Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The heavy oak door of the second-year dormitory, swung shut, cutting off the draft from the corridor.

Draco was sitting cross-legged on his bed, still fully dressed, looking as if he had been vibrating with impatience for the last hour.

”Well?” Draco demanded the moment the latch clicked. ”Did Dumbledore expel the Niffler? Did he give you detention? Is Robin currently being shipped back to the Menagerie in a crate?”

Orion smirked, walking over to his trunk. He patted the pocket where a sleepy lump was currently curled up.

”On the contrary, Draco,” Orion said smoothly. ”The Headmaster and I had a delightful conversation regarding magical biodiversity. Robin has been granted full, official residency at Hogwarts.”

Draco’s face fell. ”You’re joking.”

”I am dead serious,” Orion said, placing his trunk at the foot of his bed. ”In fact, Dumbledore implied that Robin requires ’enrichment.’ Which means if you continue to irritate me with your complaints about the temperature of the toast or the color of your socks... I now have administrative permission to unleash him on your trunk.”

Draco instinctively grabbed his bedside table drawer, where he kept his valuables. ”That’s tyranny! I’ll write to Father!”

”Father already signed off on it, remember?” Orion reminded him mercilessly. ”Now, hush. I need to set up his quarters.”

Orion opened his trunk and retrieved a large, heavy object covered in a velvet cloth. He placed it on the sturdy bedside table next to his pillow. With a flourish, he whipped the cloth away.

It was a masterpiece of transfiguration and spatial expansion. To the naked eye, it looked like a large, decorative wooden stand, perhaps for a globe or a bust. But atop the polished wood sat a rugged, realistic mound of granite rocks, interspersed with patches of lush green moss and miniature bonsai-style trees. In the center of the rocks was a dark, inviting tunnel entrance.

”What is that?” Goyle grunted from his bed.

”A habitat,” Orion explained. ”Expanded interior. Inside that hole is a cozy burrow lined with velvet and filled with shiny brass buttons I bought for him.”

He tapped his pocket. ”Home, Robin.”

The Niffler poked his head out, sniffed the air, and saw the rock formation. With a squeak of delight, Robin leaped from the pocket, scrambled up the bedpost, and dove into the tunnel. A moment later, his head popped back out, looking incredibly pleased with his new real estate.

”Ridiculous,” Draco muttered, blowing out the candle. ”Absolutely ridiculous.”

”Goodnight, Draco.”

The next morning, the Great Hall was less a place of dining and more a center for high-speed information exchange. The air was thick with the smell of bacon and scandal.

Orion took his seat, pouring himself a cup of tea. He didn’t need to ask what had happened; the Gryffindor table was a scene of devastation, and the Hufflepuffs were whispering loud enough to be heard in France.

”A flying car!” a Ravenclaw boy was saying behind him. ”Into the Whomping Willow! My brother saw the tree smashed on one side!”

”Snape was furious,” a Slytherin girl whispered nearby. ”He wanted them expelled, but Mcgonagall just gave them detention. Didn’t even take points.”

Orion nodded to himself. Damage control, he thought. Gryffindor starts the year with morale intact, but Potter and Weasley are isolated by their own stupidity. Perfect.

”Orion!”

Draco slid onto the bench next to him, breathless and eyes wide. He grabbed a piece of toast, looking like he was about to burst.

”You won’t believe it!” Draco hissed. ”I just heard from Flint, who heard it from Pucey, who saw the wreckage! Potter and Weasley—”

”—missed the train because the barrier sealed itself,” Orion interrupted calmly, sipping his tea. ”They panicked, stole Arthur Weasley’s enchanted Ford Anglia, flew it to Scotland, ran out of fuel, and crashed directly into the Whomping Willow. The car has gone feral in the Forbidden Forest, and the boys are currently serving detention but have retained their house points to prevent a mutiny.”

Draco froze, his toast halfway to his mouth. He stared at Orion.

”How...” Draco sputtered. ”How do you do that? I ran here! I have the fastest gossip network in the house!”

”You run, Draco. I listen,” Orion tapped his ear. ”You are too slow. Information travels faster than feet. You need to catch up if you want to stay ahead of the curve.”

Draco scowled, looking deflated that his scoop had been scooped. ”Well... it’s still hilarious. Potter almost got flattened by a tree. I hope it hurt.”

”Sit down and watch the theatre, Draco,” Orion advised, gesturing with his chin toward the entrance of the Hall. ”The show isn’t over.”

At that moment, the morning post arrived. A deluge of owls swooped through the high windows.

A large, gray, ragged-looking owl—Errol, the Weasley family bird—collapsed onto the Gryffindor table right in front of Ron. It was carrying a red envelope.

The envelope was smoking.

”Oh, this is going to be good,” Draco grinned, forgetting his annoyance. ”A Howler.”

”Look at Weasley’s face,” Pansy giggled. ”He looks like he’s about to be sick.”

Ron’s shaking hands opened the envelope.

BOOM.

The voice of Molly Weasley exploded into the Great Hall, magnified a hundred times. It wasn’t just a shout; it was a sonic weapon. The plates on the table rattled.

”...RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR! I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER IS FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK AND IT IS ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE WILL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!”

The voice echoed off the stone walls, causing dust to fall from the ceiling. The entire hall had gone deathly silent. Even the ghosts stopped drifting to listen.

Ron had slid so far down in his seat that only his forehead was visible. Harry looked like he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Hermione was pretending to be intensely fascinated by her timetable.

The Howler, having finished its tirade, turned toward Ginny Weasley, offered a calm, normal-volume ”And Ginny dear, congratulations on making Gryffindor,” and then burst into flames, curling into ash on Ron’s plate.

Silence lingered for a solid ten seconds before the hall erupted into laughter and chatter.

Draco was laughing so hard he had to hold onto the table. ”Did you hear that? ’Facing an inquiry’! Weasley’s dad is going to get sacked! It’s perfect!”

Orion didn’t laugh. He watched the smoking remains of the letter with a critical, detached expression.

”I will never understand the logic of the Howler,” Orion mused aloud, cutting a sausage.

”What do you mean?” Draco wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. ”It’s brilliant punishment!”

”It’s public humiliation,” Orion corrected. ”Think about it, Draco. Molly Weasley is angry, yes. But by screaming her family’s business across the Great Hall, she isn’t just shaming her son. She is broadcasting her husband’s professional vulnerability to his political enemies.”

Orion gestured around the room.

”Now everyone knows Arthur Weasley is under inquiry. Everyone knows he possessed an illegal flying car. She just gave ammunition to every opponent her husband has, all to yell at a twelve-year-old. It is... tactically unsound. It is airing dirty laundry in a room full of people who want to set your clothes on fire.”

Draco blinked. He hadn’t thought of it that way. ”Well... good for Father, then.”

”Indeed,” Orion agreed. ”Good for us. Bad for House Weasley. As always.”

A shadow fell over the table.

Professor Snape moved down the line, watching as the prefects were handing out parchments of year based timetables. He looked less murderous than usual, likely bolstered by the public shaming of a Gryffindor.

”Your schedules,” Snape said, as one of teh prefects handed him one of the timetables. ”Second years. Do try not to be dunderheads this term. Though with Lockhart teaching Defense... my hopes are not high.”

Orion picked up his schedule.

Herbology.

Transfiguration.

History of Magic.

Defense Against the Dark Arts.

”Lockhart,” Orion noted. ”Prepare yourselves. It’s going to be a long year of teeth and narcissism.”

”I heard he’s handing out signed photos,” Pansy sighed dreamily.

”I heard he doesn’t know a hex from a hairbrush,” Orion muttered, standing up. ”Come on. Let’s go learn about Mandrakes before the screaming starts again.”