Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The ensuing week at Hogwarts Castle was characterized by two distinct, parallel narratives. On the surface, the school was gripped by the terrifying, paralyzing reality of the Chamber of Secrets. Colin Creevey and Justin Finch-Fletchley lay petrified in the Hospital Wing, the Dueling Club was suspended, and Harry Potter was the subject of more fearful whispers than the Dark Lord himself.

But within the airy, intellectual confines of Ravenclaw Tower, a second, infinitely more bizarre terror had taken root.

It began on a Thursday morning. The Great Hall was abuzz not with talk of monsters, but with the sudden, frantic arrival of several Ravenclaw girls who were wearing a mismatched assortment of slippers, dragon-hide boots, and in one memorable case, a pair of bright pink, fluffy socks adorned with dancing hippogriffs.

Draco, pausing mid-bite of his sausage, stared across the hall. ”What in Salazar’s name are the Eagles wearing? Is it a new trend? It looks hideous.”

”They look like they dressed in the dark,” Pansy Parkinson scoffed, adjusting her own impeccably polished silver-buckled shoes.

Orion casually sipped his tea, his eyes following the commotion. He spotted Marietta Edgecombe, a third-year Ravenclaw, sitting rigidly at her table. Her face was a mottled, blotchy red, and she was currently enduring the withering glares of at least three seventh-year girls who were standing over her, their voices sharp and accusatory.

Orion hid a smirk behind his teacup. Ah. Phase One. The Shoes.

The news spread rapidly. Sometime during the night, every single left shoe belonging to the female population of Ravenclaw Tower had vanished. The ensuing panic had delayed their arrival at breakfast, culminating in a frantic search that ended when an entire mountain of assorted footwear was discovered crammed underneath Marietta Edgecombe’s bed.

Marietta had protested her innocence loudly and tearfully, but the evidence was overwhelming. It didn’t help her case that Luna Lovegood’s missing silver-buckled Mary Janes were right on top of the pile.

”She claims she was framed,” Theodore Nott reported during Herbology later that day, casually repotting a Mandrake. ”Said she woke up and they were just there. Flitwick took twenty points for ’disrupting the peace’ and is going to make her sort them all out.”

”A likely story,” Blaise Zabini drawled. ”Though why she only took the left ones is a mystery. Ravenclaws and their eccentricities.”

Orion remained silent, methodically pruning his Mandrake leaves. The execution had been flawless. The psychological pressure on Marietta had begun.

But the true genius of the operation was the escalation.

On Friday, it wasn’t shoes. It was hairclips, ribbons, and headbands. This time, the massive, tangled pile of accessories was found stuffed into the trunk of another third-year girl who had previously been seen laughing as she ’accidentally’ knocked Luna’s books down.

By Saturday morning, the Ravenclaw girls were waking up early to guard their belongings. It didn’t matter. They awoke to find their school ties gone. The mountain of blue and bronze silk was discovered draped over the snoring form of another bully.

The tower was descending into chaos. The targeted girls were terrified, oscillating between furious denials and weeping panic attacks, unable to explain how or why they were the focal point of this mass theft.

And then, the piece de resistance.

Monday morning. The Great Hall was mostly empty as the Ravenclaws failed to appear for breakfast almost entirely. When they finally trickled in, nearly every girl in the house was wearing their weekend robes or casual cloaks.

Their formal school robes were gone.

The rumor mill practically exploded. This time, the mountain of heavy, black wool robes had been found, once again, stuffed underneath Marietta Edgecombe’s bed. She had been found sitting on her mattress, clutching a piece of parchment, sobbing hysterically while the older girls demanded an explanation.

”They say she’s cracked,” Draco whispered to Orion during Charms, looking thoroughly entertained by the misery of another house. ”They say she’s developed some kinky compulsion and is hoarding clothes like how Robin hoards gold.”

Orion smiled faintly, tapping his wand against his desk. ”A tragic psychological break, no doubt. Robin is much more sophisticated.”

The rest of the week passed with a tense, paranoid quiet in the tower. No items went missing on Tuesday. Wednesday dawned peacefully. The bullies, thoroughly traumatized by the prospect of being the ’Secret Admirer’s’ next drop-off point, had ceased all hostilities toward Luna Lovegood. The Nargles had been effectively starved of their sport.

Late Wednesday night, Orion sat in the quiet solitude of his expanded trunk. The blue light of the Ring of the Midnight Reader illuminated a complex diagram of the Vanishing Cabinet’s runic anchor points. He was making progress, slowly decoding the fractured sympathetic resonance loop.

CRACK.

Dobby materialized near the ladder, his tennis-ball eyes wide.

”Report,” Orion murmured, not looking up from his notes.

”Master Orion!” Dobby squeaked. ”Tonight, no one stole from Miss Luna! The bad girls are too scared! They lock their trunks tight!”

Orion’s quill paused. A satisfied smile curved his lips. ”Excellent. The deterrent is holding. The operation is a success.”

”But Master Orion!” Dobby continued, wringing his tea towel. ”Miss Luna is trapped outside her door again! The bronze bird is broken!”

Orion sighed, setting his quill down carefully. The bullies might have stopped stealing, but old habits died hard. The passive-aggressive exclusion was still in play.

”Is she safe?” Orion asked sharply, standing up.

”She is wandering the sixth floor, Master!”

Orion’s jaw tightened. Wandering the corridors while a Basilisk was actively hunting was unacceptable.

”Here is what you will do, Dobby,” Orion instructed, his voice cold and precise. ”Go to the Ravenclaw entrance. Examine the knocker. You will likely find some form of magical adhesive or Muggle candy wedged in its beak again. Remove it.”

Dobby nodded fiercely. ”Dobby will clean the bird!”

”Next,” Orion continued, tapping his desk. ”Use your elf magic to cast a barrier locking the door from the inside. Make it so no student can open it to get out, and no student can open it to let anyone else in.”

Dobby blinked, confused. ”Lock them in?”

”Yes,” Orion smirked. ”Let them realize that if they lock one person out, they lock themselves in. However, ensure the barrier dissolves immediately if a Professor attempts to open the door from the outside. We do not need Flitwick blasting the door off its hinges.”

”Dobby understands! Lock the bad students in! Let the teachers in!”

”Execute,” Orion commanded.

CRACK. Dobby was gone.

Orion didn’t wait. He climbed out of the trunk, grabbed the Marauder’s Map from his inventory, and cast a quick Silencio on his boots.

”I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

He tracked Luna’s dot. She was indeed on the sixth floor, drifting slowly here and there.

”Mischief managed.”

He slipped out of the dungeons, moving through the quiet, torch-lit corridors with practiced stealth. He ascended the Grand Staircase, his mind alert for any sign of Snape or Filch. The castle was silent, the tension of the petrifications keeping the usual night-wanderers firmly in their beds.

He reached the sixth floor.

Luna Lovegood was standing near a large, moonlit window, her back to him. She was wearing her own shoes this time—and a thick, knitted sweater over her nightgown.

Orion stepped out of the shadows.

”Miss Lovegood,” Orion said softly, ensuring he didn’t startle her.

Luna turned slowly. Her silvery eyes were wide and serene, reflecting the moonlight. She smiled, a genuine, unbothered expression.

”Hello, Orion,” she said musically. ”The Nargles are very active tonight. They jammed the eagle again.”

Orion fell into step beside her as she resumed her slow, drifting walk down the corridor. He didn’t offer to fix the knocker immediately; Dobby needed time to set the trap.

”I imagine they are,” Orion replied dryly. ”They seem particularly persistent in your tower.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft padding of Luna’s shoes and Orion’s silenced steps.

Luna looked down at her feet, then up at him. Her gaze was direct, possessing that unnerving clarity that seemed to see straight through his carefully constructed Malfoy facade.

”My things were returned,” Luna announced suddenly, her voice airy and light.

”Is that so?” Orion asked mildly, keeping his face perfectly blank. ”That is fortunate.”

”Yes,” Luna nodded, her radish earrings bobbing. ”Though it was very strange. They were found in a giant pile of other girls’ things. Sweaters, shoes, ties. It was a terrible mess. Marietta was very upset about it.”

”I heard rumors,” Orion admitted casually. ”A mass theft. Sounded quite chaotic.”

Luna stopped walking. She turned to face him, her large eyes locking onto his. There was no accusation in her gaze, no suspicion. Just a calm, absolute certainty.

”I didn’t know Nargles had such a fascination with hoarding clothes,” Luna said, tilting her head. ”Or that they could write such polite letters.”

Orion didn’t flinch. He met her gaze evenly, though internally, Sparkle was laughing hysterically.

”She knows,” Sparkle crowed. ”She absolutely knows you did it.”

”Nargles are unpredictable creatures, Luna,” Orion said smoothly, offering a small, enigmatic smile. ”Perhaps they developed a sudden interest in fashion.”

Luna smiled back, a bright, genuine expression that reached her eyes. She didn’t push for a confession. She didn’t demand the truth. She simply accepted the mystery.

She looked down at her shoe-clad feet.

”Thank you,” Luna said softly, looking back up at him.

”For what?” Orion asked, maintaining the illusion. ”I merely pointed out the absurdity of the situation.”

”For helping me find my things,” Luna clarified, her voice ringing with quiet sincerity. ”It feels good to be able to wear shoes again. My feet don’t hurt anymore.”