Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

While Draco was busy reinventing himself as the airborne terror of the Quidditch pitch, the rest of the school was settling into the grim realization that Gilderoy Lockhart was not just a teacher, but a lifestyle.

For two members of the student body, this lifestyle was being enforced with the judicial weight of detention. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been assigned every Saturday and Sunday for the months of September and October to assist Professor Lockhart with his ”administrative duties.”

”I saw them through the window of the Defense classroom,” Pansy whispered gleefully during breakfast on Saturday. ”They were sitting at a table piled high with envelopes. Potter looked like he wanted to cry, and Weasley was nursing a hand cramp while Lockhart dictated his fan mail responses.”

”Administrative duties,” Orion mused, sipping his tea. ”Otherwise known as providing free labor for a narcissist’s PR machine. It’s poetic, really. The ’Boy Who Lived’ spending his weekends answering letters from middle-aged witches who want to know what brand of hair-thickening potion Lockhart uses.”

”It’s brilliant,” Draco agreed, though his mind was clearly on the training session scheduled for ten o’clock. ”The more time they spend in that office, the less time they have to practice. By the time they get on a broom, they’ll have the reflexes of a troll.”

Orion nodded, though his own plans had nothing to do with Quidditch. As Draco, flanked by his usual entourage, marched off to the pitch to break in his new Nimbus 2001, Orion took his bag and headed in the opposite direction.

He had a new objective. The first major hurdle of his Second Year.

The Restricted Section.

For any other student, the Restricted Section was a tantalizing mystery guarded by the sharp tongue and sharper eyes of Madam Pince. It contained books that screamed when opened, books written in languages that burned the eyes, and texts on the darker, more volatile branches of magic that the Ministry preferred to keep under lock and key.

Orion knew that if he wanted to master the Vanishing Cabinet, or truly understand the deeper layers of ”perception-based” magic, he needed knowledge that wasn’t found in the standard curriculum. But getting permission was notoriously difficult. Even Snape, for all his favoritism, would likely balk at giving a twelve-year-old access to the Dark Arts shelf.

But Orion had realized something important over the last two weeks: fools are just as useful as geniuses if you know which strings to pull.

He made his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He arrived thirty minutes before Potter and Weasley were due for their sentence. The door was ajar, and the sound of humming—a self-indulgent, jaunty tune—drifted into the corridor.

Orion knocked.

”Come in, come in!” Lockhart’s voice beamed.

Orion stepped inside. The room was a shrine to the man’s face. Lockhart was currently seated behind his desk, practicing his signature on a stack of glossy photographs.

”Ah! Young Malfoy!” Lockhart cried, flashing a smile that was bright enough to be a navigational hazard. ”Come for a signed photo? Or perhaps some advice on how to handle the fame of being a top student?”

”Actually, Professor,” Orion said, adopting an expression of intense, scholarly admiration. ”I came to tell you that I finished Gadding with Ghouls last night. The way you handled the Lychgate Specter... the nuance you showed in the spectral-binding theory... it was nothing short of revolutionary.”

Lockhart paused, his quill hovering in the air. His chest expanded by at least two inches. ”Nuance! Yes! Exactly! Most people just see the heroics, but the theory... you have a sharp eye, dear boy.”

”It’s just,” Orion sighed, looking troubled. ”I went to the library to research the foundational charms you hinted at in Chapter Six. I wanted to deepen my understanding of your methods. But... the books in the general section are so... elementary. They lack the depth of your experiences.”

Lockhart tutted, shaking his head. ”The curse of the modern curriculum, Orion. Shallow waters.”

”I was wondering,” Orion leaned in, pitching his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ”If I might have your permission to consult the Restricted Section? Only for research related to your exploits, of course. I want to see if I can find the original 15th-century texts on ’Trans-vibrational Banishing’ that you mastered.”

Lockhart didn’t even hesitate. The idea that a student wanted to use the ”forbidden” books to prove how brilliant Lockhart was was an ego-stroke he couldn’t resist.

”A scholar! A true seeker of truth!” Lockhart grabbed a piece of parchment and a flamboyant purple quill. ”Say no more! A mind like yours shouldn’t be caged by the ’Standard’ shelves. You have my full authority.”

He scribbled a note with more loops and flourishes than actual letters.

To Madam Pince,

Pray allow my gifted student, Orion Malfoy, full and unrestricted access to the Restricted Section for the duration of the school year. He is assisting me with a very important project regarding my memoirs. - Gilderoy Lockhart (Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, Three times winner of the Witch Weekly’s most charming smile award).

He handed the note to Orion with a wink. ”Don’t let the books bite, eh? I remember once in Tibet, a set of encyclopedias tried to swallow my arm...”

”I’ll be careful, Professor,” Orion promised, tucking the note away. ”Thank you. You are truly an inspiration.”

”I know,” Lockhart beamed.

Orion walked through the library with the confidence of a man holding a royal pardon. He approached the main desk, where Madam Pince was currently shushing a group of third-years with enough intensity to lower the room’s temperature.

She looked up as Orion approached. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, darted to his face.

”Mr. Malfoy,” she said, her voice a dry rasp. ”If you are looking for the latest Quidditch journals, they are on the revolving rack.”

”I am not, Madam Pince,” Orion said politely. He placed the purple-inked parchment on the desk. ”I have received a research assignment from Professor Lockhart. He felt the general section was... insufficient for the task.”

Pince picked up the note with two fingers, as if it were contaminated. She read it, her lips thinning as she processed the purple ink and the absurd signature. She looked at Orion, then back at the note.

Orion remained perfectly still, his Mind Arts Level 1 keeping his surface thoughts as calm as a mountain lake.

To Pince, Orion was the model student. He never whispered. He never ate in the stacks. He always returned books with the spines aligned and the pages un-creased. Compared to the usual rabble, he was a saint.

”Professor Lockhart’s ’important project’,” Pince muttered, her distaste for the man evident. ”Very well. The signature is valid. You may enter. But be warned, Mr. Malfoy: if I find a single drop of ink or a dog-eared page on any of the restricted volumes, I will ban you from this library until you graduate. Do I make myself clear?”

”Perfectly, Madam Pince,” Orion bowed.

She lifted the heavy silver key from her belt and unlocked the iron gate. The gate swung open with a mournful creak.

Orion stepped through.

The air in the Restricted Section was different. It was heavy, smelling of old, dry rot, metallic ink, and the unmistakable static hum of ancient, unregulated magic. The stacks here were taller, shrouded in shadows that the library’s lanterns couldn’t quite banish.

He walked down the first aisle. Titles in silver and gold winked at him from the dark. Moste Potente Potions. Sonnets of a Sorcerer. The Shadow of the Mind.

Orion smirks. He had his season pass. He had his laboratory. And he had a whole year to drain this place dry of every secret it held.

DING.

Tier: 1 (Basic)

Name: You Shall Not Pass (Unless You Have a Note)

Description: You have successfully weaponized a man’s narcissism to bypass the most stringent academic security in the castle. You managed to convince Gilderoy Lockhart that you are his biggest fan just to get your hands on books that can probably melt your face off. You are the ultimate teacher’s pet, and the librarian hates that she likes you.

Reward: 1x Ring of the Midnight Reader.

Orion checked his inventory. A small, simple silver band appeared. He slipped it onto his left index finger. Immediately, a tiny, pinpoint beam of soft blue light erupted from a small sapphire set in the metal. It acted like a miniature, directed Lumos, perfect for illuminating text in a dark room without drawing attention to himself.

”Handy,” Orion whispered, the blue light reflecting in his eyes.

He turned to the shelf marked Spatial Anomalies and Theoretical Portals.

”Let’s see what we can find for the Cabinet,” he murmured.

He spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the dark, the distant roars of the Quidditch pitch and the scratching of Potter’s detention quill entirely forgotten. Orion Malfoy had found a new playground, and the toys here were much more interesting than brooms.