Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

October carried the familiar, creeping tension that preceded Halloween. The air grew brittle, the leaves died in vibrant bursts of color, and the castle corridors echoed with the phantom chill of impending drama. Orion knew the timeline was winding tight. Soon, a cat would be petrified, a message would be written in blood, and the school would descend into a state of terrified paranoia.

Before the curfew tightened and the corridors became battlegrounds of suspicion, Orion decided he needed one last breath of unfiltered air. He needed to touch the edge of the wild again.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised hues of violet and charcoal, when Orion slipped out of the heavy oak front doors and made his way across the frost-hardened lawn toward the Forbidden Forest.

The tree line loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the fading light. He wasn’t planning a deep expedition—just a walk along the perimeter to clear his head of runic equations and Lockhart’s insufferable voice.

As he approached the start of Hagrid’s muddy trail, a figure detached itself from the shadows of a massive oak tree.

Orion slowed his pace, his hand instinctively moving to bring out his wand from it’s holster.

The figure turned. Silver hair and beard caught the meager twilight, and half-moon spectacles glinted softly.

”Good evening, Orion,” Albus Dumbledore greeted him, his voice calm and carrying effortlessly over the rustling leaves.

Orion paused, masking his surprise with a polite incline of his head. ”Good evening, Headmaster. I wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”

”I could say the same of you,” Dumbledore chuckled, his breath pluming in the cold air. He was wearing heavy, deep plum-colored robes. ”What brings a second-year student to the edge of the forbidden woods at this hour?”

”I just wanted some peace, sir,” Orion replied honestly, stepping closer. ”The castle is... chaotic. The noise in the common room can be stifling. I was just going for a stroll to clear my head.”

”A sentiment I understand perfectly,” Dumbledore smiled, looking out into the dense trees. ”The forest has a certain... quiet authority that puts the trivialities of the castle into perspective. Would you mind if we strolled together for a moment? Just along the perimeter, of course.”

”I would be honored, Headmaster.”

They began to walk slowly along the edge of the tree line, their boots crunching on the frozen grass. It was a strange juxtaposition—the ancient, powerful wizard and the young, calculating prodigy, walking side-by-side in the twilight.

”And how is your... enthusiastic companion faring?” Dumbledore asked, his tone light. ”I must admit, I check the Head of House reports daily, half-expecting to find a formal complaint of a missing chalice or a stolen pocket watch. Yet, thankfully, no one has registered a theft.”

Orion smiled faintly. ”Robin is well, sir. He usually stays with me, safely tucked in my expanded pocket. Though he does enjoy the freedom of the dormitory occasionally.”

”He has not given in to his baser instincts, then?”

”Oh, he has,” Orion admitted dryly. ”But I have managed to focus his... acquisitions... entirely upon my brother. He frequently steals Draco’s silver hairbrush and his cufflinks. He seems to understand that Crabbe and Goyle possess nothing of value, and the beds of Nott and Zabini are strictly forbidden territory. He just enjoys tormenting Draco.”

Dumbledore let out a warm, genuine laugh. ”I suppose having a Niffler with a specific vendetta is quite the timepass. A localized lesson in constant vigilance for young Draco.”

”Exactly, sir.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few more yards before Dumbledore spoke again. The light, conversational tone remained, but Orion’s sharp mind caught the subtle shift in the current.

”Speaking of timepass,” Dumbledore murmured, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. ”I have heard that you have found a rather... unique way to spend your afternoons. Madam Pince was quite vocal in her disbelief when she informed me that you had secured Professor Lockhart’s permission to access the Restricted Section.”

Orion didn’t miss a beat. He knew Dumbledore would find out; Pince reported to the Headmaster like a loyal soldier.

”Professor Lockhart is a very... accommodating educator,” Orion said smoothly, not insulting the man directly, but leaving the implication hanging. ”I told him I wished to research the historical precedents of his adventures. He was more than happy to sign the slip.”

”I am sure he was,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with a knowing amusement. ”And are you researching his adventures, Orion?”

”Not entirely,” Orion confessed, projecting an aura of scholarly passion. ”I am primarily studying Runes and Arithmancy, Headmaster.”

”Runes?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. ”That is third-year material. And Arithmancy is notoriously dense.”

”I find it fascinating,” Orion said. ”It’s almost fourth-year level now, though it is incredibly tough. I am specifically looking for spatial runes and the related mathematics.”

He looked up at Dumbledore, letting a spark of genuine intellectual curiosity show.

”I was reading about the theory of Apparition and Portkeys—how items and people can be teleported from here to there using focused spells. I was wondering if something similar could be replicated structurally. Using runes to create a permanent, localized bridge.”

It was a dangerous half-truth. He was telling Dumbledore exactly what he was doing—researching the Vanishing Cabinet—without mentioning the object itself.

Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking impressed. ”A permanent spatial bridge. A complex and highly unstable branch of magical architecture. The theory is sound, though the execution often results in... unpleasant splinchings.”

”I am aware of the risks,” Orion nodded. ”Though, to be fair, spatial mathematics is not the only thing I am reading. The Restricted Section is a treasure trove. It gives me so much to learn that the standard library simply glazes over.”

Dumbledore stopped walking. The smile faded from his lips, replaced by the solemn, heavy presence of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He turned to fully face Orion.

”Knowledge is essential, Orion,” Dumbledore said softly, the wind catching the silver hairs of his beard. ”And condemning the pursuit of it is not my place, as this is, fundamentally, a school. The library exists to be read.”

He looked down at the boy, his blue eyes piercing through the twilight.

”However, as a professor first and foremost, I must tell you that the Restricted Section houses books on magic that is, by its very nature, volatile. It is deeply seductive. It promises quick solutions to complex problems. Carelessly going ahead, without the maturity to understand the philosophical weight of what you are reading, might result in... an accident. A corruption of intent, should you not realize it.”

Orion met his gaze steadily. He understood what Dumbledore was really saying. He wasn’t warning him about a book exploding; he was warning him about the allure of the Dark Arts.

”I am somewhat aware of how dangerous magic is, Headmaster,” Orion replied, his voice firm and respectful. ”I have seen what it can do when wielded poorly. My Family has old roots in it after all. But in my opinion... ignorance is not a shield.”

He held Dumbledore’s gaze.

”If one does not know about the darker, more volatile aspects of magic, how can they possibly understand it? And more importantly, how can they protect themselves against it? Pretending the dark doesn’t exist doesn’t make the night any brighter.”

Orion paused, uttering the age-old pureblood mantra, though he meant it in a purely academic sense.

”Knowledge is power, after all.”

Dumbledore remained still for a long moment. The wind howled through the bare branches of the Forbidden Forest, a lonely, ancient sound. He looked at Orion, seeing the calm logic, the absolute lack of malicious fervor, but also the undeniable, cold pragmatism that defined the boy.

”Knowledge is indeed power, Orion,” Dumbledore said quietly, his voice carrying an immense, unquantifiable sadness.

The Headmaster took a step closer, his eyes searching Orion’s face.

”And what,” Dumbledore asked, the question hanging in the freezing air like a pendulum, ”are your thoughts on the use of such power, Orion?”