Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The remainder of the summer holidays settled into a masterclass of compartmentalized bliss. Orion divided his days with mathematical precision: mornings were dedicated to mapping the complex runic arrays of the Vanishing Cabinet inside his trunk; afternoons were spent lounging in the sun-drenched, runic-filtered waters of his private swimming pool; and evenings were reserved for entertaining his two most closely guarded secrets—a fire-sneezing dragon plushie and a highly kleptomaniac Niffler.

Robin was, to put it mildly, an absolute menace to the Malfoy estate.

Lucius Malfoy looked positively apocalyptic every time he caught sight of the black, furry blur darting behind a velvet curtain. Narcissa had taken to wearing high-collared robes to hide her necklaces and kept her jewelry boxes sealed with locking charms that would baffle a seasoned curse-breaker.

The saving grace was Robin’s surprisingly strict adherence to Orion’s direct commands—a loyalty forged through the All-Speak ability and a steady diet of dissolving candy gems. If Orion explicitly stated, ”Do not touch Mother’s rings,” Robin would leave them untouched.

However, Robin was also incredibly literal and possessed a cunning grasp of loopholes. If Orion forgot to specifically mention an item, it was considered fair game.

This meant Draco bore the absolute brunt of the Niffler’s natural instincts.

”ORION!”

The shriek echoed across the south lawn, disrupting a perfectly peaceful Tuesday afternoon.

Orion, who was floating on his enchanted water bed in the pool, lazily lowered his sunglasses.

Bursting through the yew hedges came a tiny, black, furry torpedo, clutching a gleaming silver hairbrush in its paws. It scrambled across the marble coping of the pool, let out a triumphant chirp, and dove into a thick patch of hydrangeas.

Ten seconds later, Draco came tearing through the hedges, red in the face, his platinum hair uncharacteristically messy. He tripped over a garden gnome, scrambled back to his feet, and pointed a furious finger at the bushes.

”Your rat stole my brush! Again!” Draco yelled, chest heaving.

”He is a Niffler, Draco, not a rat,” Orion corrected smoothly, picking up his glass of iced tea. ”And I distinctly remember telling him not to take your silver cufflinks. I must have omitted the hairbrush from the treaty negotiations. My apologies.”

”Make him give it back!” Draco demanded, plunging his hands into the hydrangeas.

A loud, indignant squawk erupted from the bushes, followed by a startled white peacock bursting out of the foliage, flapping its wings in a panic. Draco fell backward onto the grass as Robin darted out the other side, the silver brush already safely stowed in his bottomless pouch, and sprinted toward the hedge maze.

”Get back here!” Draco roared, scrambling up and giving chase, effectively herding three more screaming peacocks across the lawn.

Orion took a sip of his tea, a highly amused smile spreading across his face. ”Excellent cardio. He’ll be in top form for Quidditch season.”

Two days before they were scheduled to return to King’s Cross, the frivolous summer atmosphere was abruptly grounded.

Orion and Draco were summoned to Lucius’s private study after dinner. The room was shrouded in shadows, lit only by the crackling fireplace and a single, green-shaded desk lamp. Lucius sat behind his massive desk, his hands steepled, his expression grave.

”Sit,” Lucius commanded softly.

The twins took the high-backed leather chairs opposite him. Draco was still looking mildly disgruntled—Robin had managed to swipe a handful of Sickles from his bedside table that morning—while Orion maintained his usual mask of polite attentiveness.

”You return to Hogwarts the day after tomorrow,” Lucius began, his eyes fixing on Orion. ”Which brings me to my first order of business. That... creature. Tell me you are not planning to bring it to a castle full of priceless magical artifacts.”

”If you are referring to Robin, Father, then yes, he is accompanying me,” Orion replied evenly.

Lucius’s jaw tightened. ”Hogwarts has strict rules regarding pets, Orion. Owls, cats, or toads. A Niffler is a Class XXX beast. The moment it steals a goblet from the Great Hall, Filch will have it skinned, and you will be facing expulsion.”

”I have already handled the bureaucracy, Father,” Orion said, retrieving a folded piece of parchment from his robes and sliding it across the desk. ”I wrote to Headmaster Dumbledore last week, citing the Niffler’s use in a specialized extracurricular study of magical creature behavior and subterranean tracking. Titan returned yesterday with official, signed permission from the Headmaster himself.”

Lucius looked at the parchment, his eyes scanning the loopy, purple handwriting of Albus Dumbledore. He looked surprised, and then deeply suspicious.

”And Severus?” Lucius asked. ”Your Head of House will not tolerate a thief in his dungeons.”

”Professor Snape is also aware,” Orion noted dryly.

In fact, Snape had been intimately aware. While Lucius had been at the Ministry a few days prior, the Potions Master had personally stepped out of the Manor’s Floo. Snape had found Orion in the library, fixed him with a glare that could curdle potion ingredients, and delivered a scathing ten-minute lecture on the idiocy of bringing a walking disaster zone into Slytherin House.

”I am not cleaning up after your rodent, Malfoy,” Snape had hissed, looming over Orion. ”If it steals from another student, if it breaches my private stores, or if it so much as looks at a bezoar... I will use it as a potion ingredient. You will bear the entirety of the consequences for this creature. Do I make myself clear?”

”Crystal, Professor,” Orion had nodded calmly.

”Severus has given his conditional approval,” Orion told Lucius, omitting the threats of dismemberment. ”As long as Robin remains under my control, he is permitted.”

Lucius let out a long, heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. In truth, Orion could see the relief washing over his father. Lucius didn’t care if the Niffler dismantled Hogwarts brick by brick, so long as it was out of Malfoy Manor.

”Very well,” Lucius conceded. ”Take the beast. But if you humiliate this family by getting arrested for petty theft, do not expect me to intervene.”

”Understood.”

Lucius leaned back in his chair, the topic of the Niffler discarded. The atmosphere in the room shifted, growing heavier, colder. Lucius looked between his two sons, his grey eyes solemn.

”Now,” Lucius said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. ”To the main point of this meeting.”

He paused, ensuring the door was firmly shut and the portraits were asleep.

”I have heard whispers,” Lucius began, choosing his words with extreme care. ”Certain... old alliances are stirring. There is a strong possibility that this year at Hogwarts will be unlike the last. It will not be defined by mere house point rivalries or foolish Gryffindor heroics.”

Draco leaned forward, his eyes wide. ”What do you mean, Father?”

”I mean,” Lucius said softly, ”that there is a chance the Heir of Slytherin has returned.”

Orion kept his face perfectly still, his heart beating a steady, calm rhythm. Here it is, he thought.

”The Heir?” Draco whispered, awe and fear mingling in his voice. ”Who is he?”

”I am naming no names, and I am confirming nothing,” Lucius said sharply, holding up a hand. ”But I urge you both to exercise extreme caution this year. If the Heir has indeed come to Hogwarts, their purpose will be singular. To cleanse the school of the filth that Dumbledore insists on admitting. To purge the Muggle-borns.”

Lucius leaned over the desk, his gaze intense.

”You must stay with your peers. Keep to the Slytherin common room. Associate only with those of equal strength and impeccable bloodline. The Heir’s wrath will not be directed at purebloods, but the ensuing chaos will be dangerous. Do not play the hero. Do not get caught in the crossfire. You observe, you survive, and you let the unworthy meet their fate. Is that clear?”

”Yes, Father,” Draco breathed, looking simultaneously terrified and viciously excited.

”Crystal clear, Father,” Orion echoed, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.

Lucius nodded, satisfied that his warning had landed. ”Good. You are Malfoys. You belong at the top of the new order, whatever it may be. Now, go pack your remaining belongings. You have an early start tomorrow.”

The twins stood up and exited the study. Draco immediately began whispering a mile a minute the moment they were out of earshot.

”Did you hear that, Orion? The Heir! It’s really going to happen! Granger is going to be running for her life!”

”Get some sleep, Draco,” Orion said dismissively, breaking away toward his own room. ”Paranoia requires energy.”

Orion entered his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

He leaned against the wood, letting out a long, slow sigh.

”Well,” Sparkle’s voice hummed in his mind. ”That was a surprisingly touching display of paternal concern. He essentially just told you to duck because he planted a bomb in the school.”

”It’s the cognitive dissonance of Lucius Malfoy,” Orion muttered, walking over to his window to look out at the dark estate. ”He cares about us. He truly does. He wants us safe, and he warned us so we wouldn’t get hurt.”

Orion shook his head, a bitter smirk twisting his lips.

”But he doesn’t care enough to not cause the problem in the first place. He slipped an ancient, dark artifact containing the soul of a psychopath to an eleven-year-old girl, knowing it would unleash a basilisk into a school where his own children sleep. All to discredit Arthur Weasley.”

”He thinks you’re safe because you’re purebloods,” Sparkle noted.

”Which is the greatest irony of all,” Orion scoffed, turning away from the window. ”He worships the Dark Lord and the ’Heir of Slytherin’. He preaches about the sanctity of pure blood.”

Orion unbuttoned his collar, feeling a sudden, suffocating irritation at the sheer stupidity of the people running this world.

”The real Heir of Slytherin,” Orion whispered to the empty room, ”is a half-blood orphan named Tom. A hypocrite who hates Muggles because his daddy abandoned him. He isn’t cleansing the school out of some noble crusade for magic; he’s just a madman looking to kill anything in front of him because he has daddy issues and nothing better to do.”

Orion walked over to his bed.

He had the knowledge. He had the power. And he had a solid understanding of how reality itself bended to his perception.

”Let the Heir come,” Orion said, pulling the covers back. ”He’s going to find out that a Basilisk isn’t the most dangerous thing lurking in the dungeons this year.”

Orion waved his wand, extinguishing the lights. The room plunged into darkness.

”Goodnight, Father,” Orion murmured to the shadows. ”Thanks for the heads-up. But I don’t think I’ll be sitting this one out.”