Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The Great Hall was abuzz with the usual evening chatter, the golden plates and goblets gleaming under the enchanted canopy of stars. Orion had settled into his usual seat at the Slytherin table, the scent of roast chicken and gravy a welcome reprieve after a long day of navigating the castle’s secrets. He reached for a silver fork, his eyes fixed on a particularly succulent piece of roasted potato.

He was about to take his first bite.

”Hold,” Sparkle’s voice was a sharp, digital hiss in his mind. The word was accompanied by a red, flashing border around her interface. ”Stop. Do not eat. Look at your brother.”

Orion froze, his fork hovering an inch from his mouth. He slowly lowered it, his eyes narrowing as he turned his gaze to Draco, who was sitting beside him and animatedly recounting a Quidditch foul he had witnessed during practice.

At first, Orion saw nothing out of the ordinary. Draco was being his usual loud, boastful self. But then, under the flickering candlelight, Orion saw it.

Draco’s nose. It had a faint, but distinct, rosy-pink hue, like the blush of a spring blossom. It was subtle enough to be mistaken for a chill, but it was unmistakably unnatural.

”What is it, Orion?” Draco asked, noticing his brother’s stare. ”Jealous of my Quidditch analysis?”

Orion didn’t answer. He didn’t just look at Draco anymore; he scanned the entire Slytherin table with the precision of a predator surveying its territory.

He saw it everywhere.

Pansy Parkinson had a faint pink blush on her cheeks that wasn’t from makeup. Millicent Bulstrode’s ears were tinged with a delicate salmon color. A third-year boy further down the table was rubbing his chin, which was glowing a soft, carnation pink.

It wasn’t a cold. It was a pattern.

Orion’s fork clattered onto his plate. He stood up so abruptly that his chair scraped backward with a harsh, grating sound that cut through the noise of the hall.

”Stop!”

The word wasn’t a shout, but a command, laced with an urgency that silenced the Slytherin table instantly. Students paused mid-chew, their forks frozen in the air.

”Do not eat,” Orion ordered, his voice ringing with authority. ”Do not drink. Put your utensils down. Now.”

”Orion, what are you doing?” Draco hissed, looking embarrassed by the sudden scene. ”Are you mad?”

”Look at your nose, you idiot,” Orion snapped, pointing a finger directly at Draco’s face. ”Then look around.”

Draco’s hand flew to his nose. The other students began to look at each other, their eyes widening as they noticed the subtle pinkening of their peers. A murmur of confusion and alarm began to spread.

”Draco,” Orion commanded, ignoring the whispers. ”Pick up the plate of shepherd’s pie you were eating and that goblet of pumpkin juice. I will take the roast chicken and the water pitcher.”

”But why—”

”Do it,” Orion ordered.

Draco, unnerved by his brother’s tone, scrambled to obey. Orion grabbed the other dishes, his mind racing. It had to be the pumpkin juice—it was the one thing almost everyone at the table had in common.

He strode purposefully toward the High Table, Draco trailing nervously behind him. The other Heads of House stopped their conversations, turning to watch the two small Slytherins march toward the staff table like they were delivering a declaration of war.

Orion stopped directly in front of Professor Snape.

”Professor,” Orion said, his voice level and devoid of panic. ”I believe our food has been tampered with.”

He placed the dishes on the table in front of Snape. ”I would request that you test these items for contaminants. Immediately.” He gestured back to the Slytherin table, specifically to Draco’s glowing nose.

Snape looked from the food to Draco’s face. A flicker of something dark and dangerous entered his eyes. He drew his wand without a word.

”Revelio,” Snape intoned, his voice a low hiss. He waved his wand over the dishes. The chicken and the pie remained inert. But when the wand passed over the goblet of pumpkin juice, a sickly, magenta-colored smoke began to rise from the liquid.

”Poison,” Snape spat, his lips curling into a snarl.

”Probably not poison, Severus,” Professor McGonagall said, having moved closer to inspect the scene. She cast the same revealing spell. ”It is a color-change potion, you know it. A simple, but potent, prank concoction.”

”Still Poison when administered towards others in a malicious way.” Snape said, glaring at the rest of the three-quarters of student body.

”I would suggest,” Orion interjected smoothly, ”that you summon a house-elf for confirmation. Though I have a theory as to the culprits.”

Snape’s black eyes flicked to Orion, then back to the fuming juice. He snapped his fingers.

CRACK.

A small, trembling house-elf appeared, wringing its tea towel nervously.

”You,” Snape pointed a long, pale finger at the elf. ”Did you serve this juice?”

”Y-yes, Professor Snape, sir,” the elf squeaked. ”Tilly, served the Slytherin table.”

”And was anything added to it?” Snape demanded.

”Tilly was told to, sir!” the elf cried, tugging at its ears. ”Two boys... tall boys with red hair... they told Tilly that the Slytherins wanted a special... a Calming Draught in their juice! To celebrate the Quidditch win and to calm their nerves!”

Snape didn’t need any more information. He dismissed the elf with a wave and an order to remove every drop of pumpkin juice from the Slytherin table immediately.

Minerva McGonagall’s face had turned to stone. Her gaze lifted from the juice and swept across the Great Hall, landing with the force of a physical blow on the Gryffindor table.

Specifically, on two identical redheads who had suddenly found the pattern on their plates intensely fascinating.

”Weasley,” she breathed, her voice a low, dangerous growl.

Orion turned back to Draco, who was still furiously rubbing his nose as if trying to scrub the color off.

”I imagine,” Orion said calmly, ”that it was a simple pigmentation potion. Designed to turn our skin Pink, perhaps? As a petty revenge for the Quidditch match.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

”And the rumor about Wood harassing his team? It seems they took it to heart. A Calming Draught... a clever cover story. They knew the house-elves would obey a request for ’calming’ a house, but not for ’pranking’ one.”

”Stop rubbing your nose,” Orion added as an afterthought. ”You look like a distressed piglet. It’s unbecoming.”

Draco dropped his hand, looking mortified. ”But my nose is pink!”

”It will fade,” Orion said dismissively, turning to watch the show.

McGonagall was now striding toward the Gryffindor table, her robes billowing like storm clouds. The entire Great Hall had fallen silent, watching the drama unfold.

”Fred. George. Both of you,” her voice was an arctic wind. ”My office. Now.”

The twins looked up, their faces a mask of feigned innocence that fooled no one.

”But Professor,” one of them started. ”The treacle tart is just—”

”NOW,” she repeated.

The twins stood up, their faces finally falling as they realized the gravity of their situation. As they were marched out of the Great Hall under McGonagall’s furious gaze, Orion felt a familiar, satisfying chime.

[ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! ]

Tier: 1 (Basic)

Name: The Pink Inquisition

Description: You single-handedly averted a house-wide cosmetic disaster. By noticing a faint pinkish hue on your brother’s nose, you uncovered a plot to turn the entire Slytherin house into a collection of rosy-cheeked piglets. You are not just a student; you are a magical food safety inspector. The Weasley twins will be hearing about this from their mother, rather loudly, probably.

Reward: 1x Phial of Antidote to Common Poisons.

Orion smirked. A universal antidote. Very useful. ”Thanks Sparkle.”

”Come on, Draco,” Orion said, leading his brother back to the table. ”Let’s finish dinner. Stick to the water.”

As he sat down, he felt the eyes of his housemates on him. Not with awe, this time. But with a grudging, solid respect. He hadn’t just saved their dignity; he had saved them from being the laughing stock of the castle.

And in Slytherin, preventing public humiliation was a service worthy of a king.