Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The Slytherin common room was an open tomb that night. The roaring green fire did little to dispel the chilling atmosphere of a narrow, embarrassing defeat.

Draco Malfoy was currently staging a one-man, volume-controlled meltdown near the center table. He was pacing frantically, his face flushed, gesturing wildly with a silver goblet as he recounted the match to an audience of Crabbe, Goyle, and a surprisingly patient Pansy Parkinson.

”...and it was a gust of wind! I swear it!” Draco insisted, slamming his goblet down, sloshing pumpkin juice onto the stone. ”My broom practically jerked right as I reached for it! It was defective craftsmanship! And Potter? Potter didn’t outfly me. He got lucky. Pure, stupid Gryffindor luck! The Bludger practically handed him the game by distracting me!”

Orion sat in his usual high-backed leather chair, a copy of Advanced Runic Alignments open on his lap, completely ignoring his twin’s frantic justifications.

”He’s coping so hard right now,” Sparkle observed, her interface hovering near the edge of the book, displaying a tiny, animated hourglass filled with dropping red rubies. ”He genuinely believes he’s the better flyer. He didn’t even notice the Snitch hovering behind his own ear.”

”Denial is the first stage of grief, Sparkle,” Orion murmured, not looking up. ”Let him process it. He is a boy entirely unaware of his own monumental stupidity. Trying to explain aerodynamic situational awareness to him right now would be like trying to teach arithmetic to a Kneazle.”

He turned a page, the scratching of his quill the only sound he produced.

Draco finally exhausted his audience and stormed toward the boys’ dormitories, muttering darkly about appealing to the Head of House regarding faulty equipment. Orion waited exactly five minutes before closing his book and following.

The dormitory was quiet. Crabbe and Goyle were already snoring. Draco was in his four-poster bed, the curtains drawn tight, likely sulking in the dark.

Orion moved to his own bed, pulling the green velvet hangings shut to create his private, secure space. He cast a quick, silent Muffliato charm on the perimeter.

”Alright,” Orion whispered, settling back against his pillows. ”Time to deal with the real problem.”

He focused his intent. ”Dobby.”

CRACK.

The house-elf appeared at the foot of the bed, wearing a tea cozy and clutching a feather duster like a security blanket. His large, tennis-ball eyes darted nervously around the enclosed space.

”Master Orion calls Dobby?” the elf squeaked, his voice trembling slightly.

Orion didn’t speak immediately. He just looked at the elf, his expression unreadable, letting the silence stretch until Dobby started wringing his hands anxiously.

”You have been remarkably busy lately, Dobby,” Orion began, his tone calm, smooth, and deceptively conversational. ”I haven’t seen much of you. Sourcing potion ingredients? Maintaining the pool filtration runes?”

”Yes, Master Orion! Dobby is always busy serving the House of Malfoy!” Dobby squealed, nodding so hard his ears flapped against his cheeks. ”Dobby is cleaning! Dobby is polishing!”

Orion raised a single eyebrow. ”Are you? Because it seems to me that your definition of ’cleaning’ recently involved tampering with a magical barrier at King’s Cross Station, resulting in two Gryffindors stealing a flying Ford Anglia.”

Dobby froze. The color drained from his face, turning his grey skin a sickly shade of green.

”And,” Orion continued relentlessly, leaning forward slightly, ”I would wager a significant amount of Galleons that your version of ’polishing’ involved charming a rogue Bludger to relentlessly hunt down the Boy Who Lived during a Quidditch match today. Resulting in a shattered arm and a vanished bone structure.”

Dobby gasped, taking a stumbling step backward until his back hit the edge of Orion’s trunk. He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head violently.

”Dobby did not lie!” the elf wailed, tears welling in his enormous eyes. ”Dobby just... Dobby just did not mention it! Like Master Orion said to do with the bad Master Lucius! Dobby is protecting!”

Orion let out a short, sharp sigh, shaking his head in profound, tired amusement.

”Dobby,” Orion said, his voice dropping the icy edge and softening into a patient, exasperated tone. ”Did you honestly believe that trick would work on me? The one who taught it to you?”

He uncrossed his legs, resting his elbows on his knees.

”I am not angry that you used my own tactics, Dobby. I am not even angry that you are trying to save Harry Potter from whatever dark plot you believe is unfolding here.”

Dobby slowly lowered his hands, looking up at Orion with a mixture of terror and dawning hope. ”Master Orion... is not angry?”

”I am merely disappointed,” Orion corrected, holding the elf’s gaze. ”Disappointed that you did not consult me. You know I tasked you with keeping an eye on Potter last year for his own safety. You know I intercepted Terence Higgs. Why would you assume I would not help you navigate this situation logically, instead of resorting to vehicular theft and attempted blunt-force trauma?”

Dobby’s lower lip trembled. He grabbed his tea cozy and pulled it hard over his ears. ”Dobby... Dobby thought Master Orion was too busy! And Dobby could not speak of the bad Master’s plans! The magic forbids it!”

”The magic forbids you from betraying Lucius’s direct orders,” Orion deduced instantly. ”But it does not forbid you from acting independently if an order was not explicitly given. Correct?”

Dobby nodded miserably.

”So,” Orion reasoned, tracing a pattern on his duvet. ”Lucius gave the diary to Ginny Weasley in Flourish and Blotts. I saw him do it. The diary is the catalyst for the Chamber of Secrets. But Lucius never explicitly ordered you to ensure the Chamber was opened, did he? He never told you not to interfere with the diary itself.”

Dobby’s eyes widened. ”No, Master Orion. The bad Master only ordered Dobby to polish his boots and not speak of the dark things in the cellar.”

Orion smiled. It was a sharp, brilliant, calculating expression that made Dobby stand a little straighter.

”Then here is what you are going to do, Dobby,” Orion commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. ”You are going to stop trying to expel Harry Potter. You are going to stop trying to maim him on the Quidditch pitch. Your methods are reckless, dangerous, and frankly, counterproductive.”

”But Harry Potter must go home!” Dobby cried. ”He is in terrible danger!”

”He is,” Orion agreed seamlessly. ”But the danger is not Potter’s presence. The danger is the diary.”

He pointed a finger directly at the elf.

”You are going to redirect your surveillance. You are going to shadow Ginny Weasley. You will watch her. You will track her movements.”

”Watch the Weasley girl?” Dobby blinked, confused by the sudden shift in target.

”Yes,” Orion stated firmly. ”The diary is possessing her. It is draining her. At some point, the psychological strain will become too much. She will realize the book is dark. She will panic, and she will try to dispose of it. She will throw it away.”

Orion leaned back against the pillows, crossing his arms.

”The moment she discards that diary—whether it is in a corridor, a classroom, or a flooded bathroom—you will come and inform me immediately. Do not touch it. Do not attempt to destroy it yourself. Just tell me where it is.”

Dobby looked at the young Slytherin, processing the magnitude of the order. The boy wasn’t asking him to betray his master’s secrets; he was asking him to exploit a loophole to neutralize the threat entirely.

”And then?” Dobby asked, his voice a hushed squeak.

”I will take it from there,” Orion promised, his blue eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light in the shadows of the bed. ”I will deal with the diary. I will end the threat to the school. And Harry Potter will be safe without needing to have his brain magically vanished by an incompetent fraud.”

He held out a hand.

”Do we have a deal, Dobby? A new, targeted mission?”

Dobby looked at the outstretched hand. Tears of profound gratitude spilled over his eyelashes. He lunged forward, grabbing Orion’s hand with both of his long, spindly ones, shaking it vigorously.

”Dobby accepts!” the elf wept. ”Master Orion is truly the greatest of wizards! Master Orion is a hero! Dobby will watch the red-haired girl! Dobby will be a shadow!”

”Excellent,” Orion nodded, gently extracting his hand from the emotional elf. ”Remember, stealth is paramount. The diary must not fall into anyone else’s hands. Now, return to your duties. And for Merlin’s sake, leave the Bludgers alone.”

”Yes, Master Orion!”

CRACK.

Dobby vanished, leaving Orion alone in the quiet, magically silenced space.

Orion let out a long, slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

”Well played,” Sparkle’s voice hummed with satisfaction. ”You just weaponized a rogue house-elf into an early-warning system. You’re effectively bypassing the entire ’Mystery of the Chamber’ phase and waiting for the loot drop.”

”I’m streamlining the narrative,” Orion corrected, a satisfied smirk returning to his face. ”The diary is the key. If I secure it before Potter finds it in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, I control the access to the Chamber. I control the Basilisk. I control the endgame.”

He lay back down, pulling the covers up. The tension that had been building since September finally broke, replaced by the clear, cold focus of a plan set in motion.

”Let the heir play his games for now,” Orion whispered to the canopy. ”His time is borrowed anyway.”