Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The golden platform of the Dueling Club had become a chaotic tableau of magical incompetence and brute force.

Orion, having concluded his own theatrically devastating duel with Harry Potter, stepped back into the crowd of Slytherins. The heavy-metal echoes of his auditory illusion had faded, replaced by the shouts, grunts, and occasional explosion of miscast spells from the other students.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his face burning a mixture of humiliated red and furious white. He snatched his holly wand from his chest, his green eyes boring into Orion’s back. Orion didn’t look back; he was already analyzing the rest of the room.

”Did you see that?!” Pansy shrieked, grabbing Orion’s arm. ”You made him look like a total amateur! The lights! The music! It was brilliant!”

”It was a demonstration of control, Pansy,” Orion murmured, smoothing his sleeves. ”Nothing more.”

He glanced down the line of duels. The instruction to ”disarm only” had clearly been treated as a light suggestion by the student body.

To his immediate left, Draco Malfoy was standing frozen, his wand dangling limply from his fingers, his mouth slightly open as he stared at the spot where Orion had just dismantled Potter. He had been so captivated by the spectacle that he had completely abandoned his own duel.

Unfortunately for Draco, his opponent had not.

Ron Weasley, armed with his tape-wrapped, splintering wand, was currently bent double, clutching his stomach. He wasn’t vomiting slugs this time, but he was emitting a sound that was half-wheeze, half-hysterical cackle. His skin had taken on a distinct, luminous shade of lime green, and he was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face.

”Weasley,” Draco finally blinked, turning his attention back to the vibrating redhead. ”What is wrong with you?”

Ron however was in no condition to reply.

He collapsed onto the floor, rolling around in a fit of uncontrollable, green-tinted hilarity.

Orion sighed, rubbing his temples. ”The structural integrity of that wand is a menace to everyone in a ten-foot radius, including the caster,” he noted to Sparkle. ”It’s a miracle he hasn’t blown off his own hand.”

Further down the stage, things were even less magical.

Professor Snape was currently wading into a cloud of dust, his black robes snapping as he physically hauled two students apart.

Millicent Bulstrode, a girl whose physical stature rivaled Crabbe’s, had apparently decided that wandwork was too slow. She had Hermione Granger in a terrifying headlock, her wand discarded on the floor, while Hermione was desperately trying to claw her way free, her bushy hair flying wildly.

”Enough!” Snape barked, separating the girls with a sharp wave of his wand that sent them stumbling backward. ”Miss Bulstrode, this is a Dueling Club, not a Muggle tavern brawl! Miss Granger, fix your robes.”

Hermione, panting and flushed, hurriedly straightened her uniform, shooting a venomous glare at the larger Slytherin.

”I think Millicent won that round on points,” Blaise Zabini drawled lazily from his spot near the edge of the platform. ”Though perhaps not on style.”

Lockhart, oblivious to the fact that his club was devolving into a riot, was clapping his hands and shouting encouragement at a pair of Hufflepuffs who were currently trying to untangle their wands, which had somehow become knotted together. Just what spell were they casting anyway.

”Excellent effort, Macmillan! Keep the wrist loose, Boot!” Lockhart beamed.

The next few pairings were a masterclass in educational failure.

Daphne Greengrass, poised and cold as ice, effortlessly disarmed Lavender Brown with a silent flick of her wand, catching the Gryffindor’s wand with a look of profound boredom before handing it back.

Tracey Davis and Parvati Patil spent a full three minutes pointing their wands at each other and yelling ”Expelliarmus!” with increasing volume, completely failing to produce so much as a spark. They eventually gave up and started arguing about a Charms essay instead.

Neville Longbottom, paired with Justin Finch-Fletchley, looked so terrified he forgot the incantation entirely, while Seamus Finnigan’s attempt at a Disarming Charm resulted in a small, localized explosion that left his eyebrows singed and his face covered in soot.

”Right,” Snape announced loudly, his voice easily cutting through the chaos and silencing the room. He looked as though he were contemplating mass detention for the entire second year. ”That will be enough unstructured idiocy for one evening.”

He swept to the center of the golden platform, his black eyes sweeping the crowd.

”It seems the majority of you are incapable of following simple instructions,” Snape sneered, his gaze lingering on the still-laughing, green-hued Ron Weasley. ”Let us attempt one final, controlled demonstration. Perhaps... Mr. Potter.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to Harry, who was still glaring furiously at Orion.

”You seem eager to prove yourself just now,” Snape purred softly. ”Though your previous display was severely lacking. Perhaps you should learn to walk before you attempt to duel a student who clearly outmatches you.”

He gestured to Draco, who puffed out his chest, instantly recovering his swagger.

”Malfoy,” Snape commanded. ”Step up. Let us see if Mr. Potter can handle you first, before he plans on taking revenge on your brother.”

Draco smirked, marching onto the platform, his wand raised. Harry didn’t hesitate. He vaulted onto the stage, his jaw set, his green eyes burning with a mixture of embarrassment and fierce determination.

Orion watched from the sidelines, leaning casually against a pillar. Here we go, he thought. The canon resumes. Albeit with a much angrier Potter.

”On three,” Lockhart called out, oblivious to the lethal tension. ”One... two... three!”

”Rictusempra!” Harry shouted instantly, unleashing a jet of silver light.

The spell hit Draco squarely in the stomach. The Tickling Charm didn’t make him turn green like Ron, but it sent Draco stumbling backward, wheezing and clutching his ribs as he fought against the magical urge to laugh.

”Tarantallegra!” Draco fired back, red-faced and furious.

The spell clipped Harry’s legs, forcing him into a frantic, jerky tap-dance across the stage.

The duel devolved rapidly into a messy, angry exchange of hexes. Harry, fueled by the humiliating defeat he had just suffered at Orion’s hands, fought with a ferocity that caught Draco off guard. He dodged a sluggish jinx and fired a Flipendo, knocking Draco off balance.

Draco hit the floor hard, his wand slipping from his grasp.

”Disarmed!” Harry shouted, panting heavily.

For a second, Orion thought it was over. Draco had lost the duel.

But Draco Malfoy, bruised in ego and body, didn’t accept defeat gracefully. His eyes flashed with a nasty, panicked light. Instead of backing down, he scrambled to his feet, snatched his wand off the floor, and aimed it directly at Harry’s chest.

”Serpensortia!” Draco bellowed.

BANG.

A puff of black smoke erupted from the end of his wand. A long, thick black snake shot out, hitting the golden stage heavily. It immediately coiled, raising its head high, its tongue flicking as it tasted the air.

The crowd shrieked, scrambling backward away from the platform.

Orion watched the snake, his expression unreadable. Thanks to his All-Speak, the terrifying hiss of the serpent was instantly translated into clear, disgruntled English in his mind.

”Oh, honestly,” the snake complained, sounding like an overworked accountant. ”I was literally an inch away from catching a rat in the dungeons. It was fat, too. Where the hell am I?!”

The snake slithered forward, turning its head toward the edge of the stage where the Hufflepuffs were clustered. It stopped, its yellow eyes locking onto Justin Finch-Fletchley, who looked like he was about to faint.

”Hey,” the snake hissed, rearing up slightly, swaying in front of the terrified boy. ”You. You smell like crumbs. You got any food in those pockets? A mouse? A biscuit? I’m starving.”

To the rest of the Great Hall, the snake looked like it was preparing to strike, its fangs bared in a lethal hiss. Justin stumbled back, his face white as a sheet.

”Don’t move, Justin!” Lockhart cried, waving his wand frantically. ”Leave it to me! Alarte Ascendare!”

Lockhart’s spell hit the snake. Instead of vanishing it, the serpent was launched ten feet into the air, landing back on the stage with a loud, angry thwack.

”OW!” the snake shrieked, whipping around furiously. ”What was that for?! I just wanted a snack! You want a piece of me, blondie?!”

The snake reared up, genuinely angry now, It hissed at everyone before turning its attention back to the closest target—Justin.

Harry Potter didn’t think. He acted on pure instinct. He stepped forward, his eyes locked onto the angry serpent.

”Leave him alone!” Harry hissed.

The Great Hall went dead silent. A cold, suffocating wave of fear washed over the students. To them, Harry wasn’t speaking English. He was making a terrifying, sibilant sound—the undeniable, dark language of Parseltongue.

The snake froze, turning its head to look at Harry.

”Oh, sorry, mate,” the snake replied, sounding remarkably apologetic. ”Didn’t realize he was a friend of yours. Just asked for a biscuit. He didn’t have to throw me.”

The snake obediently lowered its head, uncoiling and resting flat on the golden floor, completely docile.

”Vipera Evanesca,” Snape commanded softly, flicking his wand.

The snake dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, leaving nothing behind but the heavy, oppressive silence.

Harry looked up, a triumphant smile forming on his lips. He expected gratitude. He expected relief.

Instead, he was met with a wall of absolute, horrified silence.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was staring at him, his face contorted in a mixture of terror and revulsion. ”What do you think you’re playing at?” Justin spat, turning and sprinting out of the Great Hall.

Harry’s smile vanished. He looked around. Ron and Hermione were staring at him, faces pale. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were backing away. The Slytherins looked at him with sudden, calculating wariness.

Every single eye in the Great Hall was locked onto Harry Potter.

Orion leaned against his pillar, a slow, dark smirk crossing his face. The protagonist had just outed himself as a Parselmouth in front of the entire school, mere weeks after the Chamber of Secrets had been opened.

Check, Orion thought. Now, let’s see how the rest of the board reacts to the Boy Who Hisses.