Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The name hung in the quiet, firelit air of the Slytherin common room, heavy and completely absurd.

”Hermione Granger.”

Draco stared at Orion, his mouth slightly open, the gears of his brain visibly grinding to a halt. For a long, painful second, absolute silence reigned.

Then, Draco let out a harsh, incredulous scoff. ”You’ve gone mad.”

”Have I?” Orion challenged, his voice smooth and utterly devoid of sarcasm. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked deadly serious, which only served to heighten the confusion radiating from Crabbe and Goyle, who were exchanging bewildered, panicked glances.

”Granger?” Draco threw his hands up, nearly spilling the rest of his pumpkin juice. ”The Mudblood? Are you joking? She’s the exact target the Heir is supposed to be hunting! How could she be the one opening the Chamber?”

Orion sighed, a long, theatrical sound that conveyed deep disappointment in his brother’s deductive reasoning. He slowly shook his head, looking down at Draco with a mixture of pity and aristocratic disdain.

”How pedestrian of you, Draco,” Orion chided softly, pacing slowly in front of the fireplace. ”To look only at the surface and accept the most obvious, flashing neon sign as the truth. You are thinking like an untrained Auror. You need to think like a Slytherin.”

He stopped, turning to face his captive audience.

”Tell me,” Orion commanded, his blue eyes sharp. ”What are the reasons you believe it is Potter, besides the fact that he hissed at a snake?”

Draco didn’t hesitate; he had been rehearsing this argument for weeks. ”Potter was the first one on the scene when Norris was petrified. He was standing right next to the bloody message! He hated Creevey because the kid wouldn’t stop taking his picture. And he had a public, screaming argument with Justin Finch-Fletchley the day before Justin was turned to stone.”

Draco crossed his arms, looking vindicated. ”He probably hated Nearly Headless Nick too. I mean, who actually likes ghosts anyway? They’re depressing.”

”A solid, circumstantial case,” Orion acknowledged with a patronizing nod. ”In all the above instances, Potter is the prime suspect. He has means, motive, and opportunity.”

Orion leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the leather chair.

”But who would ever suspect that it wasn’t the Boy Who Lived... but actually the smartest member of their little trio pulling the strings from the shadows?”

Crabbe blinked, his brow furrowing so deeply it looked like his face might collapse inward. Goyle just looked slightly nauseous.

”Being a Muggle-born,” Orion continued, weaving his narrative with hypnotic precision, ”is the perfect, impenetrable alibi. It is the ultimate misdirection. Who would suspect the intended victim of being the perpetrator?”

He held up a finger for each point.

”The fact that she is a Gryffindor? The exact same reason as Potter—hiding a snake in lion’s colors. As for the three cases...”

Orion began to dismantle Draco’s logic piece by piece.

”Mrs. Norris. Hermione Granger was right there beside Harry when the cat was found. She pushed him forward, keeping herself safely in the background. A simple misdirection from the crime scene. She let Potter take the heat.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly.

”For Colin and Justin,” Orion pressed on, ”she is someone who knows exactly who Harry likes and who he hates. She spends every waking hour with him. Isn’t it incredibly simple for her to orchestrate those specific attacks? By targeting Potter’s annoyances, she simultaneously eliminates her own competition and builds a perfect, airtight case that supports Harry’s guilt.”

Orion stood up straight, his expression dark and convincing.

”Granger is ’the brightest witch of her age’. Unlike Potter, who relies on sheer, dumb luck, she is actually capable of researching and executing complex, ancient magic. She has the intellect to find the Chamber, the discipline to control the beast, and the cunning to frame her best friend for it.”

The three boys gaped at him.

Draco was actually nodding slowly, his two brain cells firing rapidly as he tried to process this massive paradigm shift. It was a conspiracy theory that appealed perfectly to his vanity—it allowed him to hate Granger for being a genius mastermind, rather than just a better student.

But it was Crabbe and Goyle whose reactions were the most fascinating.

They were sporting looks that were even dumber than the original Crabbe and Goyle usually managed. They looked less like they were processing a conspiracy and more like they were trying to remember their own names.

Suddenly, Crabbe’s voice broke the silence. It wasn’t his usual, guttural grunt. It was slightly higher-pitched, strained, and panicked.

”Wait,” Crabbe blurted out, leaning forward awkwardly. ”You can... you can say the exact same thing for... for Weasley too, right? I mean, Weasley is always with them. That is just too simple! It could be Weasley orchestrating it!”

Orion stopped. He looked at Crabbe.

The silence in the room wasn’t thoughtful anymore. It was electric.

”Did Ron just try to defend Granger by throwing himself under the bus?” Sparkle whispered, her digital voice trembling with suppressed laughter. ”Oh, this is too good.”

Orion let out a sharp, genuine scoff. He looked at the boy wearing Vincent Crabbe’s face with an expression of absolute, unadulterated incredulity.

”Weasley?” Orion sneered, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. ”Weasley?”

He laughed, a cold, harsh sound that made Draco flinch.

”Crabbe, please. Do not be daft. Weasley would have trouble tying his own shoelaces without an instructional diagram, let alone orchestrating a millennia-old terror campaign. The boy is only capable of vomiting slugs because he tries to cast a hex with a taped-together twig.”

Orion shook his head, pacing slowly toward the sofa where the two large boys sat.

”Weasley being the Heir of Slytherin?” Orion continued, his eyes locking onto Crabbe’s panicked face. ”Such a notion would be a profound insult to both Slytherin and Gryffindor for various reasons. Hell, whatever monster the Heir is supposed to control would likely vomit itself to death in sheer embarrassment if Ronald Weasley was the one trying to command it.”

As Orion spoke, something bizarre began to happen.

Crabbe’s face, which had been pale and sweaty, was changing to furious. However, there were also other changes taking place. The thick, bullish features were shifting, softening slightly. But more alarmingly, the stiff, dark hair on his head was beginning to sprout a very distinct, vibrant shade of fiery red at the roots.

Goyle, realizing what was happening, grabbed Crabbe by the arm, his own face starting to look less like a boulder and more like a terrified boy with a lightning-bolt scar hidden under a bad haircut.

”We have to go!” Goyle hissed, his voice dropping its guttural bass, sounding remarkably like Harry Potter.

They scrambled to their feet, knocking over a small table, desperately trying to hide their shifting features behind their large hands as they turned to bolt for the door.

”Well,” Orion smirked, a dangerous, predatory glint in his blue eyes. ”I wonder what’s gotten into you.”

He didn’t hesitate. The game was over.

Snap.

With a flick of his wrist, the Hawthorn wand shot from his dragon-hide holster into his hand.

”Wingardium Leviosa!” Orion barked, aiming directly at the retreating back of Goyle (Harry).

The spell caught Harry mid-stride. He was hoisted three feet into the air, his heavy, borrowed body flailing wildly. As he was lifted, his hands flew away from his face, revealing the unmistakable, shifting features of the Boy Who Lived trapped halfway through a Polyjuice transformation.

”Expelliarmus!”

A red jet of light struck the hovering boy, blasting a wand from his pocket that clattered harmlessly against the far wall.

”What the—?!” Draco yelled, jumping out of his chair, finally realizing that his bodyguards were melting. ”Potter?! Weasel?!”

Ron (Crabbe), seeing his best friend dangling in the air, abandoned stealth entirely. With a roar of genuine Gryffindor fury, he turned and charged straight at Orion, head down, intending to tackle him to the stone floor.

Orion barely had time to shift his stance.

But he didn’t need to.

Draco, fueled by the sheer indignation of being tricked in his own common room, lunged. He intercepted Ron mid-charge, hitting the larger, transforming boy with a flying tackle that sent them both crashing into a coffee table.

Wood splintered. Silver goblets flew.

”Get off me, you slimy git!” Ron roared, his voice completely back to normal as he threw a wild, uncoordinated punch that caught Draco on the shoulder.

”You filthy, sneaking blood-traitor!” Draco shrieked, returning fire with a sloppy right hook that grazed Ron’s jaw.

They rolled on the floor, a tangle of limbs, black robes, and shifting red hair, brawling exactly like the muggles they both professed to despise.

Orion let out a long, suffering sigh.

”Honestly,” Orion muttered, stepping around the wreckage of the table.

He reached down, grabbed the back of Draco’s robes, and hauled his brother backward with surprising strength, dragging him out of the immediate danger zone. Draco struggled, trying to kick out at Ron again.

”Stupefy,” Orion cast lazily, pointing his wand at the scrambling redhead.

The red light hit Ron squarely in the chest. He went rigid instantly, his eyes rolling back as he slumped to the floor, unconscious, his red hair fully restored.

Orion turned his wand back to the hovering, struggling form of Harry Potter, who was desperately trying to swim through the air toward his fallen friend.

”Incarcerous,” Orion commanded.

Thick, black ropes shot from the wand tip, wrapping tightly around Harry’s torso and legs. Orion canceled the levitation charm, dropping the bound, shifting boy onto the stone floor next to his unconscious friend with a heavy thud.

Silence descended on the common room, broken only by Draco’s heavy panting and the crackle of the green fire.

Orion looked down at the two Gryffindors. He holstered his wand with a sharp click.

”Well,” Orion said mildly, dusting off his sleeves. ”You guys should spend some time with the real Crabbe and Goyle, to get to know them before trying to impersonate them. And for Merlin’s sake, take some acting classes.”