Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

Orion’s new understanding of magic was a profound revelation, a paradigm shift that altered how he viewed the very fabric of his reality. But a revelation, he quickly discovered, was not a shortcut. Knowing how a grand cathedral was designed did not mean one could build it overnight with bare hands.

Perception, as a concept, was easy to speak of. Applying it was a matter of staggering intricacy.

He stood in the center of his expansive bedroom, a heavy, leather-bound volume resting on a desk ten feet away. He drew his Hawthorn wand, letting the polished wood settle into his grip.

He didn’t just want the book to come to him; he perceived the complete outcome. He envisioned the book rising smoothly, crossing the distance, decelerating perfectly, and allowing him to catch it perfectly with a soft, satisfying slap.

”Accio Book,” Orion murmured.

It was flawless. The wand channeled his perception effortlessly, translating his desire into physical action. The book soared across the room, slowing its momentum just in time for him to catch it. No bruised ribs. No frantic dodging.

Orion set the book back on the desk. He slipped his wand back into its dragon-hide holster.

”Now,” he whispered, raising his empty hand.

He focused. He perceived the same result. The book, the air, the gentle catch. He extended his will, letting the ambient magic of the room feel the weight of his perception.

”Accio Book.”

The magic flared. He could feel it gathering around him, a heavy, static pressure in the air. The book on the desk twitched. Its cover lifted a fraction of an inch, the pages fluttering as if caught in a sudden draft.

And then, the invisible tension snapped. The magic dissipated, and the book settled back onto the wood with a dull thud.

Orion lowered his hand, letting out a frustrated breath.

”The threads slipped,” Sparkle observed from her hovering interface, her tone analytical rather than mocking. ”You asked for the destination without mapping the journey.”

”The wand is like a loom,” Orion reasoned, staring at his empty palm. ”With the wand, I only have to perceive the final picture—the result. The wand handles the intricate weaving of raw power into a functional spell.”

He walked over to the desk, running his fingers over the leather binding of the book.

”But wandless magic... it requires me to hold every single thread with my bare mind. Perceiving the result isn’t enough. I have to perceive the atmospheric displacement, the invisible tether of force, the exact manipulation of gravity. It is a multi-layered perception.”

He had found some success with the simpler concepts. A wandless Lumos was manageable because the perception of emitting light was straightforward. He could levitate a quill for a few seconds wandlessly by purely perceiving the concept of rising. But sustaining that levitation required a constant, unbroken stream of absolute focus that quickly gave him a migraine.

Combat spells and complex charms like Accio were entirely out of his reach without a focus. The magic would manifest around him, eager to obey, but without the wand to shape it or the profound, encompassing perception to guide it, the spells simply collapsed under their own weight.

”I have to walk before I can run,” Orion concluded. ”I need to internalize the complete feeling of these spells through the wand. I need to practice until the entire journey of the spell becomes second nature, before I even attempt to strip the wand away again.”

”A wise approach,” Sparkle agreed. ”You’re building the muscle memory of the soul. It takes time.”

Time, however, was currently moving through the summer at a rather tense pace.

As June bled into July, a distinct shift occurred in the atmosphere of Malfoy Manor. The usual aristocratic leisure was overshadowed by a creeping, irritable anxiety emanating directly from the head of the household.

Lucius Malfoy was decidedly shaken.

It started with angry muttering over the Daily Prophet at breakfast and escalated to furious, hushed conversations via the Floo Network in his private study. Arthur Weasley’s crusade—the Muggle Protection Act—was no longer just a piece of annoying legislation. It was being enforced.

Raids were being carried out.

”The Nott estate,” Lucius snarled one evening, pacing the drawing room while Narcissa calmly embroidered a cushion. ”They turned Theodore’s home upside down. Confiscated a family heirloom simply because it had a minor blood-curse woven into the silver! And Crabbe? They fined him a hundred Galleons for a shrinking key! It is an outrage!”

Orion sat near the fireplace, casually flipping through a book on foundational warding. He watched his father’s pacing with mild, detached interest.

”They are targeting the prominent families,” Lucius continued, his knuckles white as he gripped his cane. ”Weasley is using this ridiculous law to wage a personal vendetta against his betters. He is looking for an excuse to humiliate the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Orion knew that, sooner or later, the Ministry hit squad would arrive at the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Lucius was using every political favor, every bribe, and every ounce of influence to delay them, but outright refusing entry would look like an admission of guilt. He couldn’t keep them locked out forever unless he was prepared to declare open war on the Ministry itself.

Not that it mattered much. Orion knew Lucius had a hidden cellar beneath the drawing room floorboards, shielded by wards that Arthur Weasley’s lackeys couldn’t even perceive, let alone break. The Ministry would find a few questionable books and maybe a biting teacup, issue a minor fine, and leave.

But the stress of the impending intrusion was making Lucius unbearable.

And Lucius’s foul mood was trickling down to Draco.

Without his father to indulge him, and with Crabbe and Goyle confined to their own homes to avoid drawing attention, Draco was profoundly, aggressively bored.

”Take that, Potter!” Draco yelled from the expansive south lawn.

Orion stood on his balcony, looking down. Draco was flying twenty feet in the air on his Comet 260, throwing a Quaffle against the stone wall of a garden folly and catching it on the rebound, violently narrating an imaginary Quidditch match.

”Malfoy dives! He dodges the Bludger! Potter is left in the dust!” Draco narrated, tossing the red ball again.

It was pathetic.

Orion rubbed his temples. The whining had been continuous for three days. ’There’s nothing to do, Orion. The peacocks are boring, Orion. Let’s go to Diagon Alley, Orion.’

Orion looked out over the vast, sprawling expanse of the Malfoy estate. The manicured hedges, the pristine fountains, the endless acres of perfectly cut green grass. It was beautiful, but it was sterile. It was a museum, not a home meant to be lived in.

And suddenly, looking at the rolling lawns, a brilliant, wildly ambitious plan blossomed in Orion’s mind.

”Why are we sitting around being bored?” Orion murmured, a grin spreading across his face.

”Uh oh,” Sparkle’s voice chimed. ”I know that tone. That’s the ’I’m about to cause a massive headache for someone’ tone.”

”We have magic, Sparkle,” Orion said, his eyes tracing the dimensions of a particularly flat section of the south lawn, hidden from the main driveway by a row of tall yew trees. ”We have the ability to shape the earth, conjure water, and manipulate temperature. I need a large-scale project to practice my perception and structural charm-work. And Draco needs a distraction.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of his bedroom, moving with purposeful strides down the grand staircase and toward Lucius’s study.

He didn’t knock, merely pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

Lucius was sitting behind his massive desk, surrounded by stacks of parchment and ledgers, rubbing his forehead. He looked up, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and irritation.

”Orion. I am extremely busy. The Ministry requires a complete inventory of the artifacts in the East Wing by Thursday, and I am currently ensuring our... more sensitive heirlooms are appropriately cataloged.”

”I will be brief, Father,” Orion said smoothly, stepping into the room. ”Draco is currently losing his mind with boredom on the south lawn, and his incessant shouting at an imaginary Harry Potter is distracting me from my studies.”

Lucius sighed heavily. ”I cannot entertain him right now, Orion. Tell him to read a book. Or polish his broom.”

”I have a better solution,” Orion offered. ”I would like to request permission to utilize a section of the estate. Specifically, the lower quadrant of the south lawn, past the yew trees. It is out of sight from the main house.”

Lucius frowned, dipping his quill in ink but not writing. ”Utilize it? For what? Potion ingredients? If you need space for a garden, the elves can clear a patch near the greenhouses.”

”Not a garden, Father. I wish to practice my structural Transfiguration and elemental Charms on a grand scale. A practical application of magic. It will keep me engaged, it will keep Draco thoroughly distracted, and it will ensure we are out of your hair while you deal with the Ministry.”

Lucius looked at his son. A project that involved advanced magical theory, kept Draco quiet, and required zero parental supervision. It sounded like a gift from Salazar himself.

”Very well,” Lucius waved his hand dismissively, turning back to his ledgers. ”You have permission. Use the lower lawn. Just ensure you do not damage the ancestral wards or disturb the peacocks’ nesting grounds.”

”Thank you, Father. Your generosity is boundless,” Orion offered a crisp bow. He turned and walked toward the door.

”Wait,” Lucius called out belatedly, not looking up from his parchment. ”What exactly are you creating out there, Orion?”

Orion paused with his hand on the brass doorknob. He looked back at his father, a perfectly serene, innocent expression on his face.

”A swimming pool.”

Orion pulled the door open, stepped out into the corridor, and pulled it shut behind him with a soft click.

Inside the study, Lucius Malfoy sat perfectly still, his quill hovering a mere inch above the parchment.

”A... what?” Lucius whispered to the empty room, utterly dumbfounded.