Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The tension that had gripped Hogwarts since Colin Creevey’s petrification found a structured, socially acceptable outlet exactly a week later. Notice boards in every common room blossomed with a new, highly anticipated announcement:

THE HOGWARTS DUELING CLUB

First Meeting This Weekend.

Instruction Year-by-Year.

Below it was the year wise segregation.

Second Years: Saturday, 8:00 PM in the Great Hall.

The news rippled through the student body like a localized Sonorus charm. In the Slytherin common room, the reaction was a mixture of predatory excitement and cynical amusement.

”Dueling,” Draco said, pacing in front of the green fire on Friday evening, his wand twirling between his fingers. ”Finally, something practical. I’ve been practicing the Disarming Charm all week. I’m going to make whoever I’m paired with eat the flagstones.”

”Let us hope your opponent isn’t a wall,” Orion noted dryly from his armchair, where he was currently engrossed in a heavy tome on Auditory Runic Arrays. ”Your aim tends to drift when you’re showing off.”

”I don’t show off,” Draco defended haughtily. ”I demonstrate superiority.”

Orion simply turned a page. He wasn’t worried about Draco’s dueling skills; he was worried about Draco’s opponent. In a structured environment, Draco was competent. It was the unpredictable variables that usually brought him down.

And Orion had his own, highly unpredictable variable to prepare for.

Days before the Dueling Club was even announced, Orion had begun his nightly, solitary vigils. Long after the rest of the second-year dormitory had succumbed to sleep, he would sit cross-legged on his bed behind silenced curtains, bathed in the faint, ghostly light of a Lumos.

Resting on his lap was a beautifully crafted, mahogany-encased Wizarding Wireless Network radio. Dobby had procured it from a high-end antique dealer in Diagon Alley. It had brass dials, a large, glowing speaker grill, and hummed with a faint, static magic.

Night after night, Orion adjusted the main tuning dial, meticulously sifting through the frequencies. He listened to frantic debates on cauldron thickness standards, dramatic readings of The Hobgoblins of the Hebrides, and rather screechy performances by Celestina Warbeck, discarding them all.

”What exactly are we looking for?” Sparkle asked one evening, her interface pulsing in time with a faint jazz melody coming from the speaker. ”I thought you hated Wizarding music.”

”I hate most Wizarding music, Sparkle,” Orion murmured, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the audio. ”I am looking for a masterpiece. I need a theme.”

”A theme?”

”A Boss Battle theme,” Orion clarified, turning the dial a fraction of an inch. He didn’t elaborate further, ignoring Sparkle’s ensuing barrage of curious questions. He simply waited, letting the hours tick by.

It took nearly a week of patient searching.

Finally, just past midnight on a Thursday, the station shifted. The polite crooning faded, replaced instantly by the haunting, rapid strike of piano keys. It started low and ominous, a sequence of heavy, plunging bass chords that resonated with a dark, classical intensity, completely out of place in the genteel world of wizarding entertainment. Then, the tempo accelerated. Frantic, cascading arpeggios swept over the bassline, building a pulse-pounding, breathless rhythm that felt like the prelude to an epic, life-or-death confrontation.

It was brilliant, theatrical, and dripping with raw, escalating tension.

”Perfect,” Orion whispered, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across his face.

He drew his Hawthorn wand with lightning speed.

”Vocare Captis.”

He pointed the tip of his wand directly at the speaker grill. A thin, shimmering, silvery-blue thread of condensed audio spooled out of the air, twisting and turning in time with the frantic, driving piano melody.

Orion held a small, empty crystal test tube in his other hand. The silver thread flowed seamlessly into the glass, swirling like trapped lightning. He held the spell for a perfect, intense two minutes before the composition peaked into a breathtaking, dramatic crescendo.

He severed the spell with a flick of his wrist and jammed a tight cork into the test tube. The glass vial vibrated in his palm, warm to the touch. Inside, the silver mist churned eagerly.

”A two-minute sonata of pure, cinematic tension,” Orion noted, holding the vial up to the light. ”Concentrated adrenaline in a bottle. That will be more than enough.”

”It’s a sonic masterpiece,” Sparkle assessed, sounding both impressed and slightly unnerved by the sheer drama of the melody. ”What are you going to do with that? Drop it in the Great Hall?”

”Oh, no,” Orion smirked, opening his mental Inventory. The grid appeared, and he placed the vibrating test tube into a secure slot next to his potion supplies. ”This is for something else entirely.”

Saturday evening arrived with a palpable tension.

The Great Hall had been stripped of its usual dining tables, replaced by a long, raised golden stage running down the center of the room. The ceiling above was dark, mirroring the stormy sky outside.

The second-year students from all four houses milled about the edges of the platform, buzzing with nervous energy. The Gryffindors huddled together, casting dark looks at the Slytherins, who sneered right back.

Orion stood near the front, flanked by Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy. He observed the stage with clinical detachment.

”Gather round, gather round!”

Gilderoy Lockhart swept onto the stage, wearing robes of shimmering plum velvet. He was smiling brilliantly, waving to the crowd as if he were stepping onto a red carpet rather than a dueling piste.

Following a few paces behind, radiating an aura of absolute, murderous disdain, was Professor Severus Snape in his usual billowing black.

Orion tuned out Lockhart’s opening monologue. He knew the script. He watched as Lockhart postured, waved his wand theatrically, and then inevitably got blasted off his feet by a single, bored flick of Snape’s wrist (Expelliarmus—the spell executed flawlessly, sending Lockhart flying into the wall).

The Slytherins cheered loudly. The Gryffindors looked terrified that Snape was seemingly enjoying himself too much.

Lockhart, recovering with staggering denial, brushed himself off and announced that they would now pair up to practice.

Snape stepped off the stage, prowling through the crowd like a hunting hawk.

”Time to split up the dream team, I think,” Snape sneered, stopping in front of Harry and Ron. He pointed a long, pale finger. ”Potter...”

Snape’s black eyes swept over the Slytherins. They lingered on Draco for a fraction of a second, before moving slightly to the left. They locked onto Orion.

A silent communication passed between Head of House and student. Snape wasn’t looking for a schoolyard brawl; he was looking for a demonstration of competence that would humiliate the Boy Who Lived without causing a diplomatic incident.

”Malfoy,” Snape said, his voice silky smooth. ”Orion. Step up here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Mr. Potter.”

Draco looked furious at being passed over. ”But Professor—”

”I said Orion, Draco,” Snape cut him off softly. He turned to face the rest of the room. ”And you, Draco, will partner with... Weasley.”

Draco’s face lit up with a vicious sneer. Ron blanched, clutching his spell-taped, splintered wand nervously.

”Oh boy,” Sparkle whispered in Orion’s ear. ”Draco versus a broken wand. This is going to be a disaster for someone’s eyebrows.”

”Millicent,” Snape continued his assignments, ”you will partner with Miss Granger.”

The pairs were set. The tension ratcheted up a notch.

Orion stepped forward, leaving the safety of the crowd. He walked onto the golden stage, his movements fluid and unhurried. He reached into his dragon-hide holster, the Hawthorn wand snapping into his hand with a sharp click.

Harry Potter climbed onto the stage from the opposite side. He looked tense, his green eyes darting between Snape, Lockhart, and Orion. He clutched his holly wand tightly.

They met in the center of the stage.

”Face your partners!” Lockhart called out cheerfully, completely oblivious to the sheer animosity radiating from the students. ”And bow!”

Harry gave a stiff, jerky nod, not taking his eyes off Orion.

Orion offered a shallow, mocking, perfectly executed pureblood bow. He held his gaze steady, his blue eyes cold and flat.

”Well, Potter,” Orion said softly, his voice barely carrying over the murmur of the crowd, pitching it so only Harry could hear. ”It seems we meet again on the battlefield.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. He remembered the dark, flame-lit chamber. He remembered the ropes, the paralysis, and the humiliating ease with which Orion had dispatched him.

”This is our second duel, correct?” Orion continued, his tone conversational, almost polite. ”I sincerely hope you have learned something from our bout last time.”

He leveled his wand, aiming squarely at Harry’s chest. The casual cruelty of his next words hit harder than a physical blow.

”Though, since not much time has passed... and given your academic record... I highly doubt it.”

Harry’s eyes blazed with sudden, fierce anger. He raised his wand, his stance defensive but rigid.

”Wands at the ready!” Lockhart shouted. ”On the count of three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent! Only to disarm! One... two... three!”

The Great Hall held its breath.

Orion and Harry stood face to face, the golden stage gleaming beneath them, the air thick with the promise of magic. The duel was about to begin.