is... difficult. He is a man of old prejudices and stiff pride. I am fully aware of the strain between our mothers. The Black family tree is more of a bramble bush of resentment than a tree.”

He took a step closer, keeping his hands visible to show he wasn’t reaching for a wand.

”But just because the parents are at war, doesn’t mean the children have to be. I thought... perhaps we could know each other. I was curious about the other side of the family.”

Tonks hesitated. She looked at his face—there were similarities to her mother, the eyes were specially considered. Darker. Less cold.

But before she could answer, Hestia Jones let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

”Oh, save it,” Hestia sneered. ”Listen to him, Dora. ’Get to know you’. He’s a Malfoy. He’s probably looking for dirt to use against your dad. Or he’s just trying to lull you into a false sense of security before he calls you a Mudblood.”

She stepped between Tonks and Orion.

”You’re all the same,” Hestia spat. ”Slytherin. Pureblood. Entitled. Do you think we’re stupid? You don’t approach us unless you want something.”

Orion’s smile didn’t falter, but the warmth left his eyes. He looked at Hestia, then back to Tonks, who was nodding slowly in agreement with her friend.

”Mum says the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Tonks said, her voice hardening. ”And considering you’re hanging around with Snape’s lot... I don’t think I can trust you, Malfoy. Sorry.”

Orion stood there for a moment, the rejection hanging in the air. He let out a soft sigh, adjusting his robe.

”I see,” Orion said quietly. ”That is... quite a bias you have there.”

”Bias?” Hestia scoffed. ”It’s experience.”

”Is it?” Orion tilted his head. ”You say my father judges people based on their name and their blood. You despise him for it. You claim moral superiority.”

He looked Tonks dead in the eye.

”And yet, here you are. Looking at me—an eleven-year-old boy you have never spoken to—and judging me entirely based on my last name and my House. You don’t know my politics. You don’t know my heart. You just know I am a ’Malfoy’, and therefore I am the enemy.”

Tonks blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. It wasn’t angry; it was disappointed.

”That sounds remarkably like the kind of prejudice your mother warned you about,” Orion said softly. ”Hypocrisy wears many colors, Tonks. Even Hufflepuff yellow.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

”Wait,” Tonks called out, stung. ”That’s not—”

”I didn’t approach you to be insulted,” Orion threw back over his shoulder, not stopping. ”I approached you as family. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

He rounded the corner and vanished from their sight.

Orion walked until he reached the privacy of the fourth-floor corridor. He leaned against the stone wall, letting the mask slip. He wasn’t hurt—not really. He barely knew them. But it was irritating.

”Why did you do that?” Sparkle asked, her voice quiet in his mind. ”That wasn’t tactical. You poked a bear. You burned a bridge before you even built it.”

”I didn’t burn it,” Orion murmured. ”I just... tested the weight limit.”

He looked out the window at the darkening grounds.

”It wasn’t about tactics, Sparkle. Not entirely. I have always been different. In my old life, and in this one. Everyone who actually knows me—Draco, Narcissa, maybe even Snape—knows I’m not Lucius.”

He clenched his fist slightly.

”I don’t care about blood purity. I don’t care about the Dark Lord. I don’t care about Ministry politics. I wanted to establish that. I wanted to show her that I am Orion, not just ’A Malfoy’. If I had just smiled and taken their insults, I would have been playing a game. By calling them out... I forced them to think.”

”You think she’ll realize she was wrong?”

”Maybe,” Orion shrugged. ”Maybe not. Tonks is going to be an Auror in training; she should learn to look past the surface. If she doesn’t... well, her loss. I have bigger trolls to fry.”

He pushed off the wall. The incident was filed away. A data point on the complexity of human nature.

”Come on,” Orion said, heading toward his makeshift lab. ”The Unguent of Decay won’t brew itself. And I have a date with a bathroom on Halloween.”

”You really need better dates,” Sparkle noted.

”Tell me about it.”