Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The approach of Christmas at Hogwarts usually brought a tangible, electric shift in the castle’s atmosphere. The stone corridors, often damp and echoing with anxiety over exams or the latest petrification, would soften. Wreaths of holly and mistletoe would appear on the walls, suits of armor would be charmed to sing carols (much to the annoyance of everyone trying to sleep), and the Great Hall would be dominated by twelve towering, frost-covered fir trees.

For the Malfoy twins, however, the holiday season arrived not with the smell of roasting chestnuts, but with the heavy, frantic flap of massive wings.

It was breakfast on a Tuesday, three days before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to take the majority of the student body home for the holidays. Orion was methodically spreading marmalade on toast when a shadow blotted out the enchanted, snowy ceiling.

Titan, the enormous Eurasian Eagle Owl, landed on the Slytherin table with the grace of a falling boulder. Plates rattled, a jug of pumpkin juice tipped dangerously, and Pansy Parkinson let out a startled shriek as the bird’s massive talons clicked against the wood.

”Watch it, you oversized feather duster!” Draco snapped, snatching the heavy parchment envelope from Titan’s outstretched leg.

Titan clicked his beak aggressively at Draco, ruffling his neck feathers in a display of profound avian irritation.

Orion, completely unfazed by the bird’s size, reached across the table. He pulled a thick, slice of cooked steak from one of the plates—and offered it to the owl.

”Good flight, Titan?” Orion murmured softly.

The owl’s fierce orange eyes softened instantly. He took the steak with surprising gentleness from Orion’s fingers, tossing his head back to swallow it whole.

”The winds over the Yorkshire moors were treacherous,” Titan hooted, the sound translating into a deep, aristocratic grumble in Orion’s mind. ”And the snow near the border is blinding. But I made good time. Unlike the blond one, you appreciate quality service. Thank you for the proper sustenance. My other master is... lacking in basic etiquette.”

”He lacks many things, Titan,” Orion replied internally, offering the bird a nod and a pat on it’s head ”Rest in the Owlery. I will ensure a fresh rat is waiting for your return journey.”

Titan gave a dignified hoot of agreement and launched himself back into the rafters, his massive wingspan causing a localized gale that blew a stack of napkins into Theodore Nott’s face.

Draco, oblivious to the exchange, had broken the heavy, purple wax seal bearing the Malfoy crest. His eyes scanned the parchment rapidly. As he read, his pale face shifted from expectation to profound, pouty disappointment.

”Well?” Orion asked, taking a bite of his toast. ”Is Father demanding we return with the House Cup by Tuesday, or is he simply reminding us to sneer at the appropriate angles?”

”He says we can’t come home,” Draco scowled, dropping the letter onto the table as if it had burned him.

The surrounding Slytherins, who had been eavesdropping with practiced subtlety, leaned in slightly.

”Can’t come home?” Pansy echoed, looking dismayed. ”But the Malfoy Yule Ball...”

”Cancelled,” Draco spat. ”Or at least, postponed indefinitely. Father says that Arthur Weasley—that blood-traitor menace—has managed to rally his department. He somehow overcame all the bureaucratic hurdles Father threw at him last summer. The Muggle Protection Act is fully reinstated, and the search warrants have been signed.”

Draco leaned forward, his voice dropping to a furious whisper. ”The Ministry is going to raid the Manor, Orion. They are going to tear the place apart looking for ’dark artifacts’. Father says it will happen sooner rather than later, and he cannot guarantee the estate will be... hospitable... for the holidays.”

Orion picked up his teacup, his expression perfectly neutral. Internally, he felt a flicker of grudging respect for the Weasley patriarch. Arthur actually outmaneuvered Lucius Malfoy in the Wizengamot, Orion thought. That takes tenacity. And probably a lot of blackmail material from his other small class raids.

”So,” Orion summarized calmly. ”Lucius is locking down the Manor to hide the family silver, and we are to remain at Hogwarts for the Yule holiday to avoid the crossfire.”

”It’s an outrage!” Draco seethed, crossing his arms. ”I was going to use the pool! I had plans! I was going to invite Crabbe and Goyle over to fly the new brooms! And now we’re stuck in this freezing dungeon for two weeks while Weasley’s father rummages through our house like a common thief!”

”It is a minor inconvenience, Draco,” Orion dismissed, setting his cup down. ”We have the entire castle to ourselves, relatively speaking. No classes. No early curfews. And the food here is arguably better than the frantic, stress-induced meals the elves will be serving Father while he panics over the cellar inventory.”

Draco grumbled, but the logic was sound. He looked down the table at Crabbe and Goyle, who were currently engaged in a silent contest to see who could fit more sausages into their mouths simultaneously.

”I suppose,” Draco sighed heavily. ”I’ll tell Vincent and Greg to write to their parents. They’ll stay too.”

”Of course they will,” Orion noted dryly. ”Their loyalty to your orbit overrides their desire for home cooking. It’s commendable, really.”

The decision was finalized. While the majority of the school signed the parchment indicating their intent to leave for the holidays, the Malfoy twins, their bodyguards, and a handful of other students remained.

Orion, of course knew that Harry and Ron, naturally, were staying. Harry had nowhere to go, and the Weasley parents were visiting Bill in Egypt. Truly, what a chad of a guy Arthur Weasley was, capable of making Lucius sweat in his own home while he goes and enjoys a vacation in Egypt.

The day the Hogwarts Express departed was an exercise in absolute, blissful tranquility for Orion.

The castle emptied out. The frantic energy of hundreds of students rushing to pack trunks, find lost pets, and argue over seating arrangements vanished, replaced by a profound, echoing silence that suited Orion perfectly.

While Draco spent the afternoon sulking by the common room fire, complaining to Crabbe about the injustice of the Ministry, Orion took the opportunity to roam.

He walked the upper corridors, his footsteps silent on the stone. He wasn’t looking for the Chamber, and he wasn’t heading to the Room of Requirement. He was simply enjoying the architecture without the suffocating press of bodies.

He wandered through a gallery on the fifth floor, admiring the tapestries and the sleeping portraits. It was peaceful.

Until his pocket violently vibrated.

”Shiny!”

A high-pitched, frantic squeak erupted from the depths of Orion’s expanded robe pocket.

Before Orion could react, a small, black, furry blur shot out, hit the stone floor, and scrambled up the tapestry depicting the Triumph of the Goblins.

”Robin, no!” Orion hissed, grabbing for his wand.

But the Niffler was already moving with the speed of a caffeinated squirrel. He bypassed the tapestry and leaped onto the ornate, gilded frame of a portrait hanging beside it.

The portrait depicted a haughty-looking wizard from the 17th century, wearing an enormous powdered wig and a velvet coat absolutely dripping with painted jewels. Specifically, the wizard possessed a large, luminous pearl earring that caught the afternoon light.

Robin didn’t care that it was two-dimensional paint and magic. He only cared that it shined.

”MINE!” Robin chirped.

The Niffler lunged, his tiny claws scrabbling against the canvas as he desperately tried to pry the painted pearl from the wizard’s ear.

”What the devil?!” the painted wizard bellowed, jolted awake by the assault. He flailed his painted arms, trying to swat the creature away. ”Get off me, you filthy beast! Help! I am being accosted! Vandalism!”

”Robin, Accio Niffler!” Orion commanded, pointing his wand.

The spell caught the struggling creature, yanking him backward off the canvas. Robin flew through the air, squeaking in protest, his paws still making grasping motions toward the portrait.

Orion snatched the Niffler out of the air with his free hand, holding him firmly by the scruff of the neck. Robin went limp, letting out a tragic, defeated sigh.

”Honestly,” Orion muttered, ignoring the painted wizard who was currently smoothing his wig and muttering dark curses about the youth of today. ”You have a burrow full of brass buttons and chocolate galleons. Why must you attempt to burgle flat surfaces?”

”Looked real,” Robin grumbled telepathically, crossing his arms over his bottomless pouch. ”Looked like big pearl. Worth at least three buttons.”

”It’s paint, Robin,” Orion sighed, digging into his other pocket. He pulled out a wrapped Butterscotch Bomb and unwrapped it. ”Here. A consolation prize.”

Robin’s eyes widened. He snatched the candy, popped it into his mouth, and began chewing happily, the painted pearl instantly forgotten.

Orion stuffed the contented Niffler back into his expanded pocket, ensuring the spatial flap was securely closed.

He looked back at the portrait. The wizard was glaring at him with supreme disdain.

”My apologies, Sir,” Orion offered a shallow, insincere bow. ”My companion’s enthusiasm for art appreciation occasionally overrides his manners.”

The portrait huffed, turning its back and walking out of its frame to complain to a neighbor.

Orion shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips, and continued his stroll down the empty corridor.

The holidays had officially begun. The castle was quiet, the air was cold, and the Polyjuice Potion bubbling in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom was entering its final stages of fermentation.

”Just a few more days,” Orion whispered, the thrill of the upcoming confrontation warming him against the draft. ”Let’s see if Potter makes a convincing Crabbe.”